Ink Exchange by Melissa Marr Read Free Book Online

forward. “Careful with my wings.”
    She stumbled. Wings?
    Rabbit said nothing; perhaps he hadn’t heard or understood. Perhaps she hadn’t spoken—but she could picture them—dark, shadowy swoops, somewhere between feathers and slick-soft aged leather, that tickled the sensitive skin at the backs of her knees.
    As soft as I remembered.
    “Rabbit? I feel weird. Wrong. Something wrong.”
    “Endorphin rush, Leslie, making you feel high. It’ll be okay. It’s not unusual.” He didn’t look at her when he spoke, and she knew he was lying.
    She felt like she should be afraid, but she wasn’t. Rabbit had lied: something was very wrong. She knew with a certainty that seemed impossible—like tasting sugar and having it called salt—that the words he said didn’t taste true.

    But then it didn’t matter. The missing hands of the chaos clock shifted again, and nothing else mattered in that moment, just the ink in her skin, the hum in her veins, the euphoric zinging that made her feel a confidence she’d not known in far too long.

C HAPTER 5
    Although Rabbit had told him where to find her, Irial hadn’t approached the mortal yet; he’d had no intention of doing so until he saw if she really was strong enough to be worth the effort. But when he felt their first tenuous link fall into place, felt her euphoria as Rabbit’s tattoo machine danced across her skin, he knew he had to see her. It was like a compulsion tugging at him—and not just him: all the dark fey felt it, tied as they were to Irial. They’d protect her, fight to be near her now.
    And that urge was a good one to encourage—their being near her would mean they’d taunt and torment the mortals, elicit fear and anguish, appetites and furies, delicious meals to sate his appetites once the ink exchange was complete. Where the girl walked, his fey would follow. Mortals would become a feast for king and court—he’d caught only slight drifts of it so far, but already it was an invigorating thing. Shadows in her wake, for me, for us. He drew a deep breath,pulling on that still-tenuous link Rabbit was forging with his tattoo machine.
    Irial rationalized it: if he was going to be tied to her, it made sense to check in on her. She’d be his responsibility, his burden, and in many ways a weakness. But despite the reasons he could list, he knew it wasn’t logic leading him: it was desire. Fortunately, the king of the Dark Court saw no reason to resist his appetites, so he’d co-opted Gabriel and was on the way to her city, seeking her presence the way he had sought so many other indulgences over the years. He leaned back, seat reclined all the way, enjoying the thrill of Gabriel’s seemingly reckless driving.
    Irial propped one boot on the door, and Gabriel growled. “She’s fresh painted, Iri. Come on.”
    “Chill.”
    The Hound shook his shaggy head. “I don’t put my boots on your bed or any of those little sofas you have everywhere. Get your boot off there before you scratch her.”
    Like the rest of the Hounds’ steeds, Gabriel’s wore the guise of a mortal vehicle, shifting so truly into that form that it was sometimes hard to remember when it had last looked like the terrifying beast it truly was. Maybe it was an extension of Gabriel’s will; maybe it was the steed’s own whim. All of the creatures mimicked mortal vehicles so well that it was easy to forget that they were living things—except when anyone other than the Hounds tried to ride them. Then it was easy to recall what they were: the speed at which they moved sent the offending faery—or mortal—hurtling through the air into whatever target the beasts chose.
    Gabriel steered his Mustang into the small lot beside Verlaine’s, the restaurant where the mortal worked. Irial lowered his foot, scraping his boot on the window as he did so; the illusion of its being a machine didn’t waver.
    “Dress code, Gabe. Change.” As Irial spoke, his own appearance shifted. Had any mortals