“I think he might be ripe,” says Selwyn.
What the hell is ripe and why does it sound so unpleasant?
“Hmm, yes, it is quite full of magic,” says the other fey.
“Llywelyn, don’t touch him!”
Oh, that’s who it is. The blond creep brother who was delighted to be taking over Tristan’s duties. He must be loving this.
“Why not?” sniffs Llywelyn.
“Because he is still Tristan’s pet.”
Conflicting, confusing emotions wash over me. I think I like what he just said. But that doesn’t make any sense at all.
Suddenly a shudder wracks my body, and it is nothing to do with feelings. This is all sickness. Colours are whirling in my mind and my body is aching.
“Okay, that was a strong wave of magic. He really is ripe,” says Selwyn.
Llywelyn sniffs again. “How unpleasant. It is a good thing that only half-breeds get this affliction.”
“Half-breed is not a pleasant term, Brother.”
“Whatever,” huffs Llywelyn. “Whatever you want to call it, one of us needs to fuck the magic out of it.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. I whimper and curl up into a ball. Hell no. No, no no. This can’t be happening.
“Ollie?” says Selwyn gently.
Oh crap. They were speaking Fey, and I reacted. Quickly, I groan feverishly. Hopefully, I can fool them into thinking my reaction was just my sickness and nothing more.
“Ollie, we have figured out what is wrong with you,” Selwyn says.
Oh thank fuck for that. They are not on to me. I have successfully bluffed my way out of that one. But it was entirely too close for comfort.
“I don’t know how much Tristan explained about being a vessel, but the basics are, you grow and absorb magic but cannot wield it. A magic wielder can take your magic through sex. Once this has happened, it is like turning on a tap that can never be turned off. You will keep filling with magic and you will keep needing to be emptied.”
Is that what Tristan has done to me? Turned me into someone who needs to have sex? What a bastard.
“What happens if I’m not emptied?” I ask through gritted teeth.
“You die and explode. Or explode and die,” answers Llywelyn.
My stomach does a full three-sixty flip. I don’t want to die or explode. They both sound terrible. Nevermind combining the two.
“But that’s not going to happen,” says Selwyn. “One of us can empty you. Who do you want?”
“Tristan!” I wail before I’ve even thought about it.
It is embarrassing, but true. The thought of anyone else touching me is making me want to vomit. And I really do not have the bandwidth to even attempt to untangle the twisted mess of my feelings right now.
Llywelyn sighs dramatically, as if he has never heard such pathetic nonsense in all his days.
Selwyn huffs. “It is Tristan’s mess to fix.”
“No!” says Llywelyn sharply. “Jamie would be furious. There is no reason to listen to the pet’s absurd demands. One of us should do it. I don’t mind holding it down.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine. Llywelyn really is a nasty bastard. In any other situation I would grudgingly respect it. Right now, it is terrifying because the only thing saving me is Selwyn and whatever morals he possesses, which, knowing fey, is likely to be very few.
