Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [70]
“My lady,” began the other guard, but Claudia held up a hand. She closed her eyes, her expression pained.
“Is she unspelling it?” I whispered, hope rising in my chest.
Jonah shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
After a moment, she opened her eyes.
“There was a time when the fae were free to roam,” Claudia said. “Before magic was forbidden. When the world was green. The world is no longer green, and I am relegated to my tower. Those years have passed, and the fae hardly remember the shape of the green world. They become entangled in human drama just as you do. They believe they know how to survive. Am I no less to blame? The world moves slowly here, and on occasion I forget the meadow and the field.”
Without ceremony, she strode across the room to the guards, the gauzy fabric shushing against the stone with each step. She reached the first guard, the man, took his katana in hand, and before I could even grip the handle of my sword, she whipped it through the air.
A long red line of crimson appeared at the guard’s cheek.
“You have failed me,” she hoarsely said.
The scent of fae blood flowed across the room, and my eyes rolled back at the temptation of it. However much I might have enjoyed blood of the bagged and vampire varieties, the hunger they inspired was nothing compared to the scent—from across the room—of a few droplets of fairy blood.
My fangs descended. I struggled to retain control over my hunger, to avoid leaping across the room and jumping on the bleeding fairy for a snack. Thanks to Frank’s restrictions, I’d had barely any blood in the last few days, and my hunger roared back to life.
I squeezed my fingers around the hilt of my katana until my nails began to bite into my palm, confident that if I lost control, we’d lose the fairies . . . and possibly our lives.
“You defy your queen,” Claudia told him, “and you will bear the scar of it.”
She dropped the sword to the floor, where it bounced and clanked, steel against stone, and finally came to rest, a drop of crimson hanging from the finely honed edge.
Claudia moved to the female guard, pulled away her sword, and repeated the act, the air now doubly permeated with blood and magic.
I shivered in anticipation. “Jonah.”
“Merit,” he gritted out. “Hold it in.” But his voice was hoarse, and when I looked, I saw that his eyes were silver, as well.
Had no one known about this reaction? Had no one thought to warn us that if mercenary fairies bled—when violence was in their names—we’d be in trouble?
The second sword hit the ground, and both fairies stood bleeding, their queen before them, the instruments of her wrath on the ground.
“You, too, will bear the scar,” she said. “For refusing to remember that I and I alone am your queen, to whom you owe all fealty. You do not make decisions for the fae!”
Her words rose to a crescendo. The guards dropped to the floor as the power in the room rose.
I fought back the urge to cower, the hunger for blood too strong.
I took a step. That first step taken, the second, third, and fourth were easier, and I was nearly to the fairies and the scent was delectable . . .
“Merit! No!” Jonah called out my name, but I crossed the room so quickly the fairy had no time to react, only to struggle in my arms as I moved in for a bite.
I was there and at his throat, my teeth bared and ready to strike. And it wasn’t an insult or a threat or a risk to his life. It was flattery. A compliment to the blood that coursed through his veins, liquid gold in its worth . . . But Claudia would have none of it.
“Bloodletter!” she cried, and without warning, I was in the air and flying across the room. I hit the stone wall behind me with energy enough to force the air from my lungs—and the bloodlust from my body.
My head rung, my body aching, chest heaving with the effort of pulling in air. I put a hand on the floor and just managed to raise my head enough to see her striding toward me.
“You dare to seek the blood of the fae in my home? In my tower?”
Claudia was furious, her eyes black with