Page 202 of Never Kiss a Fae
The inky thing roared back at him, clinging to me with sludgy claws that made me gag.
“Almost there,” Cyrus said, totally full of shit. I could feel how thick the thing in my skull was, and he hadn’t even sawed through half of it.
Cyrus yanked out so sharply that I gasped.
“I have it,” he said.
“No, you fucking don’t,” I rasped, hating him almost as much as that muck in my head. “It’s still there, id—”
A spiritual punch to the black wall left me winded, and a second had me curling into the fetal position. I wanted to demand him to stop, but he seemed hell-bent on whatever method he’d enlisted and he was drawing on so much of my energy that I couldn’t block him even if I wanted to.
My vision swam, the walls of our home blurring.
But I felt the crack splintering through my mind.
A whine came from inside, escaping through my throat, as Cyrus mentally beat the darkness to a pulp. Until it sputtered and sizzled and died in a pool of inky fluid that he sucked out of my spirit and sent to the floor beside me.
“Dark Fae magic,” he growled, spitting on the dying substance. “Whoever did this is playing with forbidden arts.”
Of a land none of our kind ever ventured into,I thought, unable to speak above my panting breaths.
“No wonder it felt like a fucking vampire,” Cyrus continued, his disgust evident. “Because that thing was created by one. And I think that thing in the death fields may have been a Dark Fae, or the spirit of one.”
What he said made sense.
Except I didn’t understand why.
Until suddenly I did.
Because my memories were finally free.
I sat up despite the ache in my skull and forced my mouth to function. “Mortus.” It came out croaky.
“He took you?”
I nodded, then shook my head, and then nodded again, trying to clear my throat.
“Yes, that clears everything up, brother. Thank you.” Cyrus, the perpetual smart-ass, handed me my spritemead. “Drink that. You make more sense while drunk.”
Jackass. I snatched the mug from his hand and gulped several swallows while he watched with a touch of impatience.
Right. Because one could just recover immediately after hours of mental torment and allowing another to use his energy.
I took another sip just to piss him off and smiled when he rolled his eyes.
“It was Mortus,” I clarified, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “But he’s being controlled.”
“By…?” Cyrus prompted, waving a hand.
“Ophelia.” I met his widening eyes. “Claire’s mother has turned Dark Fae, and it would appear that she’s very much alive.”
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice holding a hint of disbelief.
I dipped my chin in the affirmative. “Now that I can properly think again, I recognize the essence. It feels so much like Claire, but darker.”
“And she’s fixated on our little queen as well,” Cyrus added, his eyebrows lifting. “That’s why it holds similar properties to the plague, but different.”
“It would seem it’s all connected, yes.”
