Page 126 of Wicked Hungry

Karen nods her head. “It’s nothing, really, just a scratch.”

“We’ll see about that in a moment.”

Her hands are already on Nye’s shoulder. She probes the wound, pulling apart the soft cloth. She lays her hand on the wound and gasps.

“What?” says Blaine.

“Poisoned. This is wicked work, here. I would have thought the Seelie court...”

Nye has his teeth clenched, but doesn’t move as she continues probing him with her pale white fingers, blackened by his blood.

“Can I suck out the poison?” she asks quietly, her voice barely audible.

“Milady, I—”

“There’s no other way?” Blaine asks.

Morgaine shakes her head. “He’ll be dead in minutes, before we can get to the shop and my stores. Which won’t help him anyway, if we can’t get the poison out of him.”

“But the taint—”

Morgaine scowls at her husband. “You know as well as I that the Fair Folk are immune to the taint. I can’t turn him, and neither can you. But if I don’t act fast, he’ll die.”

Has Nye already turned paler? Or is it just all this talk of death?

“Do it, then, and quickly,” growls Blaine.

Is he jealous? Or just concerned?

“Do I have your leave, then, Neiran?” she asks, her voice quiet and sweet as her lips approach his shoulder.

“Milady, I—”

She puts her finger to his lips. “Yes or no — time presses.”

He nods his head, and she puts her lips to his wound.

Nye’s eyes open wide and he gasps. His body jerks once, twice, yet her mouth stays against his shoulder, her arms clamped against his arm like a vise. Then, finally, she lets him go and turns, her face purple, to spit black blood onto the floor.

“Milady, I must thank—”

“I’m not done,” she says, and grabs him again, reattaching her bloody face to his shoulder, and Nye groans, his eyes rolling up, and starts to fall. She follows him down, quick like Karen, catching his head before it hits the wood floor, cushioning his fall. She spits one last time onto the ground. Then she gives one, last tentative lick with the tip of her tongue.

“His blood is clean,” she says, standing back up. “Now, Karen, let me see your arm.”

I look back at Karen. Here eyes are wild, her face flushed. Is it the poison in her wound or watching Morgaine do her work? There’s no way of knowing. Karen hisses as Morgaine approaches, and Morgaine does a double take, standing up straight, hissing, too.

“What?” I ask. “What’s going on, Karen? She wants to heal you.”

“I saw her... feed on him,” Karen says, backing away from Morgaine. “There’s black blood still on her lips, on her face. She’s killed him.”

Morgaine shakes her head. “You saw what you expected to see, Karen. I’ve had no feeding here — I’ve drunk nothing. You’ll find all the blood and poison down there on the floor. Now, let’s have a look, and then I can clean up and get this dirty blood off of me.”

But Karen shakes her head, covering the wounded arm with her uninjured hand. Still, her movements are slow and sluggish — what’s happened to the red blur she was before?

“Karen,” I say, reaching out to her. “Let her see the wound.”

Karen turns to me, looks me unsteadily in the eyes. “Only if you hold me.”