Page 56 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion (Tales of a Monstrous Heart, #2)

Distant torchlight cut through the wood.

The echo of voices reaching my ears and making me flinch.

A commotion in the darkness from whatever chaos Thean had wrought.

Just how many hunters they’d killed, I didn’t know.

But their pace wasn’t urgent. In a blink of an eye the damp of the wood was gone, replaced by the warmth of one of the Blackthorn fires.

Transporting us so effortlessly, as effortlessly as they’d arrived. With me still not understanding how they’d been there or how we were here now as they deposited me gently on the chaise before the fire. The now muddy sack tumbling to land next to my feet.

I recoiled, trying to stand, but a firm hand on my shoulder kept me in place.

‘I’ll ruin the fabric,’ I snapped. Unable to stop shaking. Hating it.

‘I don’t care,’ they answered, with a gentle shove. I had no choice but to mar the cushions with my mud-covered limbs. Then I saw the blood on my hand. Blood I’d now smeared on their shirt.

How instinctive it was to slit that hunter’s throat. To be covered in that blood. How familiar it was to me despite how I tried to forget.

‘The shock is normal.’ Their voice was soft, so soft I hated it. Too calm, almost caring.

‘It wasn’t my first,’ I whispered, deciding the truth was better than wasting time weaving lies. Knowing they saw everything anyway. Saw how pathetic I’d become. How useless all my defences were.

‘There is no shame in surviving,’ they offered calmly, stoking the fire with one hand braced on the mantle. The dampness of their shirt clinging to the fine muscles of their back. Revealing more of those summoning runes on their flesh. ‘No matter how we do it.’

‘You might think differently if—’ My words stuck to the roof of my mouth as the voyav’s sharp eyes silenced me with the depth of that strange look that lingered there.

‘Trust me, little nightmare. I know it’s far easier to judge than it is to understand.’ In the hard fury in their eyes, I knew they did. In a way I couldn’t explain.

Trust. The thing I could never do. What they’d stolen from me first.

I wasn’t like Kat. Soft and forgiving. There was something wrong with me. Something hard and cold caging my heart within my chest. My defences built too well, only a few cracks in the bricks. Enough for Kat’s friendship to penetrate but nothing else.

I didn’t know what I was guarding. Everything of value had already been stolen from me.

Yet, as I looked at the forsaken creature before me, I felt the danger of their attention.

How those amber eyes missed nothing, and I was consumed by the fear they’d peek through those cracks and see just how empty I was.

‘Bloody saints,’ came an exclamation from the doorway.

Making me jump, clutching Thean’s fine coat closer, resisting the urge to curl my legs to my chest. My fingers ached for claws but none came.

No beasts to hide within as my eyes met a shocked William’s from across the room, his mouth agape at the state of me.

Before he shook himself, grabbed one of the blankets off the chair and pulled it around me. ‘Alma, what happened?’

‘I’m all right.’ I smiled weakly despite the pain in my cheekbone. By the depth of William’s concern, it didn’t work, as I trembled so violently.

‘She was hit with verium.’ Thean’s words were curt. Too serious from those usually playful lips.

‘Anti-magic?’ William paled.

Then he scrambled to one of the desks, rooting through a drawer before dropping a small healing case on the cushions next to me. As a bowl of water with a cloth appeared too.

‘First a relic and now forbidden alchemy.’ William swallowed, shaking his head. ‘Emrys isn’t going to like this.’

‘If the bastard makes a reappearance,’ Thean half sneered.

‘The house was—’ I began but the voyav simply tugged that blanket more firmly around my shoulders before they crouched before me.

‘I don’t care.’ Their sharp eyes came back to my face, rage so potent their features shifted between male and female. Seeming unable to settle. ‘They shouldn’t have left you on your own.’

I bristled. ‘They didn’t know.’

Kat wanted me safe and she knew I’d keep that book safe.

Thean glared at me, a muscle jumping in their jaw almost in warning. Tough. They wouldn’t win. Not with me.

‘I’ll get you some healing tea,’ William added awkwardly. His worried brown eyes moving between me and the voyav. Unfortunately, I didn’t have use of my beasts, so I’d have to use my mortal wits to deal with the moody creature.

Too annoyed at myself and why the voyav had chosen now to be overbearing, I stared into the fire. Allowing the heat of it to wash over me, but as always it didn’t penetrate that coldness deep inside of me.

