Verena #2
"How pathetically you coddle her," Malivant mutters, making me tense when I realize he's directly behind me. "She is well enough, all thanks to my aid."
I take a calming breath to work through the rest of this fear. It's hard not to gag at the scents of blood, burnt flesh, and smoke.
I manage to keep my voice from shaking, but it's raspy. "Mind freeing my wrists?"
Warmth moves closer to my back. Something—oh, my god, I think that's a claw—slides through the ropes before they fall away and I can move my hands again.
Still, I keep my eyes shut, fighting a shiver. This faerie just slaughtered eleven dangerous men with ease. He might be deluded enough to expect a thank you for that, but I just want him to go. I want to get out of these woods, check on Snow White and the others, and…
I want another big bear hug from the Huntsman.
There, I said it.
And maybe it's wrong to want that, because the guy is magically pledged to me—but right now, I feel like that's the only thing that's going to soothe the too-familiar terror of being taken.
Something drags across the forest floor nearby, and then Malivant speaks again. This time, he's in front of me.
"Hold out your hands. Palms up."
"Uh…yeah, I'm gonna go with no. That won't be happening. If you could just tell me which direction to walk out of here, I'll keep my eyes shut so I never have to see you and—"
The faerie makes an annoyed sound, and I nearly leap out of my skin when a hand takes my wrist. A warm, human-feeling hand, as if he's just a man, even though I know he's not.
He guides my hand up until it comes in contact with what feels like the bottom of a warm metal bowl. My other hand goes up to support the considerable weight of it before his hand disappears from my wrist.
"There. Don't spill."
Spill?
Peeking open an eye, I immediately recoil hard, nearly sloshing blood out of the upside-down helmet I'm holding.
I'm so horrified that I start to look up—but I slam my eyelids shut again after glimpsing a massive shape in the darkness.
Whoa.
I knew he probably had wings thanks to all the red-tipped black feathers and the wings I've seen on other faerie statues and such, but holy shit. Those suckers are huge.
"Oh my god," I choke. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I don't want this! Take it back."
"One cannot refuse a gift from a faerie," Malivant scoffs, as if the idea is the most offensive and preposterous thing he's ever heard. "Isn't blood useful to your kind?"
My kind? I want to ask if he also thinks Reinhilde is a vampire, but Eris speaks again.
"If you drink it, you won't be in danger of falling ill before the festival. You won't have to feed on the Huntsman so soon, meaning he can recover further from last time."
That's very true and practical, but right now the idea of drinking out of a suspiciously warm helmet makes me want to projectile vomit all over the Faerie of Wrath.
I decide to get rid of him before I figure out what to do with the fucked-up…gift? Is that what it's supposed to be?
I shudder. "Okay, sure. It's useful. Now make like a tree and get out of here."
"Don't you mean leave? Surely, that's the pun," Eris points out, confused.
As usual, my pristine references are lost on these fairytale men.
"Did you just try to dismiss me?" Wrath asks, his tone darkening with warning. "When I have just made us even?"
Even?
"Wait. Back up. Do you think me accepting this helmet full of the B-word means all the shit you did to me is just water under the bridge? Because for the record, I absolutely do not forgive you—how could I even do that when you haven't apologized?" I add, irritation blooming in my chest.
"Why would I gift an apology?" Malivant asks, genuinely sounding miffed. "I've given my aid instead, when you sorely needed it. And I've given you blood. Surely, that makes us even."
An unqueenly snort escapes me. "Even, my ass. You sent the Huntsman to capture me, tortured me, lied to me, used me to escape, scared me half to—"
"What else could one such as you ask from me, in recompense?" he cuts in to demand. "Name it."
"Gee, I don't know," I drawl. "How about sending me home like you agreed to do in the first place?"
"You really are slow of wit. I won't repeat this again: I cannot, nor can the other faeries. Ask for something else."
I make a face at the sticky feel of the helmet in my hands. "If I ask for something, that probably means I'll have to be around you again when you deliver it, and that's a real quick no. So just scoot along, and I'll find my own damn way out of this—"
"Dismiss me one more fucking time, and I shall remind you what my wrath feels like."
His threat is underlined by a tingling chill sweeping through the air around me, the scent of smoke growing stronger.
I snap my mouth shut and stew silently, waiting for him to just take the hint and go.
Finally, Wrath makes another irritated sound. "Humans and their excessive nerve—fine. I shall learn what else you desire, so this can be over with."
Another powerful blast of wind washes over me, and then it's deathly quiet.
"Eris?" I hiss.
"He's gone."
Thank god.
I turn around before opening my eyes so I won't have to see what Wrath did to those bandits. Whatever happened while my eyes were shut, I'm pretty sure there's now a pile of something on fire, because warm light flickers behind me.
I stare at the dark blood in the metal helmet I'm holding, swallowing hard. All kinds of fruity scents mingle together in front of me like the most demented cocktail in existence. Despite the way my mouth is watering and the needy squeeze inside my painfully empty gut, I groan.
"I really don't want to drink this."
"Do it for me, please. You don't seem to realize how torturous it is to watch you starve yourself for your morals."
"It's not just my morals."
Eris's voice is gentle. "I know you detest gore.
I've inferred that it must be tied to whatever lurks in your past that you don't speak about.
But…Verena, there's a chance you may remain in this world a while longer, so you'll have to adjust. I need you to adjust, so you don't keep suffering.
It's only blood. Everyone makes more of it. "
Everyone but those dead bandits behind me.
I take a deep breath. "Damn it, I hate that you're practical."
"No, you hate that I'm right. Be swift drinking that, for the Loomdark is not safe to linger in."
He's right. I need to get a move on.
Taking a deep breath, I raise the helmet to my lips.