Page 32 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth
I’ve never cared who my lovers fucked before or after me. This burning need to claim and keep is eating me alive.
Garrett isn’t even my lover. He’s just some guy who chained me up and jerked me off twice in his room. That’s it. That’s the extent of our relationship. Two orgasms don’t make someone yours.
So why does watching Teris touch his arm make me want to break bones?
Finally, mercifully, they say their goodbyes. Garrett makes promises to meet for drinks soon and gives them assurances that he will visit more often. Then they’re gone and I can breathe again.
“You alright?” Garrett asks, studying my face.
“Fine.”
“You look like you want to murder someone.”
More than one, actually. But I can’t say that.
“The museum,” I say instead. “Let’s go.”
He watches me for a moment longer, then leads the way.
The museum sits at the heart of Aelfheim’s cultural district, a building of white stone and soaring arches. Guards nod respectfully to Garrett as we enter. The building is full of art and artifacts from before the Great War, pieces of history preserved behind glass. Garrett walks me through the exhibits, explaining the significance of various items. He tells me stories about Aelfheim’s past like he was there to witness it.
Maybe he was. Pure-blooded elves live long enough to see centuries pass.
I pretend to pay attention, but mostly I’m watching him. The light in his face when he talks about something he loves. The passion in his voice.
We stop in front of a display case containing ancient weapons. Swords and daggers from battles long finished.
“These belonged to the Faolstone Legion,” Garrett explains. “Elite warriors who defended Aelfheim during the first incursion. They were slaughtered to the last, but they bought the city enough time to mount a proper defense.”
I study the weapons. They’re beautiful, even behind glass.
In a quiet corner, there’s a small display about the werewolf clans. My steps slow as I approach it. I stare at the display, a ceremonial dagger that might have belonged to one of the packs. Silver-capped teeth mounted on a piece of velvet. Remnants of lives destroyed. There’s not much here, just a few artifacts and a brief historical note about the purges.
“The great wolf clans were hunted to near extinction for crimes against the Aeonians,” I read aloud from the placard.
“I’m sorry,” Garrett says softly. “For what happened to your people.”
We leave through a side door that leads into the museum’s gardens. It’s quieter here, away from the other visitors. Stone paths wind through carefully cultivated flower beds. A fountain burbles in the center, water flowing over carved stone.
Garrett sits on the fountain’s edge. After a moment, I join him.
“This was my brother’s favorite spot,” he says, looking up at the sky. “When we were young, our tutors would bring us here for lessons.”
We sit in silence for a while longer, listening to the fountain. The sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink.
“We should head back,” Garrett says eventually.
I nod and follow him out of the gardens. We take the forest path back to the keep. It’s longer than the main road but quieter. The trees here are ancient, and their canopy is so thick it turns midday into twilight. Garrett seems relaxed with his hands in his pockets, talking about some historical debate between scholars regarding pre-war treaties.
I’m only half listening. The other half of me is noting places where an ambush could come from. Which is why I’m not completely surprised when they come.
The first attacker drops from the trees. I move on instinct, shoving Garrett aside as a blade whistles through the space where his throat was a heartbeat ago. I open the attacker’s belly in one smooth motion. He goes down screaming, trying to hold his insides in.
The forest explodes with movement.
They come from everywhere. A dozen at least, maybe more. Masked figures in dark leather surround us, armed with swords and daggers and crossbows.
“Behind you!” Garrett shouts.
