Ink Exchange (Wicked Lovely 2)
And for a moment, he realized that they both wished she could be. My Shadow Girl. He kissed her before he made the mistake of saying what he was thinking.
“I can be, Leslie. And if you keep trying to do damage to yourself, I will be.” He had a brief hope t
hat—even without feeling fear—her basic intellect would be enough to make her realize that this wasn’t something either of them wanted. But she sighed, as if it weren’t a threat but a reward, so he asked, “You remember Niall’s scars?”
“I do.” She watched him carefully, staying motionless.
“You won’t like me if I’m cruel.” He lifted her to her feet.
She stood motionless, hand outstretched. “I don’t like you now.”
“We don’t lie,” he reminded her as he took her hand and pulled her into his arms yet again.
“I’m mortal, Irial. I can lie all I want to,” she whispered.
He let go of her, hating that it was hard to do. “Get changed, love.”
They had a riot to attend. He hadn’t walked her through hospitals, sanitariums, or the like—yet—but tonight he’d take her to the feasts of anger. If he filled her up with all the darkness she could stand and channeled it out to his court, then he could let her breathe for a little while. It was either that or lose her, and right now, that didn’t feel like an option. He’d been trying to build her tolerance slowly, but her stubborn streak—and his desire not to destroy her—had made his timeline no longer workable. Not for the first time since the damnable peace had begun, Irial wanted nothing more than to walk away from his court, from his responsibilities—except now he wanted to take Leslie with him.
CHAPTER 33
Over the next week, he pushed her until she was so shadow drunk that she retched, but they didn’t discuss it.
They fell into a routine she thought she could accept. Irial didn’t tell her what happened during the nights, and she didn’t ask. It wasn’t a solution—not really—but she felt better. She told herself it was progress of a sort. Sometimes, she felt brief tendrils of lost emotions when Irial kept the connection between them tightly closed, when the shadowed vine stretched like a sleeping serpent between them. In those moments she could lie to herself and say she was happy, that there were benefits to being cosseted so—then the weight of what she had become rolled over her until the cramps of need made her insensible.
No different than any other addict.
Her drug might have a pulse and a voice, but he was a drug all the same. And she’d sunk to depths that would make her dissolve in shame if such feelings were still in her reach. They weren’t, though: Irial drank them down like some exotic elixir. And when the awfulness reached its pinnacle, Irial’s touch was all that would assuage the maw that yawned open inside of her.
What is it doing to me? Will the darkness consume me?
Irial didn’t have that answer; he couldn’t tell her what it would do to her body, her health, her longevity—anything. All he could tell her was that he was there, that he’d protect her, that he’d keep her safe and well.
Now that she was able to go out walking regularly—away from Irial—she knew it was only a matter of time until she saw Niall. Of all the people from her life before the ink exchange, he was the one she was loath to encounter. He’d been beside Irial once: he knew what the Dark Court was like, what the world she lived in was like, and that lack of secrecy was something she didn’t know how to deal with.
She’d looked for him, and today he was there. He stood across the street, outside the Music Exchange, the shop where Rianne was most often found. Beside him was a man—a human—playing music that was foreign and familiar on a bodhran. Her pulse picked up the rhythm, the pace of the music settling in her stomach as if each touch of the beater were on her skin, in her veins.
Then Niall turned and found her watching him.
“Leslie.” His lips formed the word, but the sound was too slight to hear.
Traffic on the street moved faster than seemed safe to enter, but Niall wasn’t human, hadn’t ever been human. He slid through gaps that weren’t quite there, and then he was beside her, lifting her hands to his lips, crying tears she wasn’t able to shed.
“He wouldn’t let me see you,” he said.
“I told him not to. I wasn’t in a place where I’d have wanted anyone to see me.” She looked away, watching the faeries watching them.
“I’d kill him if I could,” he said, sounding crueler than Irial ever did.
“I don’t want that. Not—”
“You would if he hadn’t done this to you.”
“He’s not awful.”
“Don’t. Please.” Niall held her, silent but for the sound of his tears. He acted like it was her he wanted, like all that she thought he’d felt was real, but she wondered. That urge she’d felt before, that compulsion to touch Niall, to press closer—it was gone. Had it been an illusion? Was it there but swallowed down by Irial? She looked at Niall’s beautiful scarred face and felt a flash of tenderness, but there was no temptation.
Along the street, the faeries watched with expressions gleeful and heinous. Chattering and murmurs rose as they speculated on what Irial’s fey would do, what Irial himself would do when he heard.