Page 137 of Brimstone
“Your mate . . .” he said, trailing off.
“Did you think about eating her?”
“No, I . . . I was more focused onkillingher, I’m afraid.”
“But you saw Lorreth, too, didn’t you? Did you try to killhim?”
A deep crease formed between Foley’s brows, as if he hadn’t even considered this. “No, I . . . didn’t. I remember thinking his scent was enticing, but . . . I didn’t think aboutfeedingfrom him.”
“And before then, when was the last time? When were you around someone and the hunger felt too strong to control?”
He thought long and hard. “Seven hundred years ago.”
“And did you eatthatperson?”
“No.”
“Gods alive, Foley. You’re so fucking . . . urgh!” Frustration transformed my words into a snarl. Quickly, before he could stop me, I sank my teeth into my wrist and made a small incision. He was up and out of his seat and clinging to the parapet rail before the first drop of my blood hit the table.
“Mercy! Gods!” he panted. “What are youdoing?” His eyes were full of fear.
“You aren’t new to this life anymore, Foley.” I didn’t get up. Between us, Guru sat quite comfortably, batting the feather quill that had fallen to the roof with his paw.Tap. Tap, tap.He jumped up and came running when he noticed the bead of blood that had dropped to the ground at my feet. Yowling, he looked up at me, as if asking for my permission;of coursethe strange little thing drank blood. “Go ahead, little prince,” I told him.
Foley’s tormented eyes nearly rolled back into his head as the cat began to lap.
“Seven hundred years ago, you were young. The thirst still had hold of you. You didn’t know how to control it. I hate to break it to you, but there are members of the Fae down there, in the town. I can scent them from here, which means youcertainlycan. You haven’t torn down there and laid waste to any of them, have you?”
“No,” he said breathlessly. “I haven’t.”
“There you are, then.”
He seemed to shatter out of nowhere, his fear getting the better of him. More tears fell, staining his pale skin with tributaries of blood. “How am I supposed to know? How am I supposed totrustmyself?”
“You’ll know that when you can walk across this roof and come sit back at this table with me.”
He eyed my blood, pooling on the table in front of me. I had created only a small wound, nothing that would pose me any real problems. The bleeding was already slowing. Soon it would stop altogether.
“Ican’t, Fisher! I—”
“Don’t look at it. Here. Look at this.” I reached into my pocket and took out the small wooden box I had been carrying.
Foley’s attention bounced from my blood to the box, my blood, the box, my blood . . . It settled on the box. “What is it?”
“It’s a box.”
“I canseethat,” he shot back. “But . . . what’sinsideit?”
I tapped the box’s lid. “Arealdemon,” I told him.
Foley spun around, facing out into the night. He interlaced his fingers behind his head, hissing in Old Fae. “Otariallan dyer mé.”
“No,” I said. “I’mnotkidding. Believe me, I wish I was, but I’m not.”
Slowly, Foley turned to look at the box over his shoulder. “Which one?” he asked.
“Joshin.”
“Which one is that? I can’t remember.”
