I land on my hands and knees. Coughing, spluttering and wheezing. I am never, ever going to enjoy that.
I look up and freeze.
Oh fuck. It is him.
The one who gave me a dagger and started all of this.
It is the emo boy from the alley.
Chapter thirty-seven
My head is spinning, and not just from being hurled through a portal. One minute I was tiptoeing anxiously into Llywelyn’s bathroom, and the next minute I’m…I’m, actually, where the fuck am I?
Quickly, I glance around. I’m in a graveyard. A neglected and overgrown one. At twilight. With the strange emo boy who claims to be a necromancer and a werewolf. Jamie is nowhere to be seen, so presumably that means he is still in the palace, safe and sound. Unlike me.
Just fucking fantastic. But wait a minute, I know this place. I slept in one of the crypts one night when it was pissing with rain. I’m not far from where I first met Emo Boy. I know exactly where I am. Oh my god. That is probably information I should keep to myself.
Slowly, I climb to my feet. It is ridiculously pleasing to discover that I am more or less the same height as Emo Boy.
He is staring at me calmly with his too-dark eyes. His tight black leather trousers are very striking, and he has paired them with an oversized black jumper. With sparkles in it. His shoulder length, coal black hair is so glossy it nearly gleams. He looks like he should be on stage, not yanking people through portals.
“What the fuck is happening?” I ask.
His dark eyes bore into me. “I’m rescuing you.”
What the actual fuck? This is too much. Far too much for my poor little brain to process. I can feel it seizing up in protest.
“I never meant for you to be taken as a sex slave,” says Emo Boy. “I assumed they’d kill you. Or that there was a slight chance you’d succeed.”
I stare at him while my mind struggles to catch up. Eventually I find some words.
“You were fine with sending me to my death?” That probably should hurt a lot more than it does. But I’ve always known that people suck.
He nods.
I inhale sharply. “But you feel guilty that I was claimed as a pet?”
He nods again, but slower. Less pronounced. As if he is reluctant to admit it.
“You think dying is better than being a sex slave?” I exclaim.
“Isn’t it?” he snaps.
I blink. Okay. That’s it. I’m officially too bewildered to continue this conversation. My gaze drifts around our surroundings again.
“Why a graveyard?” I ask weakly.
My would-be rescuer shrugs. “Consecrated ground. Iron railings all the way around. And a potential army of the dead, if I need one.”
I shudder. Fucking hell. He is deadly, excuse the pun, serious about this necromancer stuff, isn’t he? But since fairies have turned out to be real, he probably really can create zombies.
“All overkill, I’m sure,” he continues. “I don’t imagine the fey will bother to come after you.”
Indignation ignites within me. It is incandescent and potent. Burning through me with an intensity that is frightening.
“Tristan will come for me!” I seethe.
My heart flutters and my stomach flips all the way over. Tristan will come for me, won’t he? He…does like me, I think. Enough to look for me. At least, I bloody well hope so.
