Page 46 of Blind Date with a Werewolf
She bowed her head. “A monster,” she told the werewolf, and was rewarded with a smile that displayed very white teeth. And she gave in. “I don’t know what he is other than fae.” She paused, and then whispered the awful part, the part she was ashamed of. “He feeds from me.”
Asil tilted his head so she knew he was listening. He didn’t say anything—probably because he judged she was likely to tell him more that way.
“He lets me escape sometimes,” she told him, knowing that it was true. “I think it’s because if he didn’t, I would have died a long time ago. It is hard to live without hope.” And didn’t that sound pathetic and helpless. She grimaced at herself.
“Feeds how? Like a vampire?” he asked when she didn’t say anything more.
She shook her head. “It isn’t…isn’t usually physical—though he does that sometimes, too. Drinks my blood, eats my flesh.”
The lines around her wrist suddenly lit from within, as if they had been inked with blue neon instead of blood. Her world stopped.
Did she really hear the creak of wood? Or did her imagination supply the sound of his feet on the front porch?
“He is here,” she told Asil.
She’d locked the main door of the house, but it didn’t surprise her when she heard the door open and shut. She heard him and felt him walk into the reception room. Her eyes held Asil’s as hands closed over her shoulders.
“Ruby, my Ruby,” her captor said. She’d always thought his voice beautiful, but compared to Asil’s it was thin and a little harsh. “I named her so because her price is above rubies,” he said conversationally. “Ruby, don’t be rude. Introduce me to your werewolf friend. Is this Alan?”
Wendigo, said Asil’s wolf.Wechuge. Jikininki. Preta. Hungry ghost.
None of those terms was precisely correct, Asil thought, but they weren’t wrong, either.
The fae who held Ruby was taller than Asil, but not large by modern standards. His face was chiseled and masculine—and looked to Asil’s cynical eye as if he’d tried a little too hard to resemble a star of the silver screen. There was a little too much Cary Grant in his jaw and Montgomery Clift in the mouth. He wasn’t as beautiful as Asil, even using magic.
Asil wasold, and he didn’t need any fairy ointment or special magic to see beneath a fae glamour.
Moth-eaten soul, Asil’s wolf said, which was as good a description as Asil could have given.
Addictions were terrible things, and immortal creatures were not immune. Ruby’s enemy had once been some kind of goblin, Asil thought, or maybe another lesser fae type. He could not be sure.
Some of the greater fae could feed upon others with no harm done to themselves—and perhaps if this one had stuck to feeding upon those lesser than he, he would have been safe. But though Ruby had been young and vulnerable when this creature had found her (because there were no blood ties between them), herpower was far greater than his. And that power had eaten away at him until there was not much of the original fae left.
As soon as the creature had touched Ruby’s skin, he had begun to feed, saturating himself with Ruby’s magic to fill the empty gaps where he had burned away his body and soul. There were other bits of foreign power that clung to the fae—but Asil could sense the deeper, older scraps of Ruby’s magic.
Asil was pretty sure he could kill the fae—as long as he did it before the creature absorbed very much of Ruby’s magic—though fae could be terrible foes.
But.
He flexed his hands lightly and consulted his wolf. Earlier today at Angus’s house, where he had so nearly lost control, so nearly slayed Angus’s second, he would never have considered this path. But in Ruby’s presence, his wolf had been healed, and with an able partner…
Yes, agreed the wolf.
“He’s not Alan,” said Ruby, answering her captor’s question, her voice taut, her eyes wild—though she did not struggle against the hold the fae had on her. “It doesn’t matter who he is. I will go with you if you leave him—leave all of my friends be.”
She was trying to protect him. His wolf all but purred—though he liked the idea of the fae touching Ruby no better than Asil did.
“No, I’m not Alan,” said Asil in pleasant tones that would have sent anyone who knew him running for cover. “You may call me Mr.Moreno.”
His last name was not well-known because he had used it for less than a century. His prey would not know he was the Moor—would not fear him properly.
Montgomery Clift’s famous lips smiled. “You may call me Mr.Smith.”
As soon as the fae had come into the room, so powerful in his magic, she had given up the foolish hope that Asil would be able to hold his own against her monster. She had forgotten how frightening, how powerful her master was. She focused on persuading the fae to leave everyone else alone.
So the words that came out of her mouth surprised her.
“His name is Ivory Jim,” Ruby told Asil, and winced as the fae clamped his fingers down with punishing strength.
