Page 51 of Lunar Desires
She must be hidden by fae magic—presuming she was fae. Making her a powerful fae, if she could pull this off.
Man, this was confusing. How and why would Jonathon be here in Faerie? Especially in some far-flung corner.
“Heed this warning,” the fae said, her invisible self only few feet away from me judging by the fresh indents in the snow. “Do not come here in the flesh. For there will only be pain. I will suck the marrow from your bones and pick your sinew from my teeth. Before you die. Long before you die. There is only suffering here.” She moaned with what I perceived to be pleasure.
Unpleasant.
Why was she warning me when eating me sounded like pure joy?
“There is nothing here for you but death,” she reiterated. “Eventually.” She cackled again, her footsteps crunching away in the direction of the cottage.
“Who are you?” I finally asked.
The footsteps paused. “Ah. Such a delicious voice.”
The air seemed colder. “Answer me.”
“Have you no manners?”
Seriously? “Please.”
“Why would I tell you anything, Sweetvoice?”
My skin prickled with goosebumps. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll name you as I wish. You are hereby, Sweetvoice.MySweetvoice. One day we will meet. One day you will pay for prying, for ignoring my warning.”
And I’ll rip the spine from your body and beat you to death with it.“I only asked you a question.”
“One question too many,” she replied, the footsteps approaching me again. “It is done. I warned you.”
“You warned me not to come here,” I rebutted, “not about asking questions.”
Keeping her talking helped me unravel the veil draped across this place.
A cackle. “Do not cry over your mistake.”
“I’m not. You’re making it up as you go along.”
Apples. Apples. A frozen place. A dark place with a sky choked with gray clouds.
Humming in my skull, the threads unwinding.
What is this place,I repeated.
“I shall do as I wish,” the fae responded. “A nosey witch gets one warning, one chance.”
This is… This is…
“Not big on context, are you?” I countered.
“Amusing.” No cackle this time.
This is… This is…
“I will enjoy playing with you when we meet,” the fae said. “My Sweetvoice. My Sweetvoice. He comes to me against all odds, drawn like a moth to a flame. Here he shall burn, here he shall languish in pain. Here his blood will sate my greatest hunger. Here he will spend many a year of torture.”
“Years? Sounds horrible.”
