The Faire (Harrow Faire #5) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,37
a moment later and rested her head on his chest, seeking his embrace. He gave it without question.
You frighten me to the center of my very being, Cora Glass.
You’re dangerous. You could end me with a thought. My life, and perhaps those of all those in the Faire, hover in your palm.
And I love you in a way that words could not possibly describe.
He held her close.
But he stayed silent.
When she finally pulled away, she smiled up at him. Tired and strained, but resolute. “Come on. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
“Gladly.” Examining his clothing, he found himself in unacceptable disarray. He was rumpled, wrinkly, and had nearly sweated through his suitcoat. His pocket watch and sunglasses were missing. And he wasn’t the only one who was in a state. Cora was covered in dried blood, darkest around the gashes in her clothes that revealed where she had been impaled. He winced. He had no guess as to which of them had suffered worse. He surmised they were matched. “Should we go change? I hate to offend you, my darling lover, who now happens to be the avatar for an eldritch demigod and could rip my skin off my body with a thought, but you look positively atrocious.”
She snickered. “No. I want them to see what Ringmaster did to us.” She stood, helping him to his feet. He staggered and placed his hand against the wall. She slid his arm over her shoulder and helped him. He accepted the aid without complaint.
He glanced up at the sunrise that was now just peeking over the windows. “I could go for some breakfast.”
“Sausages make everything better.”
He grinned at the darkness in her voice.
He did so much love a dramatic reveal.
And this was going to be a good one.
9
Rudy sat near the far edge of the tent, hunkered over his plate of food. Harrow Faire seemed to sense his arrival and had provided him a plate of raw pork ribs that he could chew on.
No one sat with him.
He didn’t mind.
Now and then, he was known to get a little snappy with others when he had a plate of meat in front of him. It wasn’t intentional. He had impulses that were hard to control. To be fair, he rarely tried to put a damper on them.
And so, he sat alone and pulled the meat from the bones, enjoying how the flesh stretched and ripped between his teeth. He relished the scent and the taste of the blood. But a new scent joined that of the dead pig.
The blood of all creatures smelled unique to his nose. Pig or cow, predator or prey, human or other. He had watched many creatures come and go from Harrow Faire. Be they inhuman, Family, or even shifters like him. They all carried a unique tang to them.
He could smell the alcohol or drugs on humans not just because it pervaded their breath, but because it saturated their veins.
It was the scent of the new predator—wearing her own blood as a mark of pride and injury both—carried on the wind that warned him. He set down his food and moved his legs so he could escape or fight quickly if need be.
He knew it was true. He had known it when he saw the doors blasted off the front of the observation tower. But he still stared in awe at those who approached.
The Puppeteer and the Contortionist.
That was who she had been. What she was now, he couldn’t say. Simon had an arm slung over her shoulder. Not in affection, but for support. He had a slight limp in his right leg. She looked exhausted. Her features were both pale and shadowed, and what wasn’t stained red had been streaked by tears.
Her clothing was a mess of tears and soaked through with gore. Stained all the shades of blood that were possible. Bright red, crimson, vermillion, black, brown, and rusted oranges.
They had been locked in the tower for three weeks.
But her head was held high.
The tent fell instantly, and deathly, silent.
Everyone stared. He heard a few pieces of cutlery clatter to the tables and then to the ground, along with the shattering of a coffee mug.
Simon looked out at the crowd and smiled, his black-red-white eyes proudly on display. He looked as though someone had packed him into a cement mixer and run it for a few hours. But Rudy knew he would look no better after being suspended by his ankles for three weeks.