Ink Exchange
Page 58

And Niall stared at him, speechless, unsure of what answer he could offer that made any sense. He'd spent a long time not remembering the bond he'd shared with Irial, not longing for those years, and not admitting any of this each time he'd crossed paths with Irial. He realized now, though, that no matter how carefully he'd guarded his secrets, he'd been transparent to Irial. If the Dark King could read his emotions, could taste them, he'd known of Niall's weaknesses each time they'd met. I've been exposed to him the whole time. Irial didn't shame him for it. Instead he held out the same acceptance he'd offered centuries ago— and Niall didn't, couldn't, reply.
Irial said, "It's been a long time that you've been living for Keenan, paying back some perceived debt. We are what we are, Niall, neither as good or as evil as others paint us. And what we are doesn't change how truly we feel, only how free we are to follow those feelings."
Then he slipped away into the crowd, dancing with mortals as he went and looking every bit like he belonged there among them.
Chapter 28
It was evening when Leslie woke in her own room, wearing the same clothes she'd worn the night before. She'd slept for more than twelve hours, as if her body were fighting off a flu or hangover. She still didn't feel right. The skin around her tattoo felt tight, stretched too thin. It didn't burn, or itch, or anything that would make her suspect infection. If anything, it felt too good, as if extra nerves were throbbing there.
Downstairs she could hear cartoons. Ren laughed. Someone else coughed. Others spoke in low voices and broken sentences she couldn't quite understand. She started to feel the familiar panic, terror that she was here, that she had no clue which of the others were down there.
Idly she wondered when her father had last been home. She hadn't seen him. Someone would call if he died. She didn't worry over him as she had done for so long. I should. Panic started to choke her. Then it just vanished. She knew that she had changed, and that Irial, who'd caused that change, wasn't human.
Am I?
Whatever Irial had done, whatever Rabbit had done, whatever her friends had hidden from her … She wanted to feel angry. Objectively, she knew she should feel betrayed, feel despair—rage, even. She tried to summon those feelings, but only the shadows of them rose. The emotions weren't hers for more than a moment before they fled.
Then Ren was calling up the stairs in a strangled voice, "Leslie?"
With a calm that should have been impossible, she rolled out of bed and went to her door. She was unafraid. It was a remembered feeling, one she liked. After turning the locks—which someone had thrown—she walked to the top of the stairs. As she looked down, she saw him, Irial, standing there beside her brother.
"What are you doing here?" she said. Her voice was even, but she shivered. This emotion, excitement, didn't flee. Unlike the others, this one stayed and grew.
"Seeing you." He held out a hand. "Assuring that you are well."
Ren stood beside Irial, trying to get his attention. "Umm, you need … anything? Anything at all?"
"Careful," Irial murmured, unmindful of everyone but her. His hands were on her h*ps then.
How did he get up the stairs so quickly?
"Don't. Please?" She wished she didn't feel so comforted that he was here, wished she were sure what she was asking when she repeated, "Please?"
"I'm not here to hurt you, a ghrá." He stepped backward, not looking as he walked down the stairs, not removing his hands from her hips, either.
"You didn't lie, did you?"
"We don't."
Leslie stared at Irial. "Who are you? What are you?"
He held her gaze, and for an unreal moment she thought she saw shadows clinging to his skin like dark wings. Her body tingled all over, and she was sure that innumerable tiny mouths touched her skin all at once—soothing her, erasing everything but pleasure. She shivered against the sudden onset of cravings that made no sense. Her mouth was dry, her palms damp, her heart thundering in her head.
Without breaking her gaze, he said, "I'll take care of you, keep you from hurting or pain. You have my vow on this, Leslie. You'll never want anything again. Say the word, and it's yours. No more fear or pain. Just shadows of them, and I'll take them away. You won't have to feel them but for a moment. Look." He dropped his gaze to the air between them. A shadowy vine extended from his body to hers, coiling into her skin. She reached out as if she'd touch it; her hands brushed against the black feathers that curled from it like leaves. When she did, they both flinched.
"It's real. Whatever you did to me," she said.
"You wanted to be safe. You wanted to be without fear or pain. You have it." Irial didn't wait for her to move; he pulled her closer so she was leaning against him. He smelled like peat smoke, musty rooms full of sex and longing, sweet-strange and dizzying. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, breathing in the scent of him.
"I'll never leave you," Irial whispered. Then he turned to the assembled crowd. "If anyone ever touches her again—"
The dealer started, "When I … I didn't know she was your—"
Irial made a gesture. Two very scarred guys appeared out of the empty air. They stepped forward and took hold of the dealer.
He was one of them. Leslie's knees buckled. He … Her stomach burned as she tried to let that thought finish itself. The terror of the other people in the room, of the dealer who was crying out as he was led away—she felt that too, all of it at once. The lust of the mortals—mortals? — in the room, the want, the desperate need. She felt a tangle of emotions assailing her. Flashes of need, of terror, of aching—they flooded her body until she swayed.