Page 10 of Hellish Fae
My heart calms when I see her eerie features.
“Sister!” Corva says with a proud smile on her thin lips, and the sight of her alone makes happiness swells inside me, as well as uneasy apprehension.
It really is good to be home.
4
Bond of Sisters
“Thanks so much for sending the welcoming committee to get me,” I tell her, my arms still flat at my side thanks to my bindings, but I flash her a charming smile as if I’m quite the comfortable guest in her home.
“They are the brutish type, aren’t they?” Her smoky hair drifts around her face as she stares at me with frighteningly excited attention.
She wants something.
Corva always wants something. But I think exile does that to a person. She was exiled from our family centuries before I was. I used to think she was whiny and selfish for always sending whisper winds to our father, begging him for forgiveness. Now I see the green grass for what it truly is on the other side.
Dog shit. The green grass where my father lives is total dog shit.
The three brooding, but distractingly shirtless, men looming around us watch us like snakes about to strike . . . What dotheyhave to do with my cruel sister?
Dark fae are dangerous. But Corva, she’s a silent killer. The kind you have to play games with if you want to keep your life.
So I tread carefully.
“What is this place, Corva? Last father knew, you were living with a group of angry pixies along the Iris River.” My hand lifts in the least casual way from where it’s pinned at my side, and I skim my fingers along the carved wooden table that’s built right out of the floorboards.
She scoffs, but her smile is still wide. “Pixies are hardly any fun at all. Fallen angels, now those are fun.” Her haunting voice sends a shiver down my spine, and it seems to do the same to the tense men surrounding us.
“Seraphs,” Damien corrects. Because angels like titles. Even if he’s no longer a seraph. “She’s using us as well as helping us,” Damien answers without the mischievousness of my sister.
He gives away answers too freely.
He’s too trusting. Which must be why he and his friends are mixed up with a dangerous fae like Corva.
Because dark fae, they don’t give anything away for nothing.
“How is she helping you?” I turn to him and his sweet honey-colored eyes.
I’m already mourning him in a way.
Damien the Fallen. He was a good man. A kind man.
A stupid, stupid man.
It’s then that Damien’s sharing suddenly dries up. He glances to the woman behind me before shifting his gaze to Zav.
Neither of them answers me.
“She helps slow the demon process. Her magic and runes prevent us from fully becoming demons.” The rumbling words of mystery man number three throw me off guard. For a moment, I stare dumbfounded at him.
He’s massive. All rolling muscles and smooth planes. Intimidating, but something about him isn’t frightening. Not the scarring runes that line the center of his chest, nor the darkness that clouds his pale green eyes, nor even the stark leathery wings that shadow him from his wide shoulders.
Perhaps it’s because of that sinful smirk that’s tilting his lips as he studies me the way I’m studying him.
“You do realize, you look like something a demon shit out the morning after a hellacious hangover?” I say.
Like you’re one to talk, Catherine whispers.
