Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Crymson
“We should call on Christian,” I say with a fearlessness in my voice that I don’t particularly feel as I stare up at the King of the Fae.
A warm rumbling laughter skims over his full lips, and his eyes shine with kind amusement before he finally replies, “No.”
“Christian will be able to help Seven. He’ll know what to do.” My arms fold with barely contained hostility. I’m holding back a tantrum my inner child would be oh-so-proud of but only barely.
Thorn places his quill down on his desk and pushes his fingers across his eyes as he takes a slow and contained breath.
“Every few days, a new vampire makes themselves at home here in my kingdom. Before you came here, do you know the last time a vampire was welcomed into my home, Crymson? Not in Aerin’s lifetime.
He’s never seen a vampire in this place until Seven.
And now just look what Delilah is doing to him!
” His big hand lifts with frustration as he gestures out his large bay window to the man lying lazily in the grass down below, picking white daisies into a small messy bouquet.
A beautiful vampire girl in a black ruffled dress sips pink lemonade through a straw from beneath her blackout umbrella and gives the Warrior a little smile when he hands her the flowers with pride.
“Well. That’s hardly my fault,” I murmur, unable to take my eyes off of the man down below as he starts skipping through the field to fetch more flamboyant florals.
When I glance back at Thorn, he’s simply arching a brow at my denial.
He’s right, I suppose.
Thorn has invited the enemy into his home. With minimal complaint, if I’m being honest. All because of me. All for me.
And Christian . . . my stomach tangles at the memory of the Blood Prince as he pushed me so easily away. A C is branded across his heart, and he placed me so thoughtlessly into the hands of his enemy anyways. Why do I still yearn for his touch when he so eagerly gave me away?
“Perhaps you’re right,” I whisper, and the words drop from my lips on a painful breath.
“I—I am?” Thorn stands from his chair, and he’s rounding the desk within seconds.
Starlight eyes search mine as his big hands slide up my arms.
He doesn’t give in. He doesn’t contradict his decision. But he is worried about me. Quietly worried.
“You feel . . . sad,” he says on a rumbling breath that kisses my lips.
Emotion pools in my chest, and I swallow it down, realizing quickly that he’s intently focused on my feelings far more than he’s ever cared about his own, probably.
The breath that fills my lungs is imposing and painful to accommodate, but I do.
I breathe in. I breathe out. I repeat the action until I feel like I can speak.
He waits. He holds me. He doesn’t pry, and he doesn’t say empty words to make me feel better.
“Take Seven to the gardens this evening. Just before sundown,” he instructs instead.
“Why?”
“I think you should test him. See what he’s capable of. In the sunlight.”
It’s quiet in my bedroom as I wait for the sun to drift a little further down to the horizon before waking Seven.
He rests peacefully in my bed. Thick heavy blankets cover his chest all the way up to his chin.
He’s the same but different. Delicately beautiful.
But darker now. Like all the hell in this screwed-up land is bleeding through his veins, staining his skin like jagged cracks along porcelain.
I’m so intently focused on him, only the sound of light tapping against the glass pulls me away from the beautifully broken man. Beady black eyes look up at me. The little creature ruffles its feathers at me as its head turns this way and that, assessing me through the thin glass of the window.
“I know it’s you,” I whisper.
My eyes narrow, and the little raven doesn’t say a single word back to my accusation.
What if I’m crazy? What if I’m just talking to birds now like a crazy person?
I make my way closer, and ever so slowly, I turn the old lock at the center of the window. The panes separate at the middle slowly as I push open the one on the left ever so slightly. Scattering wings flutter for a moment, and my heart leaps at the thought of the little bird soaring away from me.
But he doesn’t. He calms down, hopping forward little by little. Curious little eyes never leave mine. Warily, he watches me with every tiny hop. My heart thunders as he intently makes his way through the crack of the two windows.
He teeters there on the edge for several seconds on thin legs.
And then, heat overtakes the room in a wave of motion I can’t even see.
A shift of magic soars through me. I’m blown back into the end of the large bed behind me.
Window hinges cry and glass shatters as the windows burst wide open.
Seven stumbles quickly from the bed and is at my side in an instant, ready and waiting for whatever attack has just struck through the room.
Both of us stand numbly with our mouths open as we look through the cloud of dust and magic.
A giant of a man stands before us.
Completely naked.
“I fuckin’ missed you so much, Crymson,” Rorrick murmurs just before his big arms wrap fully around me, and he holds me against his chest like he’s never letting me go.
My lashes close softly against damp tears suddenly filling my eyes, and I cling to him too.
I melt into the strength and familiarity of his body.
He feels so good. He feels like home when I’ve never even had a home to call my own.
Strange when we barely had any time together in comparison to our time apart.
Soft footfalls sound through the room, and we separate just slightly but refuse to fully let go. I look back at the man standing in the doorway just to see Carver’s lean frame with cruel amusement shining in his bright eyes.
His smirk pulls into a dangerously sharp smile just as he says . . .
“Thorn’s going to be absolutely fucking furious, darling.