Page 17 of Cruelest Kiss and Fairest Blood (Tales So Wicked #2)

“Immortal rulers with entire populations hidden beneath the sea. Kingdoms where dragons rule the skies and scorch the earth. Dark lands where vampires take to the night, sustaining their youth with the blood of the beautiful. Even most of the ‘normal’ mortal realms have magical beings woven within. Some remain hidden, others use their abilities either to help and heal, or to curse and harm. Magic in its many forms is as unique as you.”

“Dragons and vampires?” My mind is racing.

Harrow gives me an exasperated sigh, tucking a strand of loose white hair behind my ear. “Is that all you heard?”

The gentleness of the touch brings heat to my cheeks. “Uh, yeah. It was kind of hard to hear anything else after that. Do you know those types of, er, people ?” I’m not sure if people is the right term.

“I’ve known a few. The dragons I’ve met have egos that are almost too big for their giant bodies. Vampires are temperamental on the best days but they’re loyal under the right circumstances. I prefer simple magic.” His words are way too nonchalant.

“How is it none of us regular people?—”

“You’re not a regular person, Roseheart,” Harrow interrupts. “You have the ability to resurrect animals. How long have you been able to do that?”

Drumming my fingers against my lap, I decide to ignore his question. I have no interest in reliving that horrible experience today or explaining it to anyone.

“When I say a regular person , you know what I mean. How come we’ve never stumbled upon a dragon guarding a treasure horde or a vampire flying through the night sky?”

Harrow chuckles lightly. “Magic, of course. The wards surrounding many of those places do their jobs exceptionally well. If you get too close and you don’t belong, you’ll suddenly feel the need to turn the other direction. Sometimes you’ll be physically unable to cross a border.”

That’s interesting. If what he says is true, we may have encountered magical lands multiple times but been too blinded by magic, or those wards, to see. “Where do you fit in with all of this?”

“Me? I can go where I please. I’m not bound by the same rules as mortals.

There are no wards to keep me out, only very specific spells.

But rest assured, I always find my way past those spells, and whoever is on the other end will suffer greatly when they reach my domain.

” Goosebumps run along my arms. I could swear the temperature drops around us.

He really is something else. It’s still so hard to imagine he’s the Prince of Death. I look him up and down. In these simple clothes, he seems so close to normal. “Where are your wings?”

I haven’t stopped thinking of those scars since I touched them. I want to ask him what happened, to tell him I understand what it’s like to carry those types of marks.

“Those are not for your eyes.” Shadows fall across his face.

“But I’ve touched them.” I spent all night trying to imagine what they looked like.

Just how big are they? The first time I saw him was such a blur.

All I know is that they’re black. That much is evident from the feathers that have appeared on my pillow so often.

But I want to see them up close. I want to touch them again.

“Consider yourself lucky. You’re the only mortal who ever has.”

“How did you get those scars?” An instant irrational fear takes hold of me. That he’ll ask me about my scar in return. It’s a silly worry. He doesn’t even know my scar exists. I decide to backtrack. “If you don’t want to tell me…”

“I made a mistake. A monumental error. I failed in my duties and in order to make it right, I had to ask for help from someone who never does anything for free. I wish it hadn’t been my wings, but there was nothing else they wanted.”

“Someone tore off your wings?” I can’t mask the horror in my voice.

He lowers his eyes. “Cut…”

The chill atop my skin sinks into my bones. Someone cut off his wings? A pit forms in my stomach. “What did they do to help you? What could have been important enough to give up your wings?”

Harrow sighs. “There’s a balance that must be kept between life and death.

I took souls outside of the natural order.

In doing so, I violated that balance. The repercussions were felt here in the mortal world where thousands of innocents suffered at the hands of those who should never have been allowed to step foot here again. ”

We sit quietly as his words sink in. The concepts he speaks of are so large. I’m fighting to wrap my brain around them, but it’s a struggle. I stare at his white shirt. His wings are missing. Does he feel the need to hide his scars as I hide mine?

“I’m sorry about your wings.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Don’t waste any of your human emotions worrying about me, Roseheart. I’m not worth it.”

I want to ask what he means by that, but a loud chirping draws my eye across the pasture. My animals have gathered and are patiently waiting for my attention.

“They’re always around, aren’t they?”

“Would you like to be introduced?” I offer.

“No.” I’m startled by the sharpness of his reply.

“You don’t like animals?”

He runs a hand through his hair again. Is it a nervous habit? “Animals don’t like me.”

“Maybe my animals, as you so fondly call them, are different. Come.”

I reach out for Harrow’s hand without thinking. The moment my fingers touch his, he snatches it back. The sting of rejection burns, matching the heat in my flaming cheeks.

“Sorry.” Harrow clears his throat, offering me back his hand.

I take it. This time, he doesn’t pull away.

I’m surprised his fingers are so firm. I’ve touched his wings, but I had still wondered for a moment if my touch would pass right through his hand, like a ghost. Touching him reaffirms that he’s real.

His skin is icy, but so soft. I pull in a surprised breath as Harrow slides his fingers between mine.

A hum of energy passes between us, as if channeled by our interlocked hands.

