He walks toward me, no longer half-hidden in the shadows.
As the veins fade away, his green eyes shutter, like his irises are soaking up all that black, putrid power.
His entire body shudders, and my eyes go wide with shock as his face changes, sharpens.
I’m stuck in place, unable to breathe, unable to even blink as the bones of his face taper like the edge of a blade. His ears pinch to a point at the top just as scales appear on chiseled cheeks.
“Great Divine...” Shock is infused with my tone, holding it under, suffocating me with the weight of realization.
Spikes stab through his arms and shoot from his spine. He unfurls, the wild, wicked fae, transitioning until all that’s left of his horrible power is the viscid press of a very familiar dark aura.
“You’re...you’re...” My tongue goes thick, catching up with the sheen in my eyes while the betrayal, heavy and solid, sinks into the depths of my soul.
Rip rolls his shoulders, as if his metamorphosis from rotted king to monstrous fae was painful. Though I can guarantee it wasn’t nearly as painful to him as it was to me.
The blacks of his irises that seem to have swallowed the power are the only indication of the foul magic lurking within.
That voice. Deeper, crueler than usual, but with a timbre of familiarity. I should’ve known. I should have damn well figured it out.
He takes one more step, and then he’s so close that I can feel the fiery temperature of his blackened soul, taste the press of spiced air as it passes from his lips.
He’s Rip and he’s Rot. He’s the fae and the king.
I swear, I feel a knife to my back all over again. But this time, it’s from a different betrayal, from a different man.
And I do feel betrayed. He tricked me. Confused me with a kiss and lied about who he really is. Maybe that’s unfair, considering I’ve lied too, but I can’t help feeling like he played me.
“You’re King Ravinger,” I breathe in hurt accusation, because it’s the only thought clanging through my bones and shrieking in my skull.
Rip’s mouth slowly pulls into a grin, and he speaks with the dark, sensual stroke of a villainous purr that matches the glint in his eye. “Yes, Goldfinch, I am. But you can call me Slade.”
End of Book Two