Lothaire (Immortals After Dark #12)(74)

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Lothaire just . . . left me,” Ellie murmured to Hag, her voice sounding as bewildered as she felt.

For the last seven nights, he’d dropped her off at the fey’s—like a brat at the sitter’s—while he’d been out tirelessly searching for the ring, so determined to replace her forever.

But this sunrise, he hadn’t come to pick her up. It was three in the afternoon. Now she knew what it felt like to be the last kid standing at KinderCare.

“What am I supposed to make of that?” Staring at nothing, Ellie swigged her beer.

She and Hag were out on the fey’s deck, reclining on sun chaises with snacks, magazines, and a party pail of iced Corona Lights between them.

After the witch-in-the-mirror scare, the oracle had been much nicer to her. Probably because she knew Ellie was about to die and all.

And Ellie had eventually forgiven her for setting Lothaire on her path—after all, Hag had nothing to do with Saroya parking inside Ellie.

“Make nothing of it, Elizabeth,” Hag said. “He’s merely late. Let’s enjoy ourselves until he returns.”

Realizing that Saroya probably wouldn’t want a suntan, Ellie had gone St. Tropez, spending the day out here, slathered in coconut oil. Though she’d always tanned easily, lately she’d been prison pale.

Not anymore. Feel the burn, freak.

And since Saroya wanted her to put on weight, Ellie had decided to lose it. She was presently on a barley-and-hops diet.

“Something happened after Saroya rose that last time,” Ellie said. “Ever since then, Lothaire has been acting different with me.” As if all the ground she might have conquered with him had been lost.

When Ellie had awakened, Lothaire had gazed at her as if she’d wronged him, as if he resented her.

Perhaps Saroya had proved seducible. Maybe she’d schooled Ellie’s attempts. Though I’m still a virgin. Of course, Lothaire had explained why they couldn’t have sex.

“I’d pat your hand with a well-intentioned but awkward gesture if my skin weren’t poisonous.” Hag was as unused to having a girl friend as Ellie was.

Each night, once the fey’s work was done, she and Ellie had downed drinks and chatted.

Saucing it up with a fey oracle. My new normal.

They’d talked about potions, hunting, the craziness of the Lore. And of Hag’s single status.

Turned out that ages ago, Hag had fallen for a demon—strictly off limits for a fey like her. The brawny warrior had doubted his “delicate little fey’s” love, especially since she’d been so young. In turn, she’d doubted he could withstand her poisoned skin for long enough to claim her. They’d decided to meet a decade later under the golden apple tree in Draiksulia—if she still felt the same way, and if he could obtain an antidote

for her.

Because of Hag’s curse, she’d been centuries late for her date. Now she was unable to find the warrior—even her bones couldn’t tell her where he’d disappeared to.

Hag’s doe-brown eyes sparkled green with emotion whenever she spoke of him. . . .

“Hey, you don’t think Lothaire’s . . . dead?” Ellie asked, confounded that she almost felt worried about her captor’s safety. Captor and soon-to-be executioner.

“He will come back, Elizabeth.”

And how should I feel about that?

“I would know if he were dead,” Hag said as she checked her timer.

The fey was working on a potion, an experimental one she hoped would counteract a spell that protected one of Lothaire’s enemies—some Valkyrie named Regin the Radiant. Upon discovering that Regin had a protection spell, Lothaire had hissed, “N?x, that bitch!”

Whatever that meant.

“He might have grown distracted and lost his way temporarily,” Hag added.

Ellie could believe that. He’d been deteriorating mentally. One sunrise when he’d arrived to collect her, he’d been covered in blood and raving about his enemies: “Following me! Isn’t safe for you.”

Two nights ago, she’d awakened in her spot on the sofa to find him kneeling beside her, stroking her hair.

He’d murmured, “Harder and harder to tell when I’m awake . . . can’t live like this much longer.”

Sometimes he spoke to her in Russian, as if he fully expected her to answer in the same.

She’d never questioned him again other than to occasionally ask, “Am I going to die tonight?”

“Not yet,” he would answer distantly. But last sunset, he hadn’t replied, just gazed away.

Ellie opened another beer, plugging the bottle with a lime wedge. “Can you tell me why Saroya isn’t even trying to rise? Shouldn’t she be worried about him right now? Why isn’t she hankering to see him? If I was evil and Lothaire had showered me with jewels and clothes, I’d be all over him.”

“Would you?” Hag studied her face. “Even after all he’s done to you?”

As ever, Ellie replayed the vampire’s mocking voice in her head. “You can’t compare to Saroya.” She’d thought herself immune to insults, but for some reason, his had struck home. “You are demonstrably my inferior in every way. Intelligence, wealth, looks, bloodline . . .”

The scorn in his tone, his smirk. She sighed. The truth of his words.