Page 126 of A Dance With Fire
She liked that attention from him.
And she had no idea why.
“Put some fucking clothes on,” he growled suddenly. He was holding his spoon so hard, he bent the utensil and promptly dropped it into his bowl.
“I kind of like her like this.” Clay threw his arm around her shoulder, fingers brushing along her bare skin. There was a teasing note to his voice that Shula recognized right away. On her other side, Julius chortled a laugh.
Valerio’s lips pressed into a thin line. Uric’s eyes darted between the two Fae males, Clay and Ryker then back again. Like he was waiting for something, preparing for it.
Violence vibrated in the spaces between them. Ryker’s canines snapped in Clay’s direction, threatening and filled with rage.
Clay merely chuckled. “Why are you getting so pissed, Ryker? Something you have to say?” His fingers caressed Shula’s shoulder, and she didn’t push him away. In part because she was curious about why Ryker was so angry, and she wanted to see what he had to say.
“Yeah, Ryker?” Julius taunted between bites. “Why so pissed?”
Canines slapped together on a snarl that was aimed at the males on either side of her. His chair scraped back as he shot to his feet, shoving his bowl forward. A feral grumbling ripped from his throat before he turned and exited the room in hurried, hulking strides.
A door slammed. As soon as it did, their laughter followed, Clay’s arm dropped from her shoulder, and he chortled into his bowl.
Even Shula found herself slightly amused by his reaction, but also confused.
“What’s his problem?”
They responded to her question with more laughter.
“That prick. Five gold coins says he fesses up.” Julius slapped his hand down on the surface of the table.
Clay snorted. “He’s too fucking stubborn. Ten coins says he doesn’t.”
“What the hell are you all talking about?” Shula demanded.
But they didn’t give her any answers. If anything, her words sparked even more laughter.
Julius pointed at her with his spoon. “You’re beautiful,” he said, “but not very bright.”
* * *
Filomena tookdown Shula’s clothes, promising to launder them, then brought up a loose shirt and long skirt that fit Shula tight around the hips. The hem reached just below her calves, not quite touching her ankles. It didn’t matter that it didn’t fit. They were still clothes.
Dried and with her hair loose down her back, Shula sat on the tabletop, her long legs kicking out in front of her. A plate of chocolate cake, as promised, sat in her lap, half of the contents already gone. Shula sat alone and in contemplative silence. The others had long since gone to bathe and sleep to prepare for tomorrow and the talk they would all likely have.
Shula took the time to think. She hadn’t really processed everything The Seer had said, but with the bursting taste of chocolate on her tongue, she thought. Plotted.
As she understood it, because she was an Elemental, she had a direct connection to Mana, like a master vein or artery in the body that flowed blood, life, and soul through the universe. Everyone else was also interconnected in a small way. If the Emperor of Illyk managed to gather all six of the remaining Elementals, he could use them to cut off the life source of the entire Fae race.
Why now? Shula wondered. The war had been going on for years, decades. The Fae were all but extinct anyway, so what was the emperor’s purpose? Maybe they weren’t as extinct as she thought. She’d seen their numbers for herself traveling with the Resistance, meeting the King of the Seelie Court. She had seen the safe houses, stayed at Castle Aileach. What if there were even more and the Emperor of Illyk knew this?
Whatever his reasons, the Emperor of Illyk wanted to use Shula as a weapon. Which meant the Fae would never want to let her go. Not after what they’d learned.
It didn’t matter which way she turned; it seemed like Shula was meant to be a pawn in someone else’s game, even though she didn’t even want to be on the board.
Her future was clouded in uncertainty and fear.
She shoveled a bite of cake into her mouth before that fear could take root.
She’d lived with those things her whole life, had been molded from those negative emotions. She wouldn’t let it root her into a sense of helplessness now. Shewouldfind a way to get through this.
The Fae could call her what they wanted. Coward. Damaged. Traitor.
