Page 7 of The Stones for It
Kelsea
“Nessie’s tits,” I hissed.
Sheathing my knife, I stepped closer to the gargoyle for a better look under the bobbing orbs illuminating the dusky jungle.
Neiron let out a low whine behind me. “Vrath?”
The stony male grunted, crimson gaze dropping to the silvery blade lodged in his chest. It looked closer to a metal spike than an actual dagger and glinted dully under the drifting lights.
Somehow, the bitter Selected had hidden that shard in hisunderwear. I didn’t know whether to be appalled or amazed.
It sank dangerously close to where Vrath’s heart must be, but no hint of panic or pain crossed his hard features.
You’d have thought he’d spotted a piece of lint or loose thread for all the emotion he showed. That level of pain tolerance was borne from a lifetime of casual violence, and was part of the reason gargoyles were so feared.
That, and their king was said to be a vicious brute, responsible for countless human deaths during the Great War. He ruled his court of warriors with a ruthless control and unquestioned dominance. Every fae court had a more powerful royal line, but rumours of the Gargoyle King went beyond the norm.
“I’m fine, Neiron.” Vrath shrugged his leathery wings with a faint rustle.
The kitsune stepped past me, reaching for the tiny blade. He jerked back with a hiss the second he touched it. “It’s iron.”
“I’m aware.” Vrath scoffed.
“Where the fuck would a Shua’than get iron in the Night Forest?” His confusion melted as he rubbed his palms together. “Oh goodie, some naughty boys and girls must be trying to sabotage the Council’s plans.”
My mind raced as I thought through what that could mean, but there was a more pressing issue—iron was poisonous to the fae.
I stepped up to the gargoyle, ignoring the way he loomed over me with a crimson glare.
I shot him a sugary sweet smile.
And yanked the blade out.
A low grunt spilled free, along with a healthy rush of blood from his wounded chest. He eyed the damage, then met my gaze with a flat look. “Ouch.”
The bastard sounded more sarcastic than anything. He really must be made of stone for all the emotion he was capable of expressing.
Few people associated soldiering with a classroom, but I’d spent long hours being lectured on the fae. Iron hurt like throwing acid onto an open wound. It infected their bloodstream, pumping weakness around the body.
Even though I’d hurried to pull the blade out, he’d been stabbed near the heart—if the statue even had one. The iron would have spread fast.
“You’re welcome.” I pursed my lips into a bratty pout, and an idiotic part of me noted that his attention dropped to them.
Draconic eyes narrowed as they leapt back to mine. “I didn’t need your help,human.”
“Aye, so you were letting the iron poison you for funsies?”
“I was hoping it would knock me out so I wouldn’t have to listen to your inane mortal drivel.”
“Drivel?” A huffed laugh escaped me. “At least when you were perched on a rooftop, only the pigeons had to listen to your bullshit.”
“Humans and your silly myths.” With a wave of his hand, his stunning obsidian sword melted into a swirl of shadows.
“Wow.” I immediately regretted the awed sound.
The bastard didn’t deserve admiration, even if his magic had me salivating.
“You think that’s impressive? You should see his broadsword,” Neiron whisper-shouted.
