Ink Exchange by Melissa Marr Read Free Book Online Page A

been watching, they’d have seen his jeans and club-friendly shirt vanish in favor of a pressed pair of trousers and conservative oxford-cloth shirt. His scuffed boots, however, stayed. It wasn’t the glamour he usually wore, but he didn’t want the mortal to recognize him later. This meeting was for him, so he could watch her; it was not one he’d prefer her to remember.
    “ A face to meet the faces that we meet,” but not my face—not even the mask I wear for the mortals. Layers of illusions… Irial scowled, unsure of the source of the strange melancholia that was riding him, and gestured to Gabriel to don a relatively unthreatening glamour as well. “Pretty yourself up.”
    Gabriel’s appearance shift was more subtle than Irial’s: he still wore black jeans and a collarless shirt, but the Hound’s tattoos were now hidden under long sleeves. His unruly hair appeared to be neatly trimmed, as were his goatee and sideburns. Like Irial’s, Gabriel’s glamour was not his usual one. Gabriel’s face was somehow gentler, without the dark shadows and hollows that he usually left visible for the mortals. Of course, the glamour did nothing for theHound’s intimidating height, but for Gabriel, it was near conservative.
    As they got out of the car, Gabriel bared his teeth at several of the Summer Court’s guards in a taunting smile. They were, no doubt, minding the mortal since she was friends with the new Summer Queen. The guards saw him as he truly was and cringed. If Gabriel were to start trouble, they’d inevitably suffer serious injury.
    Irial opened the door. “Not now, Gabriel.”
    After a longing look at the fey who lingered in the street, Gabriel went inside the restaurant. In a low voice, Irial told him, “After the meal, you can visit our watchers. A bit of terror so near the girl…It’s what she’s for, right? Let’s see how the initial connection holds up.”
    Gabriel smiled then, happily anticipating a spot of trouble with the Summer Court guards. Their presence meant that neither Winter nor Summer Court would harm the girl, and no solitary fey would be foolish enough to try to engage in any sport with a mortal who was under such careful watch. Of course, it also meant that Irial would have the great fun of stealing her away without their noticing before it was too late.
    “Just the two of you?” the hostess, a rather vapid mortal with a perky smile, asked.
    A quick glance at the chart on the hostess station showed him which tables were in his mortal’s section. Irial motioned to a table in the far corner, a darkened section fit for romantic dinners or stolen trysts. “We’ll take that tablein back. The one by the ficus.”
    After the hostess led them to the table in question, Irial waited until she— Leslie —walked up, her hips swaying slightly, her expression friendly and warm. Such a look would work well if he were the mortal he appeared to be. As it was, the shadows that danced around her and the smoke-thin tendrils that snaked from her skin to his—visible only to dark fey—were what made his breath catch.
    “Hi, I’m Leslie. I’ll be your server tonight,” she said as she placed a basket of fresh bread on the table. Then she launched into specials and other nonsense he didn’t quite hear. She had too-thin lips for his taste, darkened only slightly with something pink and girlish. Not suitable for my mortal at all. But the darkness that clung so poignantly to her skin was quite fit for his court. He studied her, reading her feelings now that they were linked even this slightly. When he’d met her she’d been tainted, but now she positively crawled with shadows. Someone had hurt her, and badly, since he’d first seen her.
    Anger that someone had touched what was his vied with awareness. What they had done—and how ably she resisted the shadows—these were what made her ready to be his. Had they not wounded her, she’d be inaccessible to him. Had she not resisted the darkness