Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)

Silently, Rabbit located the vein on the inside of Irial’s elbow.

“She’s stronger than you know, or she wouldn’t have picked me.”

Rabbit jabbed a thick, hollow tube into Irial’s arm. “Ready?”

“Yes.” It was barely a sting, not anywhere near as painful as he’d feared.

Then Rabbit added the tiny filter only he could make to the tube.

Irial’s spine bowed; his eyes rolled back. It’ll make me strong. Feed my court. Protect them. But the extraction of blood and essence was nightmarishly awful, as if tiny incisors were set to roam inside his body, ripping and tearing at places where sharp things should never enter.

“Keep the pups out of my reach,” he gasped as his vision began to blur. “Need.” Irial’s stomach cramped. His lungs tightened, as if all the air he’d ever breathed were being sucked out all at once.

“Irial?” Ani’s voice was in the doorway. Far enough away that he couldn’t reach her; too close, though.

His hands clenched. “Rab…”

“Ani, go.” Rabbit stepped in front of Irial then, blocking her from view.

“It’ll pass, Iri. It always passes. Tell him, Rabbit, tell him he’ll be okay.” Ani’s voice faded as she walked away.

“She’s right.”

“Starving.” Irial dug his finger into the chair until the leather ripped. “You’re destroying me. My court.”

“No. It passes. Ani’s right. It passes.” Rabbit pulled out the tube with a schluck. “Rest now.”

“Food. Need. Call Gabriel.”

“No. Not until I finish the tattoo. Nothing until then. Else it won’t work.” Then Rabbit left, locking the door behind him, leaving Irial unable to move from the chair.

CHAPTER 21

Half afraid last night had been a dream, Leslie looked out the window. He’s still here. Niall was doing some sort of stretching in the yard. Either he’d been awake for a while and was bored or he was just going about his routine. He’d shed his shirt, and in the light of day the spiderweb of scars that covered his torso was difficult to look at. Thin white lines crisscrossed thicker, uneven raised marks, as if something had clawed his skin. Seeing the full extent of it made her want to cry for him. How is he even alive? He was, though. He was a survivor, and it made him all the more beautiful.

With as little noise as she could, Leslie opened the door. “Hey.”

He paused in midstretch, standing so still that he seemed frozen, as if he were carved of some rare dark stone. Only his voice proved that he was a living being. “Shall I take you to the school?”

“No.” She shook her head as she walked toward him. Until then she hadn’t decided, but looking at him—knowing that whatever happened next would mean they’d be changed from what they were in that moment—she knew that wasting the day was foolish. Spending the day at Bishop O.C…. it simply didn’t make sense to her.

“What are you doing today?” she asked when she was standing beside him. Without conscious thought, she lifted her hand, letting her fingertips graze the scars on his chest, like following a map of chaos, lines bisecting lines, furrows branching into ridges and ripples.

He hadn’t moved yet, staying as still as when he’d seen her walking toward him. “Taking a long swim in the cold river?”

She stepped slightly closer. “No.”

He swallowed. “If I keep suggesting things, will you keep saying no?”

“Maybe.” She smiled, feeling brave, confident with him in a way she hadn’t felt with a guy in longer than she wanted to consider. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” He gave her a shaky smile. “I’d almost forgotten how much fun this dance was, the wanting without having.”

“Is it okay if I lead?” She actually blushed when she said it. She was far from innocent, but he made her feel like this mattered, like they mattered.

“I’m rather liking it.” He cleared his throat. “Not that pursuing you—”

“Shh.”