Court of Dreams (Institute of the Shadow Fae, #4)

by C.N. Crawford

Had there been a time when I’d been nice to humans? Back when I’d donated a bottle of hand lotion every week to the woman in my squat, or when I’d tolerated Uncle Darrell’s stories about sticking his dick in the forest soil. Those days felt like centuries ago. Now, I felt the monster inside rattling the bars of its cage, straining at the leash. Human deaths would feed my strength.

Nothing to see here, folks. Just the angel of death invading your fortress, drunk as shit.

expression made me catch my breath. “Of course you’re not. You should never have doubted me. I protect those I love. What sort of a person do you think I am?” His gaze flicked to the festering wound at my shoulder, and he winced. Ice shot through the air. “At least, I try to protect those I love.”

“I’m going to keep you close to me. You’re a death angel, but you’re my death angel, and I keep you safe from now on.” “Then you’re my fomoire monster.”

I swallowed hard as I looked out at it. I was supposed to jump into that abyss, and I had no idea what I’d find when I did. Ruadan said I’d be facing the sins of my past—but I had too many to count.

Aengus rolled his eyes. “Fine.” His tone was exasperated. “I’m sorry I said you were a traitor and that we should rip out your entrails in a painful execution. You’re still an abomination, though, and I make no apologies for that view.” His forehead wrinkled with consternation. “Is it just me, or are the youth of today particularly sensitive about things? Snowflakes, the lot of you.”

“I’m sorry. You go by the name Flayer of Skins, Scourge of the Wicked. And you live in a shop with hearts nailed to the wall, one of which I just saw you carve out of a demon’s chest. You’re covered in blood, which you seem fine with. And you can’t say the word ‘penis?’”

“Well, my bag of satyr dicks is fresh out, so does anyone have any ideas?”

“Because I don’t want it to be true!” I hissed. “I don’t want to live in a world that you’re not in. You and I belong together. I am Death, but you give me life. Your loss would stop time and blacken the skies. Your death would be my apocalypse.”

“If you died, my soul would die, too, and I’d turn into that fucking thing. A creaking, empty, dead-eyed husk devoid of real life. Do you understand? So it won’t happen, because it can’t. I’m Death, and I say when the apocalypse happens. Fuck your grandpa. That’s it. End of story. Now let’s move on from that wooden weirdo, and have a normal, focused mission procuring a satyr cock, shall we?”

“We’re going to need your penis,” I said. He smirked, purring, “Don’t they all?” “No, I mean we need it to save the world,” I added. “Of course you do.” He put his hands on his hips, beaming. “I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life.”

“All right, Andre,” said Ruadan in a weary tone that suggested he’d had to stage this kind of intervention before. “You have done the world an immeasurable service.” Andre rose, grinning from ear to ear. “My glorious priapism will be praised in hymns and ballads from now until the end of time.”

If I was a raging ocean wave, he was the dark quiet underneath. And we were perfect for each other.