Page 9 of Fae Mates

“Barely,” added the cat.

Pokeweed nodded. “Close to death.”

“I made a diversion, so Lady Gala and the princes left to investigate,” said McVittie.

Pokeweed placed a cup to my lips, which contained a liquid that stank of concentrated garlic. With an apologetic look, he nodded at me to drink. The first sip seared my sinuses and brought tears to my eyes.

He stroked the back of my head and waited for me to drink some more. The second sip burned a path of fire along my tongue and down my throat.

Gagging, I tried to jerk away, but he kept a firm grip on the back of my head. “This will chase away all traces of Gala’s magic, so your own can help you heal.”

“I don’t have any magic.”

“You do,” said the cat. “Winter, Autumn, and Spring Court power. It’s all there.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I gulped down the foul, garlicky liquid. I know how I obtained their magic. That time after the incident with the Emporium dress, Princes Caulden and Rory both came all over my breasts, and their fluids had soaked into my skin. I’d absorbed their power, but would it be enough to fight back?

The wounds in my chest and back throbbed, reminding me that I was still suffering the aftereffects of Lady Gala’s attack.

I turned from McVittie to Pokeweed, hoping one of them would provide more information on what happened on that terrible afternoon. “Why do they think I’m dead?”

“I made a changeling from your hair and blood,” Pokeweed whispered.

The word sent a shiver down my spine. Back in the days of Queen Maeve, before the magic that required a faerie to obtain an invitation to enter a human dwelling, faeries would steal human babies and leave behind a replica made of sticks.

On first inspection, it would look like the baby, but over time, the changeling would lose weight and become sick before finally dying. Only when the child was buried in consecrated ground would it revert back into a bundle of sticks. By then, it was too late to get the child back, as it was already acknowledged as dead.

I stared at my lap, trying to push away my revulsion.

“Don’t judge Pokeweed,” McVittie snapped.

“I’m not—”

“It’s in your eyes,” said the cat. “How can such a nice faerie know such wicked magic? I can see you thinking it.”

“McVittie,” said Pokeweed, his voice filled with exasperation.

“No!” The black cat walked up the bed and batted my arm. “Lady Gala was furious about not being able to extract something from your insides. I risked my life, distracting her and the princes, and Pokeweed risked execution by stealing you away.”

Swallowing hard, I glanced from Pokeweed’s fathomless black eyes to McVittie’s slitted, yellow orbs. “Thank you.”

The cat gave me an approving nod. “You owe us.”

“McVittie,” shouted Pokeweed in a tone that made me jump. “Leave.”

His mouth dropped open, exposing sharp, white teeth. “But—”

Pokeweed pointed at the arched opening. “Go.”

Without another word, the cat jumped down from the bed and padded out of the room.

“I’m sorry about him,” said Pokeweed.

“He’s right.” I placed a hand on his bicep, which was covered in white overalls. “I owe you my life.”

Usually, at this stage, Pokeweed would pull away and mutter something self-deprecating, but this time he relaxed into my touch.

“I wasn’t sure if you would survive at first, and then you remained in that dream for so long…” He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath.