Page 162 of Taken By the Fae

“Are you—”

“I’ll be fine once we get the hell out of here.”

I nod, and Max steps forward and sways. I almost don’t catch him, and then struggle to keep us both upright. “Easy,” I murmur. “I don’t think you’re fine, Max.”

“You think?” he mutters, looking less than pleased to have me holding him up with his arm around my shoulder and mine around his waist.

“Sit down for a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute. They must know something’s going on by now.”

“Max,” I say firmly. “Sit. Down.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you this bossy with Tristan?”

“Yep. Now, sit.”

Sitting against the wall of lower cupboards, Max breathes in and coughs again. He wipes his mouth, and it comes away with blood. The sight turns my stomach, but I school my features.

“Lovely,” he grumbles.

“How did you get here?” I ask.

Max stares straight ahead. “They ambushed me a few days after you were taken. Bastards. We’ve been looking for you. Tristan…” Max’s voice trails off as his eyelids flutter again.

“Tristan, what?”

Nothing.

“Max,” I say in a sharp tone. My heart races as dread fills my chest. “Max, open your eyes.” I pat his cheek, but he doesn’t stir. “Max.” I slap his face.

His eyes fly open, and he grunts.

I exhale a desperate breath, grabbing his face and holding it in my hands. “Keep your damn eyes open,” I snap, fighting a wave of drowsiness from out of nowhere.

Max blinks a few times, then frowns as his face clears. No cuts or bruises, and while his clothing is still shredded in places, the skin underneath is smooth, uninjured.

I gape at him. “You just… fed on me.”

“Yeah.” He sounds just as surprised as me. He must’ve needed it so badly that it was an automatic response when I touched him. “Hey,” he says, reaching toward me. “You good?”

“I don’t know.” My brows tug together as my eyes lock with his. “Am I…human?”

When my eyes fill with tears, Max snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Nope. No time for that, blondie. We’ve got shit to do.”

I struggle to pull myself together, forcing deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. I can break down once we’re out of this place.

Centering myself, I hurry across the room and pull the shoes off the girl on the ground. She still doesn’t move—her chest is completely still. My stomach churns when I look at her face.I think I killed her. I should feel guilty—it should scare me that I don’t.

Max says nothing as I put the shoes on, and then we leave the room without looking back.

We make it halfway down the hall before the alarms sound again.

“Goody,” Max mutters, slowing to a halt to say, “Get ready to fight, blondie.”

My eyes widen and whip toward him as I struggle to catch my breath. “With what weapons?”

He lifts his fists. “Put ’em up. Channel that rage you felt when you busted into the room and saw them torturing me. Very touched by that, by the way.” He smirks at me.

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