A Taste of Poison (Entangled with Fae #4)

by Tessonja Odette

The dark closes in around me the deeper into the forest I go, a sliver of moonlight my only guide. Branches reach out like clawed hands, scraping my cheeks, snagging loose tendrils of my hair.

The queen won’t give you a trial. She’ll kill you herself. You have to run.

I see her lithe form, her brown bark-like skin patterned with beautiful whorls, her head crowned in brambles and pink cherry blossoms in place of hair.

People see me, but they don’t really see me. That’s the nature of being a mirror.

That the calm buoyancy I feel now will soon descend into neutrality. Then apathy. After that, I’ll be left with…I don’t even want to think of it.

Were I in a sour mood, he’d see his worst qualities reflected back at him. But since the Crimson Malus tincture has me as content as a bunny in a meadow, he’ll see what he considers his best assets.

Unlike full-blooded fae, I can lie.

So many times I’ve heard the phrase you are followed by everything I’m not. You are kind. You are cruel. You are beautiful. You are the most hideous girl I’ve ever met.

There was only one person who was ever immune to my magic. One person who saw the real me. And that person is dead.

The Seven Sins is a place of escape. Of pleasure, vice, and fantasy. Not truth. Which is why it’s the perfect place for me to hide.

Sometimes I’d give anything to be truly seen. To hear someone say those dreaded words you are followed by something true for once.

I’ve spent so much of my whole life being told what I am, described as nothing more than another’s reflection, that I’m not even sure there’s a real me to be seen.

Once I make an impression on a person, I’m stuck with it. Every time I meet that person’s eyes, the same impression snaps into place. I can’t turn my magic off. I can’t reverse it.

Especially when one’s best qualities are deeply entwined with their worst.

Unless the Spring Queen comes for me herself, no one will ever find me.

The ability to shift between the two forms is common amongst faekind. Our unseelie form is our natural manifestation, while our seelie form is modeled after a human likeness. Not all seelie bodies mimic humankind so convincingly, though. Many retain animalistic features—ears, tails, antlers—or other inhuman characteristics. My seelie form, however, is as inconspicuous as they come.

A personal scent like all beings have, one derived from a medley of body, mind, and soul to create a perfume unique to the individual.

I made the bargain. Find Astrid Snow and bring me her heart.

Bring me her heart and I’ll erase your debts and consider your sentence fulfilled.

But no matter how many times I’ve reasoned that it must be done, it’s one thing to commit to it and another to actually do it, especially when faced with my target for the first time.

Our eyes lock, and my mind empties of all reason. I don’t recall why I was momentarily confused. All I know is that my heart feels as if it’s been torn in two, for no other reason but the agonizing urge to protect. But protect what? The kitten in the murderer’s arms?

The urge is to protect her. The girl I’ve been sent to kill.

Which is why—in my esteemed opinion—animals are better than people.

griffins are known to have no tolerance for bad manners.

“Come quietly or I’ll tear out your throat with my teeth.”

I’ve lived with my cursed magic long enough to know that people may have a love-hate relationship with their best qualities, but their worst? They have a hate-hate relationship with those.

Especially since you’ve so conveniently attached yourself to me. I didn’t like the idea at first, but honestly,” he lifts his cuffed hand, “this works. Now you couldn’t get away if you tried.”

You don’t understand, I said to him. I don’t exist outside of your eyes. There is no me out there. It’s time you let someone other than me see you.

If the Huntsman has such a keen sense of smell, then something like a garden might be a bit overpowering to him.

I angle myself closer to his ribs to get a better reach, grasping certain things I really ought not to grasp.

I swallow hard, my throat as dry as sand. “You’re…you’re…” “Frightening?” His low voice emanates from deep inside his bear form. Like the kelpie I once met, his lips don’t move when he speaks. My eyes return to those round ears. “You’re so…” Another step closer. “Terrifying?” Something melts inside me, a calm breaking through the dark storm of my emotions. “Fluffy.” He halts. “What?”

I try to cross my arms, but it’s no use with our cuffs connecting us yet again. “I liked you better as a bear.” “And I don’t like you much at all. Give me the key.”

His crooked grin grows devious. “Is that why you want to put the key down your shirt? Because you like the thought of where it’s been? Does it give you pleasure to think of my big, hard…key…pressed between your breasts?”

“You’re laughing over my father’s death, Huntsman.”

Since I only use my rented room during the day when Department Lust sees far less activity, I’ve never had to witness such…acoustics.

It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome. That his beard is rather dashing, that his irises look like honey, and that his copper hair might be the prettiest shade I’ve ever seen. It certainly doesn’t matter that he’s strong and capable and killed an ogre to rescue me. He’s my captor. A bounty hunter. And the gruffest son of a harpy I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. Not to mention, he almost tried to kill me.

How dare he…be so large and heavy and…and to make my heart race?

My body thrums with immediate relief, stripping me of all thoughts of my impossibly annoying, impossibly…handsome…no. Impossibly…irresistible. No. My impossibly… Irritating… Bedmate.

That’s when I realize something that sets my heart racing, thudding, hammering, rioting. Not only do I see her, but I…see her.

“I doubt she’ll mind what we do as guests. I purchased the room for an entire week.” My lips lift into a grin I know will send her bristling. “Same goes for you.” She furrows her brow. “Same goes for…” Her words dissolve into a scoff. “You purchased me?”

“Just hold a kitten, Huntsman. It will be good for you. Your grumpy act is getting old.”

She scoffs. “It’s just an expression. Don’t you ever feel that way when you see something cute? The overwhelming urge to just…squeeze?” “No.” “Hmm. Well, you must live a very boring life.”

I glance over to find her watching me with her hazy gaze, and realize my lips have stretched into a wide grin.

“Absolutely not. Miss Snow will not fight in the ring.”

I don’t know if he takes pleasure in aggravating me or if he’s this quarrelsome with everyone.

I know how to make her flustered. I know what irritates her, what qualities of hers to insult. She speaks without thinking when she’s angry with me. It’s happened before. I can use that to my advantage. I can catch her off guard and get her to say something she’ll regret.

“Well, you have to win a duel. All I have to do is yield.” “And possibly trick a fae queen into giving a murder confession.” My stomach turns. “Yes, and that.”

“Your eyes are gray,” I say it before I can stop myself.

“Your hair is black, tinged with the slightest bit of blue. It’s cropped short to the nape of your neck.” She says nothing, only stands frozen before me, her hazy gaze locked on mine.

“Torben Davenport.”