Page 74 of A Sword of Ice
He didn’t move.
“What thefucccck?” she sang low. “Can I help you?”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he blinked, his eyes going that golden hue again and his smile grew even wider as he took her in. Like he knew some secret she didn’t.
“Okay, this is weird.” Iona stepped back from him, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stand on end. “What do you want?”
“I think the real question is, what doyouwant?” His voice was as eerie as him. With the musical lilt of an accent.
Iona didn’t always recognize the accents of the Seelie and Unseelie Courts, but his was… it was magical. Curling, low, with the slightest hint of dark seduction laced in between. His scent suddenly reached her, tickling her nose. Like something spicy with the slightest undercurrent of sweet she couldn’t place.
“What are you talking about?” She wondered if she should just punch him in the dick and be done with him for the day, but she couldn’t deny she was curious.
His long fingers spread out across the ledge, tapping a slow, recognizable rhythm. It was the one she pressed against her own thighs. Except, Weylyn seemed to be making a mockery of it.
“There’s a reason you joined the Resistance. Old and new.” His fingers stopped tapping and he cocked his head to the side, his long, black braid swaying with the breeze. “And it is not because you like to fight.”
Her blood went cold and her heart pounded up to her head, making her dizzy.
“There’s another reason, isn’t there? A selfish reason…”
“I don’t—”
“Know what I’m talking about?” He smirked and she wanted to punch his teeth in. “Lies. You see…” He shifted towards her, his fingers edging closer along the ledge. He invaded her space, his scent so strong she wanted to sneeze. “I knoweverythin—”
She didn’t let him get the rest out, because her arm was darting out, her knuckles colliding against his face so hard, she felt his teeth split her skin. The sting of it hurt and she jumped back, waving her hand in front of her and wincing.
Weylyn groaned as blood gushed from his nose and split lip. His hand rose to try and staunch the flow. “You—you broke my nose…” He sounded genuinely surprised by that, and maybe even a little proud. Like no one had ever dared do such a thing before. Perhaps they hadn’t.
“You deserved it. Now fuck off.”
He didn’t move but to cup his nose and try to stop the blood flow. His eyes were wide and staring at her with fascination. Or maybe he was contemplating her murder. She didn’t know and didn’t care.
He’d never get that far.
“What part of fuck off don’t you understand?” Magic responded inside her, cooling her blood, surging through her veins until she glowed like bright lights. Fingertips frosted over and snow began to swirl around them like an approaching storm.
Like ash.
Weylyn dragged his foot through a thin layer that frosted over the floor. He dropped his hand and blood dripped over it.
Blood. Ash. Sand. Marks through the ground. Screams for help.
Iona took a breath and it clouded in front of her. Her throat felt hoarse as if she’d been screaming, but she knew it was only because of the memory of that day. Of the burn of ashwood on her throat and tongue as she cried for her sister right before the blow came that would knock her unconscious.
“Fuck off, lapdog.” A voice cut through her memories, growling and as penetrative as the herbal scent that came from his body.
Ryker appeared next to her, giving her a side view of a glaring black eye. His arms were crossed against his chest as he glared at Weylyn, like he was daring him to say something that would give Ryker a reason to break his nose all over again.
Weylyn seemed to recognize the challenge in the other Fae’s gaze. He smirked and whirled, his long braid slapping against his back as he walked away.
Once he was gone, Ryker turned to Iona, his eyes flicking down to her hands and the split skin on the backs of her knuckles. He stared at her wounds and she stared at his. The twin black eyes and split lip he sported was the only evidence left of what he and Clay had done.
She wondered what it was like to heal others but never yourself. If it hurt as much as other wounds when he absorbed the scars.
“Let me take a look at that.” He nodded at her hand.
She fought the urge to cover it. “I’ll be fine.” Her fingers flexed as if to prove a point. She was Fae, and while Fae could heal faster than humans, that didn’t by any means make them immortal. They had longer life spans, better senses, and magic, but they still bled. They could still be hurt.
