He drops to the floor in a weird twisting way as if all the life has been sucked out of him and lies there, completely still.
If I hadn’t spent the last day with him, I’d have thought this was some sort of trick. But Linton doesn’t do tricks. Instead he barges his way through life with the innate and secure knowledge that what he is and the daggers he carries will get him whatever he wants.
It’s a weirdly enviable existence. I close the gap between us and drop to my knees next to him.
Unconscious as he is, his handsome features are so much softer. Those full lips and his long white hair spread on the floor. One arm is thrown across his bare chest (bare save for the bandoliers of daggers) and one wing is open, revealing the most beautiful turquoise markings. And more daggers. Linton is nothing if not filled with surprises.
His face is, however, very pale, and when I put my hand on his cheek, he’s cool to the touch. I’m about to go get theinnkeeper to see if he or his wife can help when Linton moans slightly, shifting his position, and I place my other hand on his cheek, gently stroking his face.
“Don’t…don’t leave me,” he says in the quietest of voices.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Which is entirely honest. Where else would I go? If I’m really being hunted, if there really are assassins after me, I don’t want to bring them to Gloriana’s door if, for no other reason, than she is fierce, and I know she would defend me.
The last thing I want is anyone getting hurt.
I stroke my thumb over Linton’s cheek. His skin is soft, very slightly furry, and I can see the same sort of fur on his wings, only there it is thicker. He is breathing. I watch his chest rise and fall, albeit a bit irregularly.
After what feels like an hour but is most likely around half a minute, Linton’s eyes flutter open, his long dark eyelashes, a complete contrast to the colour of his hair, sweeping over his cheeks before he looks at me with those blood red eyes, the pupil in the centre a mere dot of black.
“Kaitlyn,” he whispers, as if it’s the first time he has ever said my name, his eyes studying my face as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
“I’m here.” I stroke both of my thumbs over his cheeks and those strange but compelling eyes half close at the touch. “I’m going to get a healer, but I won’t be long.”
A strong, clawed hand clamps around my wrist. The grip is firm enough I can tell he isn’t at death’s door but not so hard I feel like he would fight me if I tried to pull away.
“I don’t need a healer,” he says.
“What do you need?”
“I need to feed,” he says, his voice hoarse, two very sharp fangs slightly protruding from his upper jaw.
“Max can get you whatever food you want.”
“Max?”
“The innkeeper, the warlock who owns this place.”
Linton coughs and chuckles. “I didn’t know he had a name.”
“Everyone has a name.”
“Yours is Kaitlyn.” He smiles at me, similar to the one on the path, slightly unhinged and slightly wet.
“It is.” I run my thumb over his cheek again, mostly because I like to see him close his eyes as I do, but also because he feels like velvet. “And if you’re fainting, you need to eat.”
“What I eat, the innkeeper won’t provide.”
I’m taken aback by his words. Max and Joanna seemed to be extremely accommodating.
“I’m sure they will.”
“Kaitlyn,” Linton rasps. “I need blood.”
KAITLYN
Linton loosens his grip, his hand falling back onto his chest. His entire body goes limp.
