Page 63 of The Blood Queen

I can’t stop the transformation. It sweeps over me between blinks. One second, I’m using my body as a shield between the princes and Alyth; the next, I’m hunched over, fingers hooked like claws, breaths panting and vision gone narrow.

Fae blood tastes the sweetest.

It spills just as prettily as human blood, only it’s so, so much better. I don’t know how I know, but I do, and I hunger for it.

I’ve wanted to smear Keryth’s blood across my face since he touched Alyth last night. I can now.

I shake my head, hard. No. That’s not what this is. I’m defending Alyth, not going on a tear. Blackness teases the edges of my awareness, but I hold off, because I caused this. I did this to Alyth, ruined her chance at getting actual help, and I’m not bloody well screwing this up for her even more by going into a full feral rage—

Wait.

I’m not…

I’m not blacking out.

It’s a bit like it was when the High Blade controlled me. There’s a barrier between the conscious me and whatever my body’s doing, but I’m aware.

I shift my stance, flex my fingers. My body listens. There’s something angry raging through me, but the beast paces the confines of my self-control.

For Alyth, I think. And I swear, that part of me, the angry, bloodthirsty Red Cap part, thinks it too. For Alyth.

My heart’s going so hard it’ll have dents in the shape of my ribs on it.

At my back, one of the doors groans open. “Samson—”

I snarl at Drest, at the fae princes, and some of them jolt back. They see me. They see what I am.

I turn, grab Alyth’s hand, and haul her out the door.

Someone must’ve alerted the fae soldiers outside. The whole palace complex is up in arms, orders getting called, but it’s confusion. Someone shouts about Red Caps coming, we’re under attack; someone else is saying no, it’s the Lady Alyth? That uncertainty buys us time, and we’re down the steps and nearly back across the courtyard when Drest’s voice rings out: “Seize them!”

Soldiers charge toward us.

The gate’s just ahead. It was open, but it’s closing now, the massive door winding up.

We’ll make it. We will.

I yank Alyth in front of me, hunching to protect her as much as I can, both of us running with everything we’ve got. We pass a stack of barrels and crates against one of the squat outbuildings; I grab a barrel lid and whip it up as a shield, deflecting the first blow that swings toward us from a soldier. The sword glances off, a shower of magic sparks bursting in its wake as the lid crumbles, absorbing the blow. Those sparks prick my skin, leave stinging bites behind, but my Red Cap rage numbs me to the pain as I toss aside the remains of the lid.

We’re almost there. The gate’s still open, angled as it shuts like a drawbridge, but soldiers are closing in, weapons lifted, closing us off from the path to the gate.

Alyth makes an incensed shout, all her frustrations with the fae coming to a head in one heartbreaking noise.

It’s as good as a command for me. It funnels into my muscles, into the blood that pumps for her, and I don’t have thoughts now, but it isn’t bloodlust I’m slipping to.

It’s her.

Just her.

I sweep her up in my arms, duck my stance, and run.

Fae soldiers glance off me, my shoulders flinging left and right to rip a path through the guards. I feel wounds come, slashes of blades, scratches of fingers reaching for me, but I go.

After only a moment of the attack, the soldiers are forced abruptly back, crying out at the sudden impenetrable, translucent bubble around us—Alyth.

Her face is set in a scowl of concentration or maybe a scowl of anger. Either way, she’s gripping my neck with one arm, her other hand flaring out as she holds the barrier around us.

I go, because she needs me to. We have to get out of here. She needs to get out of here.