He is being genuine. Truthful. He is not mocking or taking the piss. He really believes what he is saying.
Oh my stars. I have no idea whatsoever about how to handle compliments. It is not a problem I have ever encountered before.
“You’re not my type!” I snarl as all my discomfort turns to fury.
Familiar, comforting fury. Safe fury. An emotion I know and trust. One I know how to handle. One whose outcome is predictable and within my control.
Dyfri’s eyes narrow. “You’re not my type either.”
I’m being an ass. I know I am. But that’s me. An asshole. He was trying to be nice to me, but fuck him, I don’t need his kindness or his pity or his anything. I don’t need people. Never have and never will. Which is just perfect since everyone always ends up hating me anyway. Better to push them away before they can truly get their claws in.
My rage surges. My mind whirls. What can I really hurt Dyfri with? What do I know? What buttons can I press?
Images flash. Memories play. I don’t know him well, but there must be something. I’m good at this. It is what I do.
Suddenly I have it. His insistence on Mabon’s pet having a chair. His general weirdness around the hulking man. Come to think of it, he was standing next to Blake at the ball last night.
That’s it! He fancies his brother’s pet! Perfect.
“I’m not your type?” I hiss. “That’s not surprising. Your type is hulking giant men who hold you down.”
Dyfri’s face goes utterly blank. It shuts down. It is like looking at a mannequin. He turns on his heels and strides out of the room with not a single word.
I stare at the spot he was just standing in. An itching, uncomfortable feeling is crawling along my skin. I got him to fuck off. It was exactly what I wanted.
So why do I suddenly feel like a monster?
Chapter twenty-four
This day keeps getting worse and worse. First, Dyfri storms off in a strop and I’m left all alone in Tristan’s rooms. Second, Tristan didn’t come back for dinner, so I had to eat alone. And now I’m stuck on the loo with the most excruciating gut cramps of my life.
I groan as another cramp hits me. Fuck. I think I’m dying. This isn’t a delayed after effect of taking Tristan’s giant cock, is it? Because I really, really want to do that again. But suffering this every time would be unbearable.
Something twists deep inside me and I whimper. That didn’t feel good. What if something is seriously wrong with me? I never get ill. I’ve never had a tummy bug, so it makes more sense if this is something far more sinister.
A soft knock on the door makes me jump.
“Are you well?”
It is Tristan. My stupid heart starts beating faster. He is back. He is here. I shouldn’t care at all. He is still my captor, not my friend. We fucked last night, big deal. His presence is not a comfort.
“I’m fine!” I say through gritted teeth.
Then I go and ruin it all by whimpering loudly.
“Do you need a healer?”
Oh stars. If these cramps don’t kill me, the concern in his voice is going to. He sounds genuinely worried about me, like he actually gives a shit. It is making my head spin. Or perhaps this dizziness is actually a symptom of my illness.
Crap. Maybe I do need a healer. But wait a minute, Selwyn said there weren’t any who had experience with nisnys. I’ve never had to see a human doctor. It is quite possible that no one knows how to treat my messed up half-fey, half-human anatomy. If they try, they might make things worse.
“I don’t need a healer!”
An intense wave of pain cuts through my guts. I hiss in pain.
“Open the door!” orders Tristan.
Fat chance. I glance blearily at the door. It is very far away. I’m not sure I could make it even if I wanted to.
