Notes: Jumps to just after chapter five in HtM
Chapter Twelve
(Pritkin's POV)
Pritkin slips his key card into the door tiredly, pushing the door open and then simply pausing on the tile entry while it clicks shut softly behind his back.
His eyes closed briefly slow breathing in the darkness, berating himself for his weakness, no matter how small. He shouldn't have touched her; the other her…but he couldn't help it. His palm still burns from the simple contact where his hand rested against her foot. A completely chaste touch; nothing more than a show of support between two friends after a harrowing day—except that neither of them wanted to pull away; and he hadn't missed the slight hitch in her breathing or the skittering leap of her pulse when their eyes met for the briefest of moments and he still didn't pull away. How could he? He almost lost her again today and even knowing with the other her being here that she made it…Bugger.
Maybe he's not cut out for this shit after all. Lately he feels like a ball of raw nerves, a mess of knots…
"You're going to Faerie."
Bloody Hell. He shifts to face the direction of her voice eyes snapping open almost reaching for his potion belt, ignoring the brief leap of his heart into his throat.
"Cassie." He breathes her name out on an exhale, and if she noticed his startled reaction she doesn't comment. She still remembers exactly what transpired earlier tonight, and she didn't exactly sneak up on him. That would be preposterous, he's a damn war mage. The mere suggestion that she could ever sneak up on him as laughable as a toddler in tap shoes sneaking up on a tiger. He merely overlooked the giant hole in the wall into the adjoining suite which she just stepped through. Bugger if he isn't too tired, and overtaxed to deal with this shit right now. She stops just inside the room, those luminous pale sky blue eyes staring at him; waiting he realizes, though for what exactly he's not sure.
She's already been through this. Already knows the answer. Saying it out loud changes nothing but he answers her regardless. "Yes."
"I want you to take me with you."
He should have expected that. "No."
She frowns back at him, eyes never leaving his face. "And why not?"
"Do you not remember the promise you made to the Dark King of the fae to bring him the Codex? Unless you plan to deliver that during our journey; which I would not advise just as I did not advise making such an agreement in the first damn place, if you will remember. You go into Faerie—any part of Faerie and he will expect payment due. I am frankly surprised he hasn't demanded it before now."
"I've been busy." Her eyes dart away, cheeks flushing as she offers him her excuse as if he's the one she must convince. And he seriously doubts even she knows exactly how she plans to wheedle her way out of that particular mess when the time comes. He scowls.
"The Fey are not known for their…patience. Particularly the royal lines."
She sniffs, looking for all the world like she's going to open her mouth and give him what she probably considers a well thought out and logical argument. But it doesn't change the damn facts, no matter what cock-eyed logic she's drummed up. She's not going.
"Cassie, I can slip in and out much easier alone. I have contacts in place."
"Something could go wrong!" Her protest hangs in the air between them; and it's written on her face; even though she tries her damnedest to hide it—he knows. Something will go wrong. He frowns watching her eyes dart away.
"If something goes wrong while I'm in Faerie then the last place I want you to be is there."
She turns on him, paces closer one hand cutting viciously through the air between them. "And how do I know that the reason you survive isn't because I was with you the first time? Did you think of that?"
His mouth was already open to debunk whatever she might say; but the words die on the back of his tongue. He huffs, hands reaching out the short distance between them snatching her arms to stop her frantic pacing before she drives him half-mad…or madder some might argue. God knows she was the main reasons he questioned his own sanity these days—recently on an almost daily basis. Because trying to puzzle this out, second guessing himself every five seconds was mad. Stark raving, barking mad. And there truly is no way to know for sure. He just has to trust his instincts, they have so rarely steered him wrong. And right now the thought of taking her into Faerie; the mere suggestion of it has them screaming at him.
He stares down at her trusting his answer. "No, I would not have taken you with me. It's too dangerous."
"Pritkin…"
"I live, do I not?" He has to he reasons; obviously. He'll simply have to use that knowledge to get himself through whatever disaster awaits him on the other side. He's no stranger to placing his life in danger; or to pain. It came with the job; with the oath. He will be extra cautious as he must, but he will see this through. He has to. "I returned to you?"
"yes…" Her answer is so quiet pressed against his chest he almost misses it; except for her warm breath floating across his skin heating him all the way through to his spine, curling against his nerves sparking low in his groin at her sudden nearness; at the soft scent of her shampoo and the whisper light scent just beneath that which is just simply her. His arms slide from her biceps; curl against her back drawing her tighter, feeling the warmth of her skin though cooler than his own raised temperature pressed soothingly against him. Her heartbeat drumming just a little too fast under his palm now resting solidly against her back.
"Please be careful," Her breathless words brush over his skin once more sending heat sliding down his spine. He needs to let her go and soon before the thrumming need under his pulse becomes the excruciating roar she always ignites in his blood. Before his other half can affect her as well, the echoing ripples of need and desire that emanates from her very core in response to him making it that much harder to ignore his bodies frantic demands.
He can tell by the way she clings to him suddenly, her fingers fisting over the hem of his left shirt sleeve so that her smooth palm brushes his bicep, and her cheek presses against his chest that she's frightened. Even more so then her double upstairs at the thought of him leaving for Faerie. And that's very telling, he can practically taste the fear coming off her in thick waves, it sits against the back of his throat choking him; difficult to ignore.
He can practically smell it on her skin. The scent making him want to wrap her up tighter, pull her down to his bed in the dark and hold her; keep her close, whisper to her no matter how ridiculous the notion maybe that it will be alright. She shivers against him breathing out a little sigh that jerks at his heart in his chest. And it must be bad whatever it is, though maybe not—God knows she often tore herself up over even some of his simplest injuries.
Maybe whatever is waiting for him isn't that bad. Maybe it's nothing at all.
A man can dream right?
