Page 8 of Golden Queen (Idrigard #1)

The man I had just stabbed in the heart had pulled my attacker off me and killed him. He'd put a knife through his eye. I could see the ruined socket clearly in the lamplight from the white house behind me. And for his trouble, I had killed him. I put a mellitrium dagger in his heart.

"Fuck!" I hissed, echoing the curse he’d used when he was struggling to register what I had done to him. I ran a hand through my hair, belatedly realizing it was covered in blood—his blood. "Fuck!" I said again, desperately. I leaned down to wipe my hand in the grass.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and then the man with the dagger in his chest pushed himself over to his back with a groan.

I fell on my ass as he sat up, his back to me.

I could see the broad outline of his shoulders.

His dark head was bent forward, his black hair in disarray.

His breaths were short and shallow. He was almost panting.

"I...I'm sorry," I blurted. It was the only thing I could think to say.

He did not answer.

Fear lanced through me then. He would kill me! I had just stabbed him in the chest, and he would kill me for it. Gods, I thought. If I was him, I would kill me for it!

Suddenly, the realization of who he was—what he was—dawned on me. There was only one kind of person I knew of who could survive a dagger in the heart.

I needed to get out of there, and fast. But my legs didn't seem to want to respond as I contemplated standing up and running away. Without thinking, I scrambled up and went to kneel in front of him.

He lifted his head to look at me. I could have sworn he almost looked amused as those strange black eyes assessed me for a fraction of a second.

But even that small move had cost him. He began to slump to the side. His hand, where it had been clutching the handle of my knife, fell free.

I tried to catch him again, but he was too heavy. There was little I could do as he went over with a huff and lay on his side.

"Pull...it...out," he hissed in little more than a hoarse whisper.

His breathing was even more ragged. I closed my hands around the handle of the dagger. I felt his warm blood under my palm—too warm, I realized. It was almost hot. And there was too much of it. He would bleed out once I removed the knife.

But I also knew the mellitrium would kill him if it stayed there much longer, so I pulled the blade free in one swift move, feeling the hot spray of his blood hit my face.

"Thanks," he groaned.

The oddly pleasant, somehow familiar scent of his blood filled my nostrils. I couldn't place what it smelled like, but the strength of it told me there was a hell of a lot of it even though I couldn't see very much of it. It mostly blended in with the wet grass under us.

I pushed the man to his back and straddled him, shoving both my hands down over the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

He didn't react, even as I put my full weight on the hole in his chest trying to stop that hot, oddly smelling blood coursing from his body.

He was fully unconscious, I realized, as I held my hands on his chest and looked down at his face.

He was beautiful—divinely so. His face was such a perfect mix of harsh angles and smooth, flowing lines.

Long, straight nose and full lips, a chin with just the barest hint of a cleft down the center, intense dark brows, now relaxed in unconsciousness, and long lashes laying against a cheek lightly spotted with blood.

His blood...or the man he had saved me from?

The thought of my attacker brought my gaze up sharply. I saw no one. The dark street was empty, but I chastised myself. I could have been attacked again while staring dumbly at this man's face.

I needed to get out of there, but I couldn't let go of the pressure on his wound until the bleeding stopped. Fae or not, he would bleed out in minutes if I didn't control it until his own unnaturally fast healing body could take over.

I no longer had any doubt that he was fae. Even if he had not just survived a knife to the heart, I could sense his other worldliness. He had some indefinable quality that set him apart from everyone, and I could smell that strangely alluring scent of his blood.

The man beneath me was at least part fae, and I would be willing to bet he was full fae by the way it had taken him so long to even fall unconscious with mellitrium in his heart.

Mellitrium, or magebane, as some called it, was one of the only physical weapons effective against the fae. If my blade had not been mellitrium, it might not have even pierced his flesh, at least not under my weak arms.

I held my hand on his chest until I saw his breathing become more even.

I dared to release the pressure a little, waiting to see hot blood covering my hands again. None appeared.

My arms screamed painfully as I released the rest of the tension and relaxed. His shirt, my hand, the ground, my clothes, and my arm halfway up to my elbow, were all covered in red. There was so much of it!

