Page 43 of Winter Queen
“It’s what you expect from the bad guy, don’t you,” he counters. “You want me to look like I’m enjoying all the evil things I do. My Mistress thinks that makes me even scarier and therefore more effective. I can stop smiling, if you wish.”
Immediately, his face goes blank, as if he’s never felt an emotion in his life – now that’s just creepy. Even his eyes are completely without expression.
I almost preferred if he smiled again. That makes him look slightly human at least. Now he looks like a zombie, except that he’s intelligent and very dangerous.
“You said the Morrigan sent you to bring me to her. What does she want with me?”
He shrugs. “A bargaining chip perhaps? Someone new to torture? Who knows.”
“He’s lying,” Arc whispers from behind me. “He knows exactly.”
I wish I had that ability. Back on Earth, I was able to tell if humans were lying, but I can’t do it with Guardians and Gods. I asked Arc to teach me, but apparently, it’s not magic as such, more like a seventh sense that tells him if people are truthful or not.
“Stop lying,” I tell the clone. “You’ve got one more chance before I give you to Arc to play with.”
Arc laughs cruelly, and even though I know it’s just for show – he hates using his mind powers for this purpose – it almost convinces me. The prisoner however looks at me blankly. I guess if he doesn’t have any emotions, he can’t feel fear either. Damn, that’s going to make things more difficult.
He sits up and stretches out his arms. “Do your worst.”
I sigh and step to one side to give Arc access.
“He’s all yours. Try to get as much information as possible before his brain gets fried.”
“Aye,” Arc grumbles and approaches the bars separating us from the prisoner. “Storm, open the door and hold him in place.”
I see Storm’s wind magic weave tight ropes around the clone’s arms and legs, fixing him in place. When he’s secured, the door springs open and Arc enters the cell. Even though the fake Crispin shouldn’t be able to move, I feel a twinge of fear for my Guardian. I quickly push it to one side though. Arc can handle himself.
My Scottish Guardian sits down opposite the clone and reaches forwards, putting a hand on the other man’s forehead. The prisoner flinches slightly, but then his eyes roll back and his lids flutter shut.
Arc closes his eyes as well as he dives into the clone’s mind, getting us the information we need. There’s nothing the rest of us can do but wait.
I take Crispin’s hand and he squeezes it tightly. His skin is damp and there’s a slight tremor to his touch.
“You can leave now,” I whisper. “We can do this without you.”
He shakes his head. “No, I want to be here. I need to see this. I need to know if there are more of us.”
“More of them,” I correct. “You’re nothing like him. You heard it, she took away all of his emotions. She saw that as your flaw, but it’s your biggest strength. You wouldn’t be the Crispin I know, the helpful, considerate, loving Crispin without feeling like you do.”
I reach up and press a kiss on his lips. Immediately, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer, leaning down a little to make it easier for me. Why are all my men so tall? Or is it me who’s too small? Either way, kissing is easier when we’re sitting or lying on the bed. But right now, there’s no other option, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
His lips are soft and gentle, and I don’t press him to be faster. It’s a slow kiss, full of reassurance. I’m telling him that he’s mine and that I love him, no matter his past and his connection to the monster behind us. In his kiss, there’s all the anxiety and worry he’s been feeling, and I try and take it away from him, slowly sucking it into myself, away from him. I intensify the kiss and he responds, opening his mouth a tiny bit and I playfully nudge his lips to open further. He groans, his chest vibrating against mine.
“Can you continue this later?” Frost jokes. “I think Arc is almost done.”
Despite wanting to continue, I end the kiss with one last flick of my tongue against his upper lip. I turn around, but Crispin doesn’t release me, simply continuing his hold on me, his hands now on my belly rather than on my back. I lean against his chest, enjoying his warmth.
It takes me a moment to find the resolve to look at the prisoner. Arc still has his hand on the man’s forehead, but the clone is no longer sitting up straight. No, he’s hanging in Storm’s bonds, probably unconscious. His face is contorted into a grimace of pain and I almost feel sorry for him… almost.
With a deep sigh, Arc opens his eyes and removes his hand before leaning back. His forehead is covered in tiny pearls of sweat and he looks exhausted.
“What did you find out?” I ask but he shakes his head.
“Let’s talk away from here. I need a wee dram.”
Chapter Thirteen
It turns out that Arc doesn’t just need a ‘wee dram’ – he ends up downing half a bottle of whisky. Once he wipes his mouth and puts the bottle back on the whisky shelf in the Palace Guards Office – I didn’t know this existed until moments ago – he sighs and begins to speak.
