Shadowfever
Page 145
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
What the fuck, Mac? What the fuck? He keeps saying, over and over. His eyes are wild, his face white, his lips thin. What were you thinking coming down here without me? Idve brought you if I thought youd be so stupid. Dont do this to me! You cant fucking do this to me!
I look up at him. Shades of Bluebeard, I muse dreamily. I opened the door on his slaughtered wives. My mouth wont shape words. I want to know how the child is still alive. I feel numb. Hes your son, isnt he?
He doesnt answer me. He stares at me as if memorizing my face. I see something move deep in his eyes.
I should have made love to this man. I was always afraid to be tender. Im bemused by my own idiocy.
He flinches.
Dont you think for a fucking minute you can put all that in your eyes, then die. Thats bullshit. Im not doing this again.
Got any Unseelie? I half-expect him to race aboveground to hunt one and bring it back. But I dont have that much time and I know it.
Im not good, Mac. Never have been.
Whattrue-confession time? my eyes tease. Dont need it.
I want what I want and I take it.
Is he warning me? What could he possibly threaten me with now?
Theres nothing I cant live with. Only things I wont live without.
He stares at my neck, and I know its a mess from the look in his eyes. Savaged and shredded. I dont know how Im still breathing, why Im not dead. I think I cant talk because I no longer have intact vocal cords.
He touches my neck. Well, at least I think he does. I see his hand beneath my chin. I cant feel anything. Is he trying to rearrange my internal parts like I once did to his, in the early-morning sun on the edge of a cliff, as if I could put him back together by sheer force of will?
His eyes narrow and his brows draw together. He closes his eyes, opens them again, and frowns. He shifts me in his arms and studies me from a different angle, glancing between my face and neck. Comprehension smooths his brow, and his lips twist in the ghastly smile people give you right before they tell you they have good news and bad newsand the bad news is really bad. When you were in Faery, did you ever eat or drink anything, Mac?
Vlane, I say silently. Drinks on beach.
Did they make you sick?
No.
Did you drink anything at any time that made you feel like your guts were being ripped out? Youd want to die. From what I hear, it would have lasted about a day.
I think a moment. The rape, I finally say. He gave me something. The one I couldnt see. I felt pain for a long time. Thought it was from the princes being inside me.
His nostrils flare, and whenhe tries to speak, only a deep rattle comes out. He tries twice more before he gets it right. They would have left you like that forever. Im going to slice them into tiny pieces and feed them to one another. Slowly. Over centuries. His voice is as calm as a sociopaths.
What are you saying?
I wondered. You smelled different afterward. I knew theyd done something. But you didnt smell like the Rhymer. You were like him but different. I had to wait and see.
Staring up at him, I take a fresh mental assessment of myself. I am beginning to feel my neck again. It burns like hell. But I can swallow.
Not dying?
They must have been afraid theyd kill you with their He looks away, muscles working in his jaw. An eternity of hell. You would have been Pri-ya forever. His face is tight with fury.
What did they do to me? I demand.
He resumes walking, carries me through room after room, finally stopping in a chamber nearly identical to the rear seating cozy in BB&B: rugs, lamps, chesterfield, fluffy throws. Only the fireplace is different: enormous, with a stone hearth a man can stand in. Gas logs. No wood smoke seeping out somewhere to give him away.
He props pillows against the arm and places me gently on the sofa. He moves to the fireplace and turns it on.
The Fae have an elixir that prolongs life.
They gave it to me.
He nods.
Is that what happened to you?
I said prolongs. Not turns you into a nine-foot-tall horned insane monster. He watches my neck. Youre healing. Your wounds are closing. I know a man that was given this elixir. Four thousand years ago. He smells different, too. As long as the Rhymer is never stabbed by the spear or sword, he lives, un-aging. He can only be killed in the ways a Fae can be killed.
I stare up at him. Im immortal? I can move my arms again. I touch my neck. I feel thick ridges as the skin fuses back together. Its like when I ate Unseelie. Im healing beneath my hands. I feel things crunching, moving in my neck, growing new and strong.
Think of it as long-lived and hard to kill.
Four thousand years long-lived? I stare at him blankly. I dont want to live four thousand years. I think about that Unseelie, badly mutilated, left in my back alley. Immortality is terrifying. I just want my small lifetime. I cant even conceive of four thousand years. I dont want to live forever. Life is hard. Eighty or a hundred years would be just perfect. Thats all I ever wanted.
