A Court of Dark and Decay

Chapter 6- SPITFIRE

WARNING:

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS OF BLOOD, VIOLENCE, AND SEXUAL ASSAULT.

I WILL INCLUDE WARNINGS BEFORE THE EXPLICIT CONTENT BEGINS AND AFTER IT ENDS.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Blood.

She had to much blood under her nails. On her skin. On the floor.

Still, she bit and scratched and clawed and hit the guards that held her.

Closer and closer to the Cauldron, they dragged her kicking and screaming.

Elain had already been Made. Was in a pool of the black thick liquid on the floor.

Cassian was answering her screams with moans behind her. Trying to reach her.

He had broken his promise.

Come, spitfire.

The black water rose to the brim of the Cauldron. Waiting. Beckoning.

She thrashed harder. Her foot made contact with one of the guards, she didn't know where, but she heard a crack. Still they kept an iron grip on her arms as the came closer and closer.

Her throat was burning. She tasted blood on her tongue.

I've been waiting for one like you.

She kicked her foot out against the Cauldron and pushed back, trying to propel herself away. She felt the edge of the metal slice through the bottom of her foot. She cried out.

One of the guards grabbed her legs and shoved her feet into the water.

You taste wicked, spitfire.

She screamed louder. She tried to find footing in the black water to kick out, but it felt like there was only open air beneath her. A free fall.

She braced her hands on the edge. The guards ripped them off and tried to shove her under by the shoulders.

She couldn't stop it.

She knew she would be going under.

So she wretched one of her arms free. And pointed on finger at the King. At this child who sat on a throne of sticks and stones before her.

At the one who had burned their home. Killed their staff- those who had become her family.

The one who had dragged Feyre and Rhysand here, only to use herself and Elain to exploit their weakness. As if they were no more then bargaining chips.

The one who had nearly killed her mate. She could still hear him, gasping and moaning on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

At the one who had hurt Elain beyond words.

Yes. She pointed that finger. Marked her target for all to see.

And she imagined what it would feel like, how satisfying it would be, to dig a knife into his throat and watch the life slowly drain out of his eyes.

She would drink his blood.

She would bathe in it.

She would carve out his skull to use as a wineglass.

She would not just kill him.

She would eviscerate him.

Such anger, spitfire.