Page 107 of Blood of the Fairest

Oh, my god.

It takes a lot for me to hate someone, but I officially hate Malivant. I really, really hate him.

This powerful faerie could probably turn me into a toad or something, but I don't care.

"I'm never saying your fuckass name ever again," I snap. "Fuck having you as an ally, fuck your aid, and fuck you, too."

"I see your vocabulary is nearly as impressive as your gullibility. No matter. As alluring as your wrath may be, I have things to attend to before I might offer any aid."

Before I can cuss the faerie out any further, a blast of air makes me raise my hands protectively over my face.

A second later, I'm left swatting loose feathers out of the air and scowling at a now perfectly empty cage, Wrath long gone with the shadows.

26

Wulf

Half an hour has passed since we left another one of Ayna's many shrines on foot. We are well on the way to Ida's cottage south of Isenmere, yet Verena is still cursing about Malivant.

I know some of the vulgar words she uses. Others are admirably creative. Many more must come from her world, unfamiliar to me but steeped with vitriol.

"That lying, feather-brained, motherfucking weasel-dicked scruffy-looking nerf herder," she rants, blowing a strand of dark red hair out of her face.

When it only falls in her way again, Verena pauses on this thin path through misty green fields to unweave the rest of her hair from its braid. Tossing the freed dark scarlet over one shoulder, she marches on with renewed irritation, the skirt of her green dress swishing.

My attention fixes on the hypnotic sway of her hips as she covers ground with haste.

The Thirteenth Faerie called her wrath striking and refined.

To me, it is endearing.

I like knowing we are alike in this way, with slow but fierce tempers.

Yet I would not dare interrupt Verena's ire. Eris has already been unlucky enough to fall under her indignation.

"I did advise you not to trust that faerie," he reminds her from the reflection of my axe blade as I easily catch up to her. "And I did try to tell you how I've started to feel for⁠—"

"As if I'm mad about whatever feelings you think you're having," she cuts in with a scowl. "No, I'm mad because you had the gall to be relieved that asshat couldn't send me home. If you actually gave two shits about me, you wouldn't want me trapped in a world that's slowly shattering my soul, according to that creepy mirror."

The lost soul is quiet for a second. "Again, we don't know if that's the true meaning of your broken reflection. This world may be as safe for you as your own. Perhaps even safer, if your nightmares are any indication. Even Malivant noticed you suffered something in the past, wherever you came from."

Verena whips around to give his reflection a scathing glare.

"Don't say that name around me."

"Why not tell us what haunts you?" he presses.

"Sorry, only my true pals get to hear my sob story—but you were right. We're not pals, so I have no reason to tell you anything anymore."

He tries to protest, but she walks on, still swearing.

Once she is too far to hear us, I lift the axe to glance at the shiny surface Eris inhabits.

"Anger controls her tongue. Let it abate before reasoning with her."

He puffs out air, but nods. "I can more easily withstand Verena's anger than her silence. At least she's not ignoring me again."

"And at least she remains in this world," I say, tracking her progress ahead through the thick mists plaguing this stretch of land near the Loomdark.