You might want to seriously reconsider carrying that spear. In fact, I may decide to destroy it. And the sword. He unbuckles the holster from my shoulder and throws it to the floor, near the fireplace.
I look up at him. Shades of Bluebeard, I muse dreamily. I opened the door on his slaughtered wives. My mouth wont shape words. I want to know how the child is still alive. I feel numb. Hes your son, isnt he?
He doesnt answer me. He stares at me as if memorizing my face. I see something move deep in his eyes.
I should have made love to this man. I was always afraid to be tender. Im bemused by my own idiocy.
He flinches.
Dont you think for a fucking minute you can put all that in your eyes, then die. Thats bullshit. Im not doing this again.
Got any Unseelie? I half-expect him to race aboveground to hunt one and bring it back. But I dont have that much time and I know it.
Im not good, Mac. Never have been.
Whattrue-confession time? my eyes tease. Dont need it.
I want what I want and I take it.
Is he warning me? What could he possibly threaten me with now?
Theres nothing I cant live with. Only things I wont live without.
He stares at my neck, and I know its a mess from the look in his eyes. Savaged and shredded. I dont know how Im still breathing, why Im not dead. I think I cant talk because I no longer have intact vocal cords.
He touches my neck. Well, at least I think he does. I see his hand beneath my chin. I cant feel anything. Is he trying to rearrange my internal parts like I once did to his, in the early-morning sun on the edge of a cliff, as if I could put him back together by sheer force of will?
His eyes narrow and his brows draw together. He closes his eyes, opens them again, and frowns. He shifts me in his arms and studies me from a different angle, glancing between my face and neck. Comprehension smooths his brow, and his lips twist in the ghastly smile people give you right before they tell you they have good news and bad newsand the bad news is really bad. When you were in Faery, did you ever eat or drink anything, Mac?
Vlane, I say silently. Drinks on beach.
Did they make you sick?
No.
Did you drink anything at any time that made you feel like your guts were being ripped out? Youd want to die. From what I hear, it would have lasted about a day.
I think a moment. The rape, I finally say. He gave me something. The one I couldnt see. I felt pain for a long time. Thought it was from the princes being inside me.
His nostrils flare, and whenhe tries to speak, only a deep rattle comes out. He tries twice more before he gets it right. They would have left you like that forever. Im going to slice them into tiny pieces and feed them to one another. Slowly. Over centuries. His voice is as calm as a sociopaths.
What are you saying?
I wondered. You smelled different afterward. I knew theyd done something. But you didnt smell like the Rhymer. You were like him but different. I had to wait and see.
Staring up at him, I take a fresh mental assessment of myself. I am beginning to feel my neck again. It burns like hell. But I can swallow.
Not dying?
They must have been afraid theyd kill you with their He looks away, muscles working in his jaw. An eternity of hell. You would have been Pri-ya forever. His face is tight with fury.
What did they do to me? I demand.
He resumes walking, carries me through room after room, finally stopping in a chamber nearly identical to the rear seating cozy in BB&B: rugs, lamps, chesterfield, fluffy throws. Only the fireplace is different: enormous, with a stone hearth a man can stand in. Gas logs. No wood smoke seeping out somewhere to give him away.
He props pillows against the arm and places me gently on the sofa. He moves to the fireplace and turns it on.
The Fae have an elixir that prolongs life.
They gave it to me.
He nods.
Is that what happened to you?
I said prolongs. Not turns you into a nine-foot-tall horned insane monster. He watches my neck. Youre healing. Your wounds are closing. I know a man that was given this elixir. Four thousand years ago. He smells different, too. As long as the Rhymer is never stabbed by the spear or sword, he lives, un-aging. He can only be killed in the ways a Fae can be killed.
I stare up at him. Im immortal? I can move my arms again. I touch my neck. I feel thick ridges as the skin fuses back together. Its like when I ate Unseelie. Im healing beneath my hands. I feel things crunching, moving in my neck, growing new and strong.
Think of it as long-lived and hard to kill.
Four thousand years long-lived? I stare at him blankly. I dont want to live four thousand years. I think about that Unseelie, badly mutilated, left in my back alley. Immortality is terrifying. I just want my small lifetime. I cant even conceive of four thousand years. I dont want to live forever. Life is hard. Eighty or a hundred years would be just perfect. Thats all I ever wanted.
You might want to seriously reconsider carrying that spear. In fact, I may decide to destroy it. And the sword. He unbuckles the holster from my shoulder and throws it to the floor, near the fireplace.
