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Death.
Emerging from the silver, the huge figure rose up from the pool as if ascending from the very depths of hell itself. Broad shoulders. Wet, shoulder-length black hair. Tall. Taller than any other man I’d ever seen.
“Living Curse.” “Bane of Gillethrye.” “Black knight.” “Kingfisher.” “Kingfisher.” “Kingfisher.”
The three Fae were passing one of the many sets of alcoves occupied by statues of the gods. Everlayne bowed and touched her head to them as she hurried by. Ren grumbled, giving them a cursory nod. Kingfisher stuck out a hand and flipped all seven of them off as he stormed by.
“Don’t you dare die on my watch, Saeris Fane! Fisher will never forgive me if his sole reason for living is torn to pieces on her first fucking battlefield.”
“And you are Saeris. Sister to Hayden. Daughter to no one.” He nodded to the inkwork on my hands. “Also, mate to my champion.”
He and Carrion, arguing like they were about to kill each other.
Still the same artfully messy copper-brown hair. Still the same blue eyes and that roguish grin. But also the sloped ears. And the pointed canines. And he was so tall.
It felt like coming home. I hefted the blade up, already knowing exactly what it would feel like to cleave the female’s head from her shoulders. The second it was done, I would— Shock rippled through me. What in all five hells was I seeing?
She was human. Her ears were rounded, her frame smaller than it should have been. And there was a giant fucking hole in her stomach. “Graceless gods,” I rumbled. “What’s this? A fucking joke?” If it was a joke, then it was in poor taste.
