I spit the pulp of flesh out of my mouth, turning to the tiny man standing on an array covered in blood. It’s not one that he would have made. It’s carved into the stone of the courtyard. He’s naked, displaying a body covered in the gashes left behind after a cruel whipping. I recognize the pattern of those strikes, and without remorse, I stomp on Adam, crushing him like I would so much stone. He hurt my… I’m not sure what the possessiveness running through me is.
Darcy laughs, reaching out a hand, and I lower my head to it, basking in the touch of a djinn. Oh, he’s more precious than that—fire-dancer, hedge witch, and djinn. He smells like the wet leaves on a forest floor of Fae and the lava floes of Hell mixed with the aromatic scent of incense burning in the campfires onthe frozen mountains of Purgory, the realm that stands between Hell and Fae. This man was born of the three realms.
His touch ignites the hope of eternity in me. I sense the twisting of our fates, how our lives which had once been separate are now twining together. We were born for each other, and the warmth of that assurance spreads out from where his hand touches to me every extremity.
Ah, that explains the possessiveness. He’s mine.
“Yer beautiful, Peach. I had no idea you’d be able to shift, but you did. Pretty one, ain’tcha. These stupid fucks shoulda listened to me; I’m fuckin’ giddy that they din’t. Let’s git outta here, baby. You’re gon’ burn up if we don’t git ya fed. C’mon, lemme up. Let’s go dancing in the spires.”
His praise heats me further, but with pleasure rather than fury. I grind Adam’s soft belly into the dust for good measure before lowering my neck for Darcy to climb on. He swings up, sitting between my neck and the shoulders, and I run, hobbled only slightly by the missing foot of my back leg. I jump over the wall of the courtyard, pointing my snout toward the spires that birthed my kind, and lope along the surface, carrying the most important man alive with me.
17
My head feels like I just spent a week binge drinking on a yacht in the Mediterranean with a millionaire playboy. Ask me how I know what that feels like.
No, I didn’t sleep with him; I was there because we hit it off as friends and he was interested in my other friend, who I invited along because she would have been pissed if I didn’t give her the opportunity to get with a rich Italian. They were the ones fucking all over the yacht. It was beautiful watching their lust bloom into genuine affection and then love. They’re getting married next summer. I’m going to be the man of honor.
I slowly creak an eye open, thankful for the dim light. I’m in a bed, so that’s a nice turn of events from the dungeon. The bedroom has at least seven tables sitting in various places around the room. A couple of them have miniature tables on top of them. It’s kind of cute. The lamp on the corner table offers a dim light, but the light coming in around the curtains is almost as bright. On the wall is a huge poster of Darcy; it looks like he was caught on camera in a candid moment, and it’s sexy as fuck seeing his laughter immortalized in a poster.
Next to me, Darcy’s sleeping face peeks out from a cocoon of blankets that we’re not sharing. I have my own blanket wrappedaround me, and I love this for us—not all couples need to share blankets. Some of us like to burrito, and sharing precludes being able to do that. Not that we’re a couple. I’m just saying that since we’re sharing a bed for the first time, it’s nice to set the right precedent just in case a hookup turns into an extended sleepover.
Since he’s still asleep and I really need to pee, I slowly roll away from him toward the wall, where there’s another table on my side of the bed and a cuck-chair upon which rests a set of crutches. I carefully ease into a sitting position and take stock of my situation.
Missing foot: check.
Missing implant: also check.
I was hoping that part was a nightmare.
Tears well up again, and I don’t bother to hold them back as I reach for the crutches. On the plus side, I guess the skin has healed, and I’m not in any pain from the destruction of my walking apparatus. Not sure how that happened, but I’m guessing magic.
I use a crutch to help me get up, and then I crutch hop my way to the door that looks like it probably leads to either a closet or a bathroom. I open it, and it’s the bathroom, so I hop inside, hitting the light before shutting the door. I take care of the bladder situation first, and then stare at a disgustingly dirty face in the mirror as I wash my hands. I guess that’s what sleeping in a dungeon will do to a person.
I know it’s superfluous to wash my hands and then have a shower, but I’m a grubby mess from head to toe and it makes me feel better.
“I wonder how he got me out.”
I never doubted that he would come for me. He made a very deliberate blood bond between us specifically so he could get to me—there’s no way he wasn’t coming for me. I just wish I’dbeen conscious for it, but I guess my injury was bad enough that I passed out, probably from blood loss or something like that. Shock maybe. A lot of things can go wrong when someone rips a metal rod out of what’s left of your tibia.
I’m not generally a violent person, but I really hope Darcy murdered whoever did this to me, because fuck that guy.
I carefully get into the shower before turning the water on. It’s cold as fuck for a minute, but eventually it warms up, and I let the heat of it wash over me. The shampoo smells like orange blossoms, and that helps soothe some of my frayed edges. I really fucking hate the loss of my limb, but as long as I can get home, I’ve got my old socket prosthetic in a storage locker in the basement that I can pull out. It’s not going to fit exactly right, and I’ll have to get used to it again, and I’ll need to make an appointment with my prosthetist…
A sharp cry of frustration erupts out of me at all the shit I have to get done before school starts in a couple weeks, and even if I can get in to my prosthetist immediately, it’s still going to take months to get the refit, and maybe they won’t even do a second implant because the bone might be too fragile after having the first one ripped out—
The door slams open and the curtain rips open, revealing Darcy’s sleep-lined face, wide-eyed and worried. He immediately scowls upon seeing me standing there with a hand braced on the tile. “I thought you fell,” he grouses and shoves the bikini briefs he’s wearing to the floor.
“I will never not love the sight of your cock,” I say, completely unwilling to move even an inch in the shower, because slipping and falling is an actual concern when you only have one leg and there isn’t a no slip pad on the floor of the shower. “But there’s no room for you in here.”
Darcy snorts and steps in behind me, pulling the curtain shut before his hands find my hips. “You’re on one leg and there isn’ta bar in this shower to hold onto. I’m not letting you stand in here on one leg all by yourself.”
His words hit me hard, and my tears start up again. I take a deep breath and let myself feel the loss. I give myself to the grief again, sobbing quietly and letting the water wash them down the drain. Darcy’s hold on me changes from a grip on my hips to a hug from behind, and that helps. The company helps.
“I’m sorry they took your leg. I didn’t realize what they’d done until after you’d escaped.” His voice rumbles through me and soothes a part of my grief, but mostly the words startle me.
I swallow to clear my throat and turn to look at him as best as I can. “What do you mean after I escaped?” I ask. “How did I escape?”
He raises his brows with a frown on his lovely face, gingerly helping me to turn to face him. “Do you remember how you escaped the dungeon?”