I sat back, letting loose a sigh of relief that at least the bleeding had stopped as I contemplated what to do next. I should leave, get back to the castle as quickly as I could, and hope no one saw me in my bloody state.

But I couldn’t just leave him there, vulnerable. I had no idea how long he might remain unconscious.

I leaned down and shook him by the shoulder. "Hey, wake up." I tried to keep my voice low in case the houses behind us were not as empty as they looked.

He didn't respond, so I lightly slapped his cheek. The skin was so warm under my palm, much warmer than a human man would have been. I had the strangest urge to linger there, to slide my hand along his cheek and see if it would feel as smooth as it looked above the line of dark stubble.

I reached down to slap him again and promptly lost the fight with myself not to touch him as I let my hand rest against his face.

Some inexplicable calm relaxed my shoulders and slowed my racing heart.

It settled blissfully in my chest and along my spine, raising chills down my sides. His eyelids fluttered open.

I jerked my hand back and scrambled away across the grass, ready for him to jump up, put his hands around my throat, and choke the life out of me or...or shoot fireballs out of his eyes and burn me on the spot. I knew very little about magic, really...or the fae.

He studied me, scrunching his brow as though confused, and started to rise. He didn't make it very far though, only managing to get one shoulder off the grass before he groaned and fell back to the ground.

I crawled back to his side. He was unconscious again.

I muttered a curse, looking around me for some answer to what I should do. I needed to get out of there before the people pursuing me realized I had doubled back and came looking for me.

The house behind us had boarded up windows, so I was certain it must be abandoned.

Before I could re-think my plan, I rose and went to the door.

I tried to push it open, but it was solidly locked.

I shoved my shoulder into the wood. It didn't give, even a little.

I knew there would be no way to get it open without making enough noise to bring anyone who might be in the other dark houses out to investigate.

There were tall weeds growing in front, along with a few decorative shrubs that might do for some cover.

I returned to the fae man and checked for any signs of consciousness again. He was out cold. His eyes did not even react when I pulled his lids open and stared into the strange, inky black pupils.

In the dim lamplight, I couldn't tell if he had an iris, and it was just blending into the center, or whether the circle that took up most of his eye was just one large central pupil. Better to see in the dark for hunting his prey, my mind whispered, sending more chills down my back.

I released his eyelids and reached down to grasp the fabric of his dark coat at the shoulders. I lifted and pulled. He went nowhere. I nearly gave up, fighting the urge to just throw myself down in the grass beside him and await my fate.

I tried again, straining with all my might as my feet dug into the wet grass. I was able to move him, just a little.

It took nearly a quarter-hour to get him into the bushes. I winced as I pulled him through the tangled brush, hoping that the many dried sticks poking up from little round shrubs wouldn't poke his eyes out. I did not want the added weight of blinding him on my conscience.

When he was reasonably well-hidden, I ran. I ignored the pain from a cramp that lanced through my torso. I ignored the way my lungs were on fire and the ache in my jaw from how tightly I was clenching my teeth together.

Every step I took away from him felt like a knife poised at my own back. The feeling of wrongness for leaving him so vulnerable chased me all the way to the brothel.

I went to the back door of the Mouse’s Ear, to a servant's entrance. I couldn’t walk through the taproom unnoticed with that much blood on me.

It was locked, so I knocked furiously until a startled-looking older man opened the door.

"Hi," I said, gasping for air. "Can you…find the Duke of… Lithaway and tell Anetta I need to…speak with her?" I didn’t dare take the time to catch my breath. I had to get back as soon as I could—to make sure he was safe. It was the least I could do after stabbing him, but I needed help.

The man frowned and poked his head out the door to make sure I was alone. Satisfied, he nodded and stepped aside to allow me to pass. "Wait here," he said and left me in a narrow hallway.

Anetta appeared through a doorway at the end of the hall, her blonde ringlets bouncing as she hurried toward me. Raitha and Igraine, two of the other courtesans, followed behind her. They all wore fine gowns and expensive-looking jewelry, so I knew they had been working.

"What happened?" Anetta demanded, clasping my hands, gaze darting over my clothes.