He's been stuck in here with nothing to slay to appease his curse for an entire day and night, on top of missing out on hunting yesterday. I have no idea if he's ever been in a similar situation or how long he will be able to remain in his right mind without hunting, but I suspect his dragon is biting at the bits to get out.
I brace myself against the wall, babying my shoulder. "No, you're not."
He grunts. "You're right. You were out of your fucking mind. I'd do it again."
When his pacing increases, and he huffs in frustration, I arch a brow. "The door is unlocked. You could hunt another legacy if need be."
Baelfire grimaces. "See, that's the difference between me and you. That is my last fucking resort—I'd rather not murder someone in cold blood unless there's no other option. Besides…”
His amber gaze flicks toward the hall, and his voice turns rough. "She needs to eat. I know she's pissed at us right now, but I need to make sure she's taken care of. I just…fuck, I can't get that image out of my head."
I know exactly what image he's talking about because it's haunting me, too. Maven lying broken and motionless on that floor, covered in blood—herblood. We had been frantically searching for her and had just crossed paths with Everett on his way to his office when I'd caught the scent of her mouthwatering blood.
It's a sickening thing how much the aroma of her blood both terrorizes and entices me.
And walking in on her likethat…
To take my mind off it, I drag myself into the kitchen, where I stashed a few of my spare spell ingredients over a week ago.
Uncorking a vial of chimera venom and grabbing dried moonflower petals, I prepare a healing mixture. It's not acommonly prepared mixture since it is painful to ingest, but I'm a fae. Between our mead and our wine, we have cast-iron stomachs.
Baelfire groans and drops into one of the large couches off the side of the dining room, burying his head under a pillow. I realize his shifter hearing must be picking up on the soft sounds of Maven in the shower, and I don't envy him.
This situation is hard enough without beinghard.
I've barely had time to down the potent but disgusting concoction before the Nightmare Prince flickers suddenly into existence beside me, grips me by the back of the neck, and slams my face into the cold marble countertop. I feel the crunch of my nose breaking, and the sudden cutoff from oxygen has me choking for air through my mouth.
Crypt leans down to speak beside my ear, his voice a low, infuriated rasp.
"That's for trapping me where I couldn't reach her. And this—" He jams his elbow into my broken shoulder, which makes my brain white out for a second as pain overwhelms everything else. "Is for forcing me to watch that happen asecondfucking time."
I don't know whatsecond timethis prick is talking about, but when I sense the warm trickle from my broken nose, I draw from that blood, forcing my depleted magic to lash out at Crypt any way it can. A violent burst of scarlet light flares around me. He's knocked backward with a satisfying crash.
I straighten and wipe the blood off my nose and chin, but when I glance over my shoulder, Crypt has already slipped back into Limbo. He returns a second later, and I tense, ready to overextend my magic a second time. But he just leans against the dining room wall and digs his lighter out.
As I slump into one of the dining room chairs, feeling the healing concoction hum through my veins and soften the pain, I watch the Nightmare Prince warily. He has dried blood crustedover one wrist, Maven's blood on his hands, and he looks…uncharacteristically fazed. Perhaps even as rough as Baelfire and I.
Bael says nothing but observes the two of us like he's waiting to watch a cockfight on which he's bet good money. He clearly enjoyed that little show just now.
My tired attention zeroes back in on Crypt and how he fumbles with his lighter as he pulls out a cigarette. His hands are shaking so slightly, it's almost imperceptible—but I notice it just like I take note of the tension slipping from his shoulders after he takes the first deep drag of the odd herb.
Interesting.
Is this a sign of weakness in him I never noticed before? Evidence of strain from being in Limbo? Aside from perhaps being unable to feel true emotion, I've never had a solid guess as to what his curse could be. Except now, he clearly feels strongly for Maven.
Or does he?a voice in my head titters.
He's faking it. He'll end up hurting her. You should kill him.
The incubus will end you like he ended your family. But first, he'll watch you go mad.
The voices have been even worse today, twisting my mind and constantly drawing my thoughts back to Maven's motionless body. They're making my spine twitch and my head pound.
When Crypt catches me watching him, his eyes flash with warning.
"If you've got something to say, Crane, you can shove it right up your ass. And never lock me in Limbo again, or I'll rip my way into your psyche and make the voices in your head seem like fucking saints."
My jaw clenches, and I glare at Baelfire.
