“I am people.”
“You are not people.” His throat dips. “You are my . . . Crow.”
That snaps me out of my daze, and I spin around, disconnecting his hands from my body. Although tempted to remind him that I belong to no one for the hundredth time, I ask instead, “How did you know about my quarrel with the marquess?”
“My stone imprisonment didn’t dull my senses.” At my frown, he adds, “Have you forgotten where one of my crows was kept?”
In the Regio’s trophy room. The one contiguous to the throne room in which was held my hearing.
He watches my round-eyed stare. “I cannot tell if you’re terribly angry or terribly touched that I rid Luce of that vile Fae?”
I swallow, but it does nothing to slicken my dry throat. “Are you planning on beheading more men on my behalf?”
Lorcan stays silent yet his eyes betray his answer.
“You cannot go around separating heads from bodies, Lore. Already the Fae don’t trust Crows and call you and your people—” The words on my Tarelexian walls shimmer in front of my eyes. “They call you awful things.”
“Do I strike you as a man who cares what the Fae think of him?”
“No. But—”
“As long as Dante doesn’t punish his people, I will. It is time they learn to respect.”
This cannot end well.
He reaches around me to seize something beside his sink, and the inside of his forearm brushes my bare shoulder. Although I don’t shiver, my humid skin pebbles. He rubs what he’s lifted—a chunk of coal—between his fingers, then sets it back on a little wooden tray, and his arm, once again, touches my skin. I try to shift to the side since, clearly, I am in his way, but freeze as he closes his eyes and lifts his fingers to the bridge of his nose, then drags either hand toward his temples, striping his skin.
When his lids pull up, his irises are arrestingly bright.How I long to paint your face, Little Bird.
My heart flaps around like a butterfly behind my ribs as I picture him dragging those long, cool fingers of his over my lids to show the world that I am his.
Oneofmanyof his.
Unlike mine, his chest lifts with unhurried breaths.
“You’ll be too busy painting your Glacin princess’s face to worry about mine.”
To think she will stand where I stand soon.
To think she will gaze upon his golden eyes and silver scars.
The trapped steam of his shower and the roiling smoke of his skin caress my features.
This is too much.
All too much.
I don’t know why I sent myself here, but I want to leave. I twist my face away from his and shut my eyes, and picture the home of the marquess. I visualize the white marble and the gilt-framed mirror. The engraved pebble I propped on my nightstand.
When my lids pull up, I’m back in my body, and another Crow stands before me, lashes as high as Timeus’s just before his head dropped from his body.
Twenty-Four
Eefah looses a breath. “You have mate. That’s it, yeah? You mind-walked.”
My first reaction is todeny deny deny, but I don’t care to lie to Eefah. Not to mention that a blush streaks my face, and my eyes are as glassy as Minimus’s.
“Do you have one?” I ask before she can enquire who I’m supernaturally connected to.