My heart beats faster than the wings of a ruby-throated hummingbird.

Giddiness spins through my center. I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning like a fool. Get it together, Lenore .

Pulling him behind me, we stroll through the pasture gates and to the small clearing where my furry friends reside. It’s grown warmer. The fresh scents of spring are laced into every bit of melted snow turned flowery dew drop.

Harrow tenses as we approach the animals. He expects them to scurry off in fear. They won’t. They trust me. “Relax.”

He does the opposite, his hand stiffening in my grip. “Relax, right.”

“Hello, everyone.” My greeting is met with cheerful chirps and yips. “I’d like to introduce you to Harrow.”

I can’t deny the wave of nervous energy that spills out from around the group. They must be able to tell that Harrow is different. Animals always seem to be able to sense things people can’t. They’re more sensitive in that way.

“Harrow, this is Snowflake and Snowpuff.” The twin rabbits sit together, their thick white fur rubbing against one another.

I found them trapped in a hunter’s snare, the likes of which was truly barbaric.

I’d thought only one was going to be able to be saved, the damage had been so severe, but both flickered back to life.

They’re inseparable and do appear to be actual twins.

“There’s Bitterman.” The black-furred otter is quite out of place here.

He was carried untold miles in the jaws of a traveling wolf pack before one of them dropped him.

I am particularly proud of his recovery.

He’d been almost severed in two. Now he enjoys the castle pond and its many fountains anytime he likes.

The pond is kept fully stocked with a variety of fish year-round so Bitterman never needs to worry about his next meal.

“Bundle and Lemon.” A small black and white woodpecker and sunny yellow finch flap their wings in acknowledgment. They were caught up in a terrible storm that resulted in them both passing from terror and exhaustion.

A doe and fawn step into the clearing. “Oh, there’s Miriam and Zinnia.

” Birth is challenging in the animal world.

They have no doctors to intervene when things go wrong.

I followed Miriam’s cries and got to her just as the light left her sorrowful eyes.

I was able to bring both her, and her stillborn fawn, Zinnia, back.

Seeing them together brings me such joy.

“Floppy, the carrot thief.” The massive russet rabbit bounds our way.

He took one too many carrots from a local farmer and ended up on the wrong end of a rifle.

He was being offered to our cook when I spotted him, barely clinging to his soul.

My need for a midnight snack served me well that night.

Otherwise, I would have been tucked in bed instead of seeking something sweet.

I snatched him up, rushed from the kitchens, and brought him back.

“And little Sweetpea.” The curious fox took an unforgiving bite of a rat who had recently ingested a hunk of poison-laced cheese. I loathe the inhumane traps that sit in the darkened corners of the castle. She suffered for hours before I found her, collapsed, at the edge of the forest.

The last of the current group of onlooking animals is one of my favorites.

The tiny brown creature rushes up to me, rooting beneath the edge of my skirt where he loves to hide and play.

He was doomed to end up a scarf on the fat neck of some pompous earl’s wife.

I hate to see real fur used in fashion. Animals are living, breathing creatures, not accessories.

“Lastly, we have Beazel the Weasel.”

“Beazel the Weasel? What a horrid name.” Harrow grimaces.

My mouth pops open at the judgy remark. “And what would you choose to call a northern brown weasel?”

Harrow’s lips purse in concentration. “Furry Sausage Rat.”

A bark of laughter slips out, startling several of the nearby animals. “Oh, sorry,” I apologize, lowering myself to settle onto the ground. “That is a vile name.”

Harrow grins. “Perhaps the animals keep away from me for a good reason.”

“Fear of being named something horrendous?” I smile back.

Harrow peers down at me, sending a flush rushing up my neck.

I avert my gaze, choosing to give Sweetpea a scratch behind the ear.

Harrow joins me on the ground, stretching his legs out and propping himself on his elbows.

He looks so casual, so normal from this angle.

Head-on, it becomes evident he’s something that does not belong here.

His face is remarkably lovely. All hard lines and icy beauty.

Those liquid silver eyes are both angelic and damning all at once.

“How many have you brought back?” Harrow extends a cautious hand toward Miriam. The gentle doe takes a step back, but her fawn steps forward, giving Harrow a curious sniff before retreating to the safety of her mother’s legs.

“Not as many as I wish. A few dozen, maybe more.”

“A few dozen? And you’re being hard on yourself?

” He shakes his head, causing a pale blond strand to fall across his eyes.

With his hair in his face, he has an almost boyish charm to him.

“That’s remarkable. You’ve managed to keep an entire silver garden full of creatures out of my domain.

I doubt they’ll ever cross over now. Too bad.

Animals quite enjoy the gardens of the Underworld. ”

“Your domain. Right. The Underworld .” I rethink what he said. “The Underworld is filled with gardens?” The question sounds mad leaving my lips.

“You were picturing fire and brimstone?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, yes. Fire and torture and smoke. The usual.”

“There’s bit of that too.” He smirks.

“You’re really Ruler of the Underworld?”

“I’m really Ruler of the Underworld.”

I chew on my lip, thinking it over for the thousandth time. “Can you prove it?”