‘Alma.’ My name was too soft from their lips. As if it could be an incantation that held too much power. ‘Your leg is bleeding, it needs tending. Can I touch you?’

A dry sad laugh left my lips. ‘Nobody has ever asked me that before.’

Why would they have? They’d already owned every inch of me. I expected Thean’s sly remark, flirtatious or dismissive.

Yet, it didn’t come. They remained crouched there quietly. Waiting. As if the words from my lips mattered. As if there wasn’t already the memory of hundreds of fingerprints upon my skin. Known only by me.

As if my permission could change something.

‘Yes,’ I answered. A strange honest agreement between us. Something inside of me knowing, even without the curse of all those beasts, that no matter what Thean Page was or what they wanted – they weren’t going to hurt me.

Whatever remained of that curse inside me settled before them like a submissive hound, belly low to the ground.

‘Inside right pocket,’ they instructed, as the warmth of their hand came around my thigh.

Easing my leg straight to see the wound.

The gentle nature of their touch soothed something in me, made breath slip more easily between my lips, but I doubted they noticed.

Head bowed so I could see how the fire played through the auburn strands of their hair, not ceasing their work of picking the thorns from around the wound with tweezers from the healing kit, as if such small things would hurt me.

I did as they asked, reaching into the thick coat, finding a vial inside the pocket. I pulled it free to see it filled with a dark thick liquid. Not needing to open it to know it was blood.

Voyavs were devourers of blood. A weaver of ancient magic that not even the earth wished to keep beneath its confines. Too chaotic for even the Old Gods to master.

Thean then washed the skin of my thigh. Removing the blood and dirt around the wound before they took the vial from me, taking the barest of drops on their tongue before corking it again. A shudder rippled through them before that sharp focus dropped to my thigh once more.

An amber light shimmered against their palm, just as it would a flesh healer’s as they pressed it against my wound.

A stinging warmth made me gasp, wanting to pull my leg away out of reflex but there was no mistaking the strength in Thean’s grip.

Then, as quickly as it arrived, the pain was gone – just as that light flickered out beneath their skin.

Healed. Or almost healed. The skin was still angry and tender beneath my probing fingers that they gently batted away.

Then the voyav moved back to the healing kit and pulled out a jar of balm.

Their clever, strong fingers working it into my aching muscle with such authority it took everything not to slip into a puddle. Relaxing under their ministrations.

‘What’s in the left pocket?’ I asked to keep hold of some of my sanity. Feeling the weight of the coat I wore, the secrets it could hide. The intoxicating scent of them. I wished I had my magic back for it to be stronger.

‘None of your business, little nightmare.’ Their grin was small with amusement as they glanced up at me. The sight of them before me, knelt like some repenting worshipper, did strange things to my insides.

Maybe it was nausea from the shock. There was no time to contemplate as they leant closer, their thumb brushing my cheek, just around where it throbbed – cautious of my wince. My fingers curled around their wrist out of instinct. Only to see they were still slightly clawed. A monstrosity.

I tried to wrench my hand back. Shame turning my stomach at the hideousness of it. Of me.

Only they didn’t let me go. Didn’t let me hide, their fingers slipping easily between mine.

They curled my clawed hand around their own.

Those amber eyes solely fixed on me in a silent reassurance.

It was the kindest act they could have given in that moment.

Not the gentle nature of their touch, but that look in their eyes.

As if speaking directly to that fear burrowed between my ribs.

As if they could understand shame as I did.

Knew the horrid weight of it and still – they were here.

They gently slipped two fingers beneath my chin, turning my face to see the aching side. The barest heat from their fingertips, the remnants of that magic they’d stolen from that vial of blood as the ache went away. Healed.

They didn’t let me go. Watched me closely, perhaps so I wouldn’t hide within the corners of my own mind.

They cared, even if they wished they didn’t, and I understood that , if nothing else.

Confused how their presence sent my beasts rolling beneath my skin.

Hot and needy. Wishing to perform for the dangerous creature before me more than they’d wanted to perform for anyone else.

The depth of it startled me, too many rushing emotions that I was left alone to face without my defences. The stench of that dank wood clinging to me. That blood. That hunter’s blood, the cruelty of his touch still on my skin.