Fey Regency (Fey Lords #3)

37. Chapter 37

Chapter thirty-seven

M y head is spinning, and not just from being hurled through a portal. One minute I was tiptoeing anxiously into Llywelyn’s bathroom, and the next minute I’m…I’m, actually, where the fuck am I?

Quickly, I glance around. I’m in a graveyard. A neglected and overgrown one. At twilight. With the strange emo boy who claims to be a necromancer and a werewolf. Jamie is nowhere to be seen, so presumably that means he is still in the palace, safe and sound. Unlike me.

Just fucking fantastic. But wait a minute, I know this place. I slept in one of the crypts one night when it was pissing with rain. I’m not far from where I first met Emo Boy. I know exactly where I am. Oh my god. That is probably information I should keep to myself.

Slowly, I climb to my feet. It is ridiculously pleasing to discover that I am more or less the same height as Emo Boy.

He is staring at me calmly with his too-dark eyes. His tight black leather trousers are very striking, and he has paired them with an oversized black jumper. With sparkles in it. His shoulder length, coal black hair is so glossy it nearly gleams. He looks like he should be on stage, not yanking people through portals.

“What the fuck is happening?” I ask .

His dark eyes bore into me. “I’m rescuing you.”

What the actual fuck? This is too much. Far too much for my poor little brain to process. I can feel it seizing up in protest.

“I never meant for you to be taken as a sex slave,” says Emo Boy. “I assumed they’d kill you. Or that there was a slight chance you’d succeed.”

I stare at him while my mind struggles to catch up. Eventually I find some words.

“You were fine with sending me to my death?” That probably should hurt a lot more than it does. But I’ve always known that people suck.

He nods.

I inhale sharply. “But you feel guilty that I was claimed as a pet?”

He nods again, but slower. Less pronounced. As if he is reluctant to admit it.

“You think dying is better than being a sex slave?” I exclaim.

“Isn’t it?” he snaps.

I blink. Okay. That’s it. I’m officially too bewildered to continue this conversation. My gaze drifts around our surroundings again.

“Why a graveyard?” I ask weakly.

My would-be rescuer shrugs. “Consecrated ground. Iron railings all the way around. And a potential army of the dead, if I need one.”

I shudder. Fucking hell. He is deadly, excuse the pun, serious about this necromancer stuff, isn’t he? But since fairies have turned out to be real, he probably really can create zombies .

“All overkill, I’m sure,” he continues. “I don’t imagine the fey will bother to come after you.”

Indignation ignites within me. It is incandescent and potent. Burning through me with an intensity that is frightening.

“Tristan will come for me!” I seethe.

My heart flutters and my stomach flips all the way over. Tristan will come for me, won’t he? He…does like me, I think. Enough to look for me. At least, I bloody well hope so.

Emo Boy raises an eyebrow.

I suck in a deep breath. “Look, it is very kind of you to go to all this trouble. It really is. I very much appreciate it. But you can let me go. I’m fine.”

Emo Boy crosses his arms over his chest. “You like being a sex slave?”

“... Yes,” I stammer. How the hell am I going to explain that I love being Tristan’s pet, without sounding like a crazy person? “I…um… The food is great and the beds are soft. It is an easy gig.”

I cross my arms, just like he has, and glare back at him. This is awful. I’m being scrutinised and I’m having to think about my emotions, and defend them to a stranger. I’ve never been so flustered and uncomfortable.

“Stockholm syndrome,” he says.

“No, it is not!” I squeak in desperate outrage.

It isn’t, is it? No, it can’t be. Feelings are icky, but the ones I have for Tristan are genuine. I have to have faith in that. Damn this asshole for putting doubts in my head.

“It is not!” I protest again, this time with a little more confidence. “I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for your concern, but please let me go. ”

Emo Boy rolls his eyes. “Don’t even start sprouting that Stockholm syndrome nonsense. I’d much rather be home with my family than camping out here babysitting you. So don’t think you can also insult my ears.”

This little condescending shit. How fucking dare he.

“If you don’t want to be here, fucking leave. I don’t want to be here either!” I snap.

Dark eyes narrow and something itches along my skin as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I force a swallow down my suddenly tight throat. Yeah, I really shouldn’t forget that this dude is not really an emo boy. He is something much, much more.

“I’m doing the right thing,” he says softly but forcefully. “I am fixing my mistake. I’m not sending someone into sexual slavery and leaving them there.”

The intensity of his dark gaze is piercing through me. This guy has issues. And he is really, really serious. For fuck’s sake.

Frustration boils through me. This is so stupid. He doesn’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, yet here we both are. All because he has a bee in his bonnet and is a stubborn ass.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I huff grumpily.

“So many things!” he snaps back without missing a beat.

A surprised snort laugh escapes through my nose. This bastard. In any other circumstances, I’d like this asshole.

“Finished bitching?” he asks.

I glower and shrug. He turns sharply on his heels and walks over to a nearby crypt. He yanks open the door, and firelight seeps out. Oh stars, I am frigging freezing.

I hurry after him and find that he has somehow managed to make the crypt all cosy. There is a campfire in the middle of the stone floor, and two comfy looking makeshift beds. There are candles dotted about and the whole place has been swept and cleaned.

Numbly, I plonk myself on one of the beds. The heat from the fire is wonderful. I stare into the flames while Emo Boy adds another log.

Holy fucking stars. Reality is starting to sink in. This cannot be happening. We just got over the drama with Llywelyn. This is supposed to be a honeymoon period. Just my shitty luck to be thrown into another disaster without even a chance to catch my breath. Fuck my life. Seriously, the universe clearly hates me.

Suddenly, a thought hits me with the force of a truck. I sit up ramrod straight. Is this actually a new drama or merely a continuation of an existing shit-show?

“Is Llywelyn working with you?” I blurt.

Oh stars. The portal was in his bathroom, and he has it in for Tristan. It makes all sorts of sense.

Emo Boy shoots me a thoroughly disparaging look and pokes the fire aggressively. Yeah, like he is going to answer that.

I let out a strangled gasp as another thought hits me. Oh my god. No. It can’t be. Emo Boy here thinks he is saving me from the evil clutches of Tristan. That’s…that’s not what Llywelyn thinks, is it? He didn’t challenge Tristan for me in order to save me? So he could bring me to his bathroom and enable me to be whisked to safety through a portal?

No. No, no, no. I can’t believe that. I can’t. It would break me. And besides, it is far more likely that Llywelyn has always been out to get his brother. He was probably working with Emo Boy from the very beginning, back when I was getting roped into trying to assassinate Tristan. Actually, it was probably Llywelyn that gave Emo Boy the fey dagger. That is a far more likely theory.

Shit. It is still an awful one. What the hell am I going to do? More importantly, what the flip can I do? I’m stuck here in a flipping graveyard. Right now there is sod all that I am capable of. I have a horrible, sinking feeling that I’m completely helpless. I’m just a nisny. And a vessel, and that’s not at all useful when facing necromancers and fey princes. Oh my stars, please don’t tell me that I’m going to have to sit around like a helpless princess and wait to be rescued? Because that really sucks.

But it will work. Tristan will come for me. I know he will. I need to ignore all the dark doubts and insecurities clawing through my mind. I’m a tangled mess of low self-esteem and zero confidence. Like Emo Boy here, there are so many things wrong with me.

However, if I ignore that. If I search deep inside myself, I know the truth.

Tristan will come for me. He will. The truth of it is etched onto my bones. It is carved into my soul.

Tristan loves me. He will not let me go. He is coming. I just have to wait.

Then everything will be wonderful again.