What do you think?
Rate this book


121 pages, ebook
First published April 15, 2015
There was something delicious about having a Seelie fae sucking the blood of his own crimes off Augus’ fingers, and appearing more and more hungry as he did it.
‘Torture doesn’t mean anything to me,’ Gwyn said, dismissive.
‘It will,’ Augus said, gazing at him. ‘Because you’re here because you want to give something up to me. And I know it’s something that is not easy to give, and I know that you will fight giving it to me.


‘No,’ Gwyn said, shaking his head. ‘But I want to know why-’I had to leave my kindle at home this morning so I wouldn't start reading this before my test today and I think I made the right decision. From the very beginning I was sucked in, the beautiful writing compelling me to continue reading. By 5% I squealed in anticipation. I admit the squeal also might've had something to do with the description "and splatters of the stuff in his hair which was not white, as Augus had first suspected, but white-blond" because let's face it, I'm fucking weak to blonde guys, especially white-blonde, and especially when I've just finished reading a HPDM fic and the description immediately makes me think of Draco.
‘That’s not why you’re here.’
‘I can’t tell what you’re going to ask me,’ Gwyn said.
‘I know that frightens you,’ Augus said, curling his fingers around Gwyn’s bloodier ones, ‘and I am not even interested in soothing that fear. I need it, Gwyn. I need that too. Whatever you are afraid of, you are far more frightened of what lies within you. You fear the very heart of yourself, don’t you?’
Augus frowned. That was an odd request indeed. Heartsongs paralleled not so neatly with the human concept of the soul. Each fae had a heartsong, or a core energy, and each heartsong vibrated in synchronicity with an abstract concept. Augus’ heartsong, as far as he knew, was dominance, or mastery. As long as he lived in service to that heartsong – his chosen vocation of mastering others to help them, or mastering himself in order to grow – he would remain mentally and emotionally sound. Most fae had a single heartsong for their entire lives, and that was why some fae were so singularly good at representing things such as wealth, virtue, healing, strength, and so on.
On the very rare occasion, usually due to trauma, a heartsong could corrupt. Then it would fester, and drive the fae to commit poisonous acts. Someone with a heartsong of righteousness may commit mass murder in their zealotry. A fae with a corrupted core of cleverness, may turn their sights to evil matters, more evil than most Unseelie might consider acceptable. If the heartsong didn’t stabilise or change naturally, it would often lead to the death of the fae, and many other fae besides. Even the mild destabilisation of a heartsong lead to soul sickness.
But to interfere with them directly was considered…far too intimate a thing to offer to someone else. It was one thing to offer up one’s body, even one’s mind, but to say ‘I need my heartsong gone’ seemed almost repellent.
‘We’re only just beginning, Gwyn. You have no idea how far I can push you.’
Gwyn looked at him, confused and uncertain, no doubt thinking that perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to this after all.
But it was too late now. The game had begun, and Augus intended to see it through, finding himself far more excited at the prospect than when he’d first seen Gwyn kneeling before him.
‘It’s good to see that heartsong of yours hasn’t stopped kicking. But you came here so I’d break it. And I shall break it, Gwyn.’
‘Good luck with that,’ Gwyn said, and Augus laughed as he walked over.
Oh, this was going to fun.
‘Could this be any more the clichéd fairy tale?’ Augus drawled.
More hoarse, harsh breaths. Augus kept his hand over Gwyn’s chest constantly now, feeling that thundering heart, the power in it. How many fae had this one killed? From both sides? It was impressive to think about it, to have all that in here, in this room.
Gwyn’s breathing caught in his chest, even as Augus tried to sort different strands of information out in his mind. Someone with abandonment issues who reacted poorly to offerings of gentle touch but bore pain almost too well. It was unsettling.
The pain it brought was slow and deceiving. It began like a flower blooming, subtle but deep, all the way down in his bones. But it was faint. Like a muscular ache.
Augus rolled his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, Gwyn, that is not the thing that Unseelie value most in our close friendships with one another.’
It felt like falling, except that Gwyn wasn’t worried – for once – about what it might be like to crash when he hit the bottom.
He sighed, his mind drifted, and he let it. The real world was intimidating, and Gwyn didn’t want to look at it. Not now. Besides, if he concentrated very hard, perhaps he could remember the way this felt for centuries to come, and recall it in his darker moments.