Page 71 of A Tongue so Sweet and Deadly

“You’ll wish you were still on the streets soon, halfling. You’re never getting out of here.” The Fae laughed as the heavy door slammed shut behind him.

She sprinted up to it and banged on the metal. “Please! No! Don’t leave me here!”

But he only laughed again, the sound barely distinguishable through the thick metal.

Lessia screamed until her throat was raw, her hands bleeding from slamming against the door, her eyes never finding something to focus on.

But the door didn’t open.

“Please!” she cried. “I need to get out!”

“Lessia.” Loche’s voice brushed her ear. “Breathe.”

Shaking her head, she tried to get free from the arms that wrapped around her, stumbling backward.

Other images flooded her mind: the creaking door opening, the ominous sound of something dragging on the floor, her backing into a wet corner, trying to hide with the rodents running over the damp stone floor.

“I can’t! Get me…” Her voice broke as the last of the air in her lungs left her, panic clawing its sharp talons into her chest.

“Lessia, you’re panicking. Breathe.” Loche’s arms settled around her chest again, his heart pounding against her back as he held her to him.

“Focus on my voice,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her neck.

As she weakly shook her head, the darkness around her seeped into her mind, and her knees buckled. Only Loche’s strong arms kept her from crashing down onto the floor.

You’re never getting out of here.

A cry left her lips at the truth of his words.

She might have left that cellar, but she’d never be free of the memories.

As unconsciousness threatened to take over, a loud crash sounded before her, a sliver of light trickling through as the doors burst open.

The last thing she saw before darkness swept her away was a flicker of silver.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

When she pried her eyes open, her throat felt like sandpaper. Thankfully, she found herself back in her brightly lit bedroom—every lantern she’d smuggled in kindled.

Lessia’s pulse was still heightened as she sat up, casting a quick glance around the room.

Merrick sat on a chair by the door between their rooms, his usually flowing hair tangled and his hands clenching and unclenching where they rested on his knees.

“That’s the second time I’ve carried you.” Merrick laced his fingers, leaning forward so his messy hair covered most of his face.

Her cheeks heated, but Lessia forced herself not to cast a snide remark in his face.

She cleared her throat and mumbled, “Thank you.”

Merrick let out a low hum as he rose to light a new lantern to replace one that was burning out. After placing it on the small bedstand, he returned to the chair, his dark boots firmly planted on the wooden floor, hands dragging down his face.

Lessia eyed him. “You’re not going to ask me what happened?”

When he lifted his head, her heart skipped a beat, but Merrick’s eyes remained cast down as he shook his head.

Frowning, she pushed off the blanket draped over her. “Why not? You must be reveling in this. You’ve found another way to threaten me—without using your magic and risk being exposed.”

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