Page 66 of The Wishing Game

"Right. Well, thank you for saving me from that demon," I reluctantly offer. No matter how odd his behavior might be, hedidsave my life.

"As you should," he replies smoothly.

I stare at him unblinkingly. He stares back, his expression puzzled. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes dipping from my face to my neck.

"You're bleeding," he states blankly.

Bringing my hand to my neck, I feel the wetness coat my fingers, together with particles of glitter. Although it doesn't hurt too much, there's quite a bit of blood.

He crouches in front of me, his shrewd eyes inspecting my wound. He looks at it from every angle, pursing his lips. Before I realize what he means to do, he pulls on the hem of my gown, ripping out two strips of material. Using the first one, he dabs at my neck, cleaning the wound. But he soon realizes that some of the glitter is not coming off, remaining stuck to my skin. The microparticles are abrasive enough that every time he wipes the fabric over my neck, I wince in pain.

"You're in pain," he observes, his tone clinical.

I force a smile. "It's the glitter. It's scratching my skin when you dab at it."

He considers my words for a moment before he nods to himself. Removing the fabric from my neck, he brings it to his lips and spits on it.

He...

My eyes are the size of two saucers as I watch in shock as he spits a couple more times on the cloth before he dabs it over my wounds again. The moisture from his saliva helps with the glitter particles, but I'm still processing the fact that hespaton it.

He works nimbly, cleaning my wound as best as he can before using the other strip of material to tie it around my neck in two layers.

Pleased with the result, he gets up, proceeding to ignore me.

I'm still frozen to the spot, staring at a blank spot while he's already curiously inspecting the rest of the room, as if he didn't just...

"You spat on me," I say in a low voice when my shock starts to wear off.

He half turns, raising an eyebrow at me.

"You spat on me," I repeat. "On my wound. You..."

"Yes. I am still awaiting your gratitude," he says smoothly.

My mouth hangs open. I didn't think I could be more shocked, but there it goes.

"You what?" My voice goes up in outrage.

"I shared my precious healing saliva with you, human. You should bemorethan grateful that I would deign to do so," he continues, and with every word, he manages to render me even more speechless than before. "Others would prostrate themselves at my feet for such an honor."

"Prostrate at your feet?" I repeat numbly. Just who the hell does he think he is? Yet even as I ask myself that, the previously pulsing pain stops. I reach for my ankle, feeling for the tender spot from before, only to find that there's nothing there.

Yet before I can say anything else, or before he can insult me some more, the door to the dressing room opens. Thea and Cer stride in, both looking perfectly fine. Thea is once more wearing the blue dress from before. But as they see the new guest, they both stop in their tracks, unable to hide their surprise. At least Thea, who gasps audibly. Cer is more subtle in his reaction.

"Ze!" Thea bursts out, dashing toward him. He immediately extends his arm to stop her just as Cer grabs her arm and drags her back.

"What are you doing here?" Cer asks, and somehow he doesn't seem too pleased about Ze's presence.

"I was in the vicinity and I realized you might need help," Ze haughtily professes.

"You can't be here, Ze. You know that," Cer says through gritted teeth. "Not when there's a war brewing."

War? What war?

I look from one side to the other, confused about their exchange.

"Aethon took over for me," Ze shrugs. "He can handle it until I come back."

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