Page 116 of Liar Witch
“Kier!”
Her voice calling my name is the last thing I hear before my head hits the ground.
Chapter Thirty
Valorean
The fucking bed is taunting me.
The sheets are pristine. Cleaner than anything else in the Heart of the ship. Barely a wrinkle on them. My mattress is soft, expensive, and there are more cushions than any man wants to admit to having.
All things considered, the bed is supposed to feel like heaven.
Thinking of lying on it makes me want to throw up.
My mouth is dry as I stand in my boxers, staring at it.
I have to sleep.
Every creature does.
I’m exhausted and a little drunk, both of which should help.
Yet the moment I lie down, I know the churning in my gut will get worse.
The most frustrating thing is that I know this is just in my stupid head. There’s no way anyone can get to me in this room. No hands are coming to rip me out of the covers and drag me away from my ship.
The Heart of theDeadwooddoesn’t have a fucking door for them to come through, and the last and only people who tried are dead.
I eye the box of fae dust sweets on the nightstand. I’ve already had one, but it’s not doing much. Two will knock me out, but then the ship might start to show the negative effects.
The last thing I want is to tip the others off that something is wrong when the cannons come loose and start rolling all over the deck.
Yet the more I stare at the sheets, the more my gut tightens and my jaw tenses.
“Valorean.”
The word is barely a whisper, but I hear it.
“Val, get your ass here now.”
I take a deep breath and back away from the bed. For a second, I have to resist the urge to get down on my knees and thank the Goddesses for the fucking witch.
“I know you can hear me, you asshole. I need your help and I can’t open the stupid door to call one of the others.”
That makes my eyebrows rise.
A rope curls down from the ceiling and lifts me through the floor until I’m standing in the hall outside her cabin.
Sure enough, the door is frozen solid.
Kier’s doing?
I assumed the chill I was feeling was them enjoying each other a little too much, but now I’m not too sure.
I step through and into a scene from a butcher’s shop.
The witch’s cabin—which was previously decked with pillows and throws and other soft, girly things I didn’t have a name for—has been turned into a slaughterhouse. Body parts are everywhere, and Nilsa is in the middle of them, on her knees, surrounded by a fluffy blanket of glittering snow.
