Chapter Eleven

I am completely undone.

Clíodhna has undone me.

I don't know what there is left of myself to give.

I'm not sure if there's anything of me left at all.

I want to touch her, want to curl up in her arms and sob my gratitude for this great gift that she has given me, but before I can, the door to the room slams open and another woman storms into the room.

Clíodhna magics a blanket over me—I'm still not used to that—before spinning round to face the intruder. Her hair is no longer in its bun, but surrounding her like a force field, red and furious as her eyes. It should be alarming, but it's entrancing instead, almost as if I can't look away.

"Sister," the other woman says. She looks as different from Clíodhna as can be. Her skin is tanned, as if from basking in the midday sun, and her hair so blonde it almost looks white.

Clíodhna's hair lowers slightly, but she's still pissed, even I can tell that. "What are you doing here, Aoibheall? What do you want with us?"

Aoibheall glances behind her at me, and her eyes are full of something I don't quite recognise. Not quite grief and not quite anger, there's a longing there that's quenched when she turns back to my queen.

"Would you keep her?" The words are bitten out. "Have you forgotten yourself, Clíodhna? We cannot keep mortals here, and to let her go now, after she has tasted your delights…"

"I haven't actually tasted her… ahem… delights," I offer, but the two of them glower at me and shrink back beneath my blanket. "Cool cool. You guys just, you know, discuss me as if I'm not here."

That was clearly the wrong thing to say. Aoibheall rounds on me, "Oh hush, mortal. You know not of what you speak. You wish to throw your mortal life away for an immortal fae queen, who may discard you whenever she's done?"

Neither Clíodhna, nor myself, ever spoke of this going beyond this one night, but as I look at her, I know that I want this. I want her. "Sure," I say. "Why not?"

"Well," says Aoibheall. "We shall see." She looks at Clíodhna then. "Are you sure you want her?"

Clíodhna doesn't say anything, but Aoibheall clearly reads her answer in Clíodhna's face.

"Very well. On your head be it."

I'm not sure what happens next, but the blanket becomes very big, and very heavy, and feels weird upon my skin.

There's a strangled noise above me, far too loud. I go to cower, bringing my hands up to cover my ears only I can't do so. I have no hands.

I have no hands.

What the actual fuck?