Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(35)

“I have no concern for human strife.”

She gathered bunches of her stiff skirt into her fists. “We’re suffering from a blood beetle plague. We cannot survive if we do not have the cure, and the MacNara twins said they would help if I brought you back to them. I beg—”

“I see little begging,” he growled.

Sorcha’s mind whirled. He wasn't letting her finish! How could she beg if he wouldn't give her the chance to speak?

“The blood beetles eat humans from the inside out. We cannot stop them on our own, and I need you to—”

“Need?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Need. There is no other way to find a cure! The twins promised me that all I have to do is bring you back—”

“They lied.” The shadows bunched and coiled.

“Fae cannot lie.”

“Then they twisted the truth. I can tell you now, girl, the MacNara twins do not have the cure for the blood beetles. Now go.”

Her chest clenched in horror. They had the cure! She hadn’t traveled all this way only to discover that the faeries had tricked her.

“Go?” she repeated. “Where will I go? This is an island!”

“I don’t care where you go. Hy-brasil is no place for one such as you.”

Had she failed? He remained in the shadows, barely moving except his damned foot that created more mysteries than it solved. Sorcha only knew his voice grated on her nerves, his imperious nature made her palms itch to smack him, and his refusal to help suggested he was a heartless creature with no care for others.

How dare he?

“My family will die if I do not find this cure.”

“You are so concerned over death, I wonder if you have any other thoughts in your head.”

Sorcha’s mouth gaped open before her cheeks flushed bright red with anger. “Do you have any concern over the welfare of others?”

“Little for those who threaten my staff.”

“The gnome at the door?” She swung an arm wildly in the direction from whence she came. “He is one of the rudest, most foul creatures I have ever met! I will not apologize for my tone nor my words.”

“Humans rarely have any sympathy for the Fae. Yet, you seem to think I owe you a boon for…what? Existing?”

“Are you so cruel you cannot feel even the smallest amount of sympathy for my people?”

The damned boot she had been staring at shifted again. A surge of triumph straightened her spine.

“I am known for my cruelty. And, it seems, so are you," he growled.

“Your judgment is cast quickly for a man who will not even show his face!”

“The sight of my face is not one for the faint of heart.”

“Then you willingly admit to being a coward and a boor?”

“A coward?” His voice deepened, slicing through the darkness and cracking against the stone. It shook her ribs and vibrated through her body. “You dare accuse me so?”

“I dare much for the well-being of my family!” Sorcha’s voice shook with righteous indignation but she shivered in fear.

The shadows quaked and the drapes around the throne billowed as he stood up…and up…and up.

Her brow wrinkled in worry as she stared at his great height. Good lord, how big was he?

A cloak concealed much of his figure. Like great leathery wings, the dark fabric billowed as he stepped down the stairs towards her. Each measured step clunked hard and the cracked marble creaked.

He didn’t have to rush towards her to intimidate. The sheer size of him made her shiver in apprehension. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and a hood covering his head were all she could make out, even at this close distance. Sorcha held her breath and stood her ground.

She would not show fear.

He stopped only when his toes were a hair’s breadth from hers. Sorcha stared into the darkness of his hood, her head barely reaching his biceps. She set her jaw and squared her shoulders. Whatever he would say could not be worse than their previous words.

“You know very little of me, human.” His breath brushed her hair, carrying the scent of mint and citrus.

“I can confidently say I find your morals, and thusly your character, to be abhorrent!”

“On what are you basing these accusations?”

“You have forced your servants to call you master. You hide your face and intimidate a visitor seeking help. And then, you go so far as to refuse to provide aid to those who need it. Those, sir, are the facts upon which I judge you.”

“Have you no care nor discretion for your own survival? You berate a creature of superior strength!”

“Superior? Sir, I find you lacking in every sense of the term.”

His aggressive way of arguing made her think she had gotten through his thick hide, but she had been wrong.

His spine straightened and his shoulders squared. The cloak drew tight across his chest and he stepped away from her. He took the air with him, stealing it from her lungs, as a blast of cold air pushed her back, such was his anger.

“Go,” he said.

“I have nowhere to go,” Sorcha repeated. “If you would stop being so stubborn—”

She didn’t think. She reached out, grasped ahold of the cloak he wore, and yanked.

The fabric slid from his shoulders and revealed his horrific face.