tug. Silver banded my head— silver that stopped me using magic. Not that I had any, other than my Glamour.
Which had obviously been so successful –
not!
– at trapping Mad Max earlier.
I gave myself a quick mental once-over: as well as the silver burning my head, my skin itched from dried sweat, my body felt like a horde of Beater goblins had introduced me to their baseball
bats, and the rawness in my throat suggested I’d been practising sword swallowing. The only part of me that didn’t hurt, or throb, was between my legs . . . numbed by whatever the warm
wet thing was.
Which would’ve been a whole new worry, if not for the enforced calm.
Mad Max leaned over, poked my cheek. I glared up at him, wanting to knock his hands away.
‘Bleeding hell, love, you’re a hard nut to crack,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve met mountain trolls who break easier than you.’
I was going to kill the sonofabitch.
The white fire in his eyes faded. He settled into the chair next to the bed, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and stretched out long pale legs with an exaggerated sigh. All he was wearing
was a pair of red boxers decorated with black coffins.
It hit home that all
I
was wearing was the cream bra. I couldn’t feel the briefs, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was numb, or they weren’t there.
I lifted my head, straining to look. The wet warm thing moulded to me like a thick second skin was made of nubby towelling. It was pink-tinged, dotted with bits of green leaf and the magic in it
glinted like the tiny chunks of glass of a smashed car windscreen. Did our mutual state of undress mean he’d had sex with me? After all, I’d been offering it to him on a plate –
or the Sex-compulsion spell had. The panic and rage inside me threw itself against its cage, but the calm kept it contained.
I jerked my chin at him and tried to spit the gag out.
He got the message. ‘Start screaming,’ he warned, ‘and it goes straight back in.’
I nodded, and he pulled it out.
‘Why—’ I coughed, licked my lips, which were split and tasted of my own dried blood, and started again. ‘Why the hell am I tied up?’
‘Just keeping you out of my pants, love. Much as I enjoy a bit of the rough stuff when it comes to foreplay, you’re a tad too forceful for my liking.’ He spread his arms wide.
Long bloody furrows ran down his chest and stomach, disappearing into his red boxers, as if some rabid animal had attacked him; only a hazy memory told me the rabid animal had been me. I almost
apologised, but he added, ‘Of course, as a bit of slap and tickle was all that was on the cards, I have to confess I did rather let my frustration get the better of me when it came to
subduing you. But y’know, Cousin, what goes around, comes around.’
The swollen eyes, split lip and various other pains made sense now.
I’d attacked him once – he’d been hurting my friends – and had beaten his face almost to a pulp almost with a backpack full of bricks. He’d obviously decided to
return the favour.
‘Bastard,’ I spat out.
‘Payback’s a bitch! Oh, no, wait! This time payback’s a dog!’ He chuckled then growled menacingly exactly like a dog, which was eerily apt since his other form was an
Irish wolfhound. Like the picture on the T-shirt he was no longer wearing.
‘Why aren’t you dressed?’
‘Just being practical, Cousin.’ He pointed at my bottom half. ‘That’s a wet towel and I’ve got a bath full of Poultice potion.’
Practical? Him?
‘But I ’spect you’re asking ’cause you’re wondering if I took you up on your offer to do the old in and out together,’ Mad Max continued cheerfully
I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes.’
‘Enticing as making the beast with two backs with you might be, a few too many interested parties would get a tad upset about it. My loopy fruitcake of a sister with her part-time goddess
gig, for one – or two, depending which way you look at it.’
I wasn’t sure
Which had obviously been so successful –
not!
– at trapping Mad Max earlier.
I gave myself a quick mental once-over: as well as the silver burning my head, my skin itched from dried sweat, my body felt like a horde of Beater goblins had introduced me to their baseball
bats, and the rawness in my throat suggested I’d been practising sword swallowing. The only part of me that didn’t hurt, or throb, was between my legs . . . numbed by whatever the warm
wet thing was.
Which would’ve been a whole new worry, if not for the enforced calm.
Mad Max leaned over, poked my cheek. I glared up at him, wanting to knock his hands away.
‘Bleeding hell, love, you’re a hard nut to crack,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve met mountain trolls who break easier than you.’
I was going to kill the sonofabitch.
The white fire in his eyes faded. He settled into the chair next to the bed, crossed his arms over his bare chest, and stretched out long pale legs with an exaggerated sigh. All he was wearing
was a pair of red boxers decorated with black coffins.
It hit home that all
I
was wearing was the cream bra. I couldn’t feel the briefs, but I couldn’t tell if that was because I was numb, or they weren’t there.
I lifted my head, straining to look. The wet warm thing moulded to me like a thick second skin was made of nubby towelling. It was pink-tinged, dotted with bits of green leaf and the magic in it
glinted like the tiny chunks of glass of a smashed car windscreen. Did our mutual state of undress mean he’d had sex with me? After all, I’d been offering it to him on a plate –
or the Sex-compulsion spell had. The panic and rage inside me threw itself against its cage, but the calm kept it contained.
I jerked my chin at him and tried to spit the gag out.
He got the message. ‘Start screaming,’ he warned, ‘and it goes straight back in.’
I nodded, and he pulled it out.
‘Why—’ I coughed, licked my lips, which were split and tasted of my own dried blood, and started again. ‘Why the hell am I tied up?’
‘Just keeping you out of my pants, love. Much as I enjoy a bit of the rough stuff when it comes to foreplay, you’re a tad too forceful for my liking.’ He spread his arms wide.
Long bloody furrows ran down his chest and stomach, disappearing into his red boxers, as if some rabid animal had attacked him; only a hazy memory told me the rabid animal had been me. I almost
apologised, but he added, ‘Of course, as a bit of slap and tickle was all that was on the cards, I have to confess I did rather let my frustration get the better of me when it came to
subduing you. But y’know, Cousin, what goes around, comes around.’
The swollen eyes, split lip and various other pains made sense now.
I’d attacked him once – he’d been hurting my friends – and had beaten his face almost to a pulp almost with a backpack full of bricks. He’d obviously decided to
return the favour.
‘Bastard,’ I spat out.
‘Payback’s a bitch! Oh, no, wait! This time payback’s a dog!’ He chuckled then growled menacingly exactly like a dog, which was eerily apt since his other form was an
Irish wolfhound. Like the picture on the T-shirt he was no longer wearing.
‘Why aren’t you dressed?’
‘Just being practical, Cousin.’ He pointed at my bottom half. ‘That’s a wet towel and I’ve got a bath full of Poultice potion.’
Practical? Him?
‘But I ’spect you’re asking ’cause you’re wondering if I took you up on your offer to do the old in and out together,’ Mad Max continued cheerfully
I gritted my teeth. ‘Yes.’
‘Enticing as making the beast with two backs with you might be, a few too many interested parties would get a tad upset about it. My loopy fruitcake of a sister with her part-time goddess
gig, for one – or two, depending which way you look at it.’
I wasn’t sure
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