Queen of Shadows - Maas Sarah J. - Страница 68
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She didn’t want to know how Lorcan knew that. “Isn’t that all you pretty males are good for?” She looked him up and down, marking the many weapons both visible and concealed. Massive—as massive as Rowan and Aedion. And utterly unimpressed by her. “Did you kill all of them? There were only three by my count.”
“There were six of them, and one of those stone demons, you bitch, and you knew it.”
So he had found a way to kill one of the Wyrdhounds. Interesting—and good. “You know, I’m really rather tired of being called that. You’d think five centuries would give you enough time to come up with something more creative.”
“Come a little closer, and I’ll show you just what five centuries can do.”
“Why don’t I show you what happens when you whip my friends, you spineless prick?”
Violence danced across those brutal features. “Such a big mouth for someone without her fire tricks.”
“Such a big mouth for someone who needs to mind his surroundings.”
Rowan’s knife was angled along Lorcan’s throat before he could so much as blink.
She’d been wondering how long it would take him to find her. He’d probably awakened the moment she pushed back the covers. “Start talking,” Rowan ordered Lorcan.
Lorcan gripped his sword—a mighty, beautiful weapon that she had no doubt had ended many lives on killing fields in distant lands. “You don’t want to get into this fight right now.”
“Give me a good reason not to spill your blood,” Rowan said.
“If I die, Maeve will offer aid to the King of Adarlan against you.”
“Bullshit,” Aelin spat.
“Friends close but enemies closer, right?” Lorcan said.
Slowly, Rowan let go of him and stepped away. All three of them monitored every movement the others made, until Rowan was at Aelin’s side, his teeth bared at Lorcan. The aggression pouring off the Fae Prince was enough to make her jumpy.
“You made a fatal mistake,” Lorcan said to her, “the moment you showed my queen that vision of you with the key.” He flicked his black eyes to Rowan. “And you. You stupid fool. Allying yourself—binding yourself to a mortal queen. What will you do, Rowan, when she grows old and dies? What about when she looks old enough to be your mother? Will you still share her bed, still—”
“That’s enough,” Rowan said softly. She didn’t let one flicker of the emotions that shot through her show, didn’t dare to even think about them for fear Lorcan could smell them.
Lorcan just laughed. “You think you beat Maeve? She allowed you to walk out of Doranelle—both of you.”
Aelin yawned. “Honestly, Rowan, I don’t know how you put up with him for so many centuries. Five minutes and I’m bored to tears.”
“Watch yourself, girl,” Lorcan said. “Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a week, but someday you will trip up. And I’ll be waiting.”
“Really—you Fae males and your dramatic speeches.” She turned to walk away, a move she could make only because of the prince standing between them. But she looked back over her shoulder, dropping all pretense of amusement, of boredom. Let that killing calm rise close enough to the surface that she knew there was nothing human in her eyes as she said to Lorcan, “I will never forget, not for one moment, what you did to him that day in Doranelle. Your miserable existence is at the bottom of my priority list, but one day, Lorcan …” She smiled a little. “One day, I’ll come to claim that debt, too. Consider tonight a warning.”
Aelin had just unlocked the warehouse door when Rowan’s deep voice purred from behind, “Busy night, Princess?”
She hauled open the door, and the two of them slipped into the near-black warehouse, illuminated only by a lantern near the back stairs. She took her time locking the sliding door behind her. “Busy, but enjoyable.”
“You’re going to have to try a lot harder to sneak past me,” Rowan said, the words laced with a growl.
“You and Aedion are insufferable.” Thank the gods Lorcan hadn’t seen Aedion—hadn’t scented his heritage. “I was perfectly safe.” Lie. She hadn’t been sure whether Lorcan would even show up—or whether he would fall for her little trap.
Rowan poked her cheek gently, and pain rippled. “You’re lucky scraping you is all he did. The next time you sneak out to pick a fight with Lorcan, you will tell me beforehand.”
“I will do no such thing. It’s my damn business, and—”
“It’s not just your business, not anymore. You will take me along with you the next time.”
“The next time I sneak out,” she seethed, “if I catch you following me like some overprotective nursemaid, I will—”
“You’ll what?” He stepped up close enough to share breath with her, his fangs flashing.
In the light of the lantern, she could clearly see his eyes—and he could see hers as she silently said, I don’t know what I’ll do, you bastard, but I’ll make your life a living hell for it.
He snarled, and the sound stroked down her skin as she read the unspoken words in his eyes. Stop being stubborn. Is this some attempt to cling to your independence?
And so what if it is? she shot back. Just—let me do these things on my own.
“I can’t promise that,” he said, the dim light caressing his tan skin, the elegant tattoo.
She punched him in the bicep—hurting herself more than him. “Just because you’re older and stronger doesn’t mean you’re entitled to order me around.”
“It’s exactly because of those things that I can do whatever I please.”
She let out a high-pitched sound and went to pinch his side, and he grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly, dragging her a step closer to him. She tilted her head back to look at him.
For a moment, alone in that warehouse with nothing but the crates keeping them company, she allowed herself to take in his face, those green eyes, the strong jaw.
Immortal. Unyielding. Blooded with power.
“Brute.”
“Brat.”
She loosed a breathy laugh.
“Did you really lure Lorcan into a sewer with one of those creatures?”
“It was such an easy trap that I’m actually disappointed he fell for it.”
Rowan chuckled. “You never stop surprising me.”
“He hurt you. I’m never going to forgive that.”
“Plenty of people have hurt me. If you’re going to go after every one, you’ll have a busy life ahead of you.”
She didn’t smile. “What he said—about me getting old—”
“Don’t. Just—don’t start with that. Go to sleep.”
“What about you?”
He studied the warehouse door. “I wouldn’t put it past Lorcan to return the favor you dealt him tonight. He forgets and forgives even less easily than you do. Especially when someone threatens to cut off his manhood.”
“At least I said it would be a big mistake,” she said with a fiendish grin. “I was tempted to say ‘little.’”
Rowan laughed, his eyes dancing. “Then you definitely would have been dead.”
There were men screaming in the dungeons.
He knew because the demon had forced him to take a walk there, past every cell and rack.
He thought he might know some of the prisoners, but he couldn’t remember their names; he could never remember their names when the man on the throne ordered the demon to watch their interrogation. The demon was happy to oblige. Day after day after day.
The king never asked them any questions. Some of the men cried, some screamed, and some stayed silent. Defiant, even. Yesterday, one of them—young, handsome, familiar—had recognized him and begged. He’d begged for mercy, insisted he knew nothing, and wept.
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