Nourish us, save us, the body for the soul. Her thoughts were tangled with waves of feelings that fluttered through her and drifted away, like the strands of a lost dream after waking. She grasped at them, her mind struggling to hold the emotions in place, to identify them. These weren't just her emotions: she could feel the yearnings of strangers outside on the street—a montage of fears and worries, lusts and angers. Then cravings too bizarre to visualize washed over her.

But almost as soon as they touched her, each feeling skittered away, spiraling out onto some cord that led away from her into the shadows, into the abyss from which the ink in her skin had been collected.

Irial drifted in uneasy slumber. He felt her—his Leslie— being stitched closer to him with each brush of Rabbit's needles, tying her to him, making her his, far more truly than any of his fey were, than anyone had ever been. And it felt like Rabbit's needles were puncturing Irial's heart, his lungs, his eyes. She was in his blood as surely as his blood was in her skin. He felt her tenderness, her compassion, her strength, her yearning for love. He felt her vulnerabilities and hopes—and he wanted to cosset and love her. It was decidedly unfit for the king of the Dark Court to feel such tender emotion. If I'd known, would I have done the exchange?

He wanted to tell himself he wouldn't, but he'd allowed far worse to be done to him to ensure the safety of his fey.

In his nightmares, she was the girl he'd carried down the street, his Leslie, bleeding from wounds done to her by men whose faces came slowly into focus. He wasn't sure what was real and what was fear-distorted. She'd tell him, though. He'd walk through her memories as they drew closer. He'd comfort her—and kill the men who'd hurt her.

She'd make him stronger, nourish him by feeding him human emotions he couldn't touch without her. And he'd learn to hide how much she suddenly meant to him, how sickeningly mortal he felt. What've you done to me, Leslie? He laughed at the realization of his new weaknesses: by making himself strong enough to lead them, he'd simultaneously made himself far less of the Dark Court than he'd ever been.

What have I done?

As Leslie sat there—eyes closed and waiting—she heard the laughter again, but it didn't bother her this time. It felt good—welcome, even. She smiled. "It's a nice laugh."

"Stay still," Rabbit reminded her.

Then he went back to work, the hum of the machine sounding louder, as if her hearing had shifted. She sighed, and for a moment she could almost see the dark eyes that were now etched on her skin—except they seemed to be looking at her from beyond the room, just close enough that she wondered if she'd see them when she opened her own eyes.

She noticed the hum stop but couldn't quite open her eyes as Rabbit cleaned her back again.

Sleep now. It was just a whisper, but she felt certain that there was a real person talking to her—not Rabbit.

Who?

And he answered, her imaginary speaker. You know who I am, Leslie. You might not like the answer just yet, but you know me, love.

Beside her, she heard the bandage package rip, felt pressure as the pad was put over her tattoo.

"Just rest for a few minutes, Leslie," Rabbit murmured as he helped her stand, directed her onto the chair again, reclined now like a bed. "I'll be right back."

Listen to Bunny-boy. I need to wake up, and you don't want to be awake for it. Trust me, love. I want to keep you safe.

"Listen to who?"

"You're strong, Leslie. Just remember that. You're stronger than you think," Rabbit said as he draped a blanket over her. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Just rest."

She didn't have much of a choice: she was suddenly more exhausted than she'd ever been. "Just a few minutes. Going out dancing, then."

Irial woke with a scream half formed on his lips. He was unbound but still on Rabbit's chair. Red welts crossed his arms and legs. A bruise stretched across his arm where the tube had been. He tried to sit up, sending paroxysms of pain through his whole body.

Ani sealed her lips to his, swallowing his scream—and the ones that followed.

When she pulled back—lips blood red, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed—he gaped at her. Halflings didn't, couldn't, feed on faeries. Mortal blood overcame most of their fey traits. The traits that remained had never included this one.

More troubles.

"How?" he asked.

She shrugged.

"Ani, you can't stay here if you need to—"

"Feed?" she prompted with a smile that was all Gabriel, wicked and predatory.

"Yes, feed, like your father. No wonder Rabbit's had so much trouble with you." Irial concentrated on keeping his focus, on not trying to go check on Leslie, on dealing with Ani first. Leslie's not ready to talk to me. Not here. Not when I'm so weak.

"Your pain's like a big sundae. Didja know that?" Ani licked her lips. "Cherry. With extra sugar."

"What about Tish?" He pulled on the shirt Ani had given him. Business first. Then Leslie. Somehow she didn't seem like business anymore.

"Nope. Just me." Ani leaned closer. "Can I have another taste?"

She bit his chin, drawing blood with her sharp canines.

He sighed and pushed her away. No violence in disciplining Gabriel's daughter.

"I can feed off mortals without the ink exchange. No exchange. Just me." She sighed dreamily. "If they're rolling, it's like drinking rainbows. Rainbows. Big, sugary rainbows."

"Mortals?"

She swayed into him. "If I find a strong one, it's okay. It's only when I pick the wrong ones that they get all stupid. Not so different than what you're doing, is it?" She plopped down beside him. "She's fine, you know. Leslie. Resting and all that."

"Rabbit!" he yelled. Then he sent a mental message out to Gabriel. They'd need to take Ani with them for a while.

"What's she done?" Rabbit leaned in the doorway.

“Fed.”

He nodded once. "I wondered if that's why—"

"You wondered? Why didn't you tell me? Warn me? She could've gotten hurt, could've gotten in trouble." Irial stared at him. "And she could have been what we needed to forestall …" He let his words drift away. The idea of finding Ani earlier, of not being with Leslie, made his stomach tighten in unfamiliar panic. Here was a solution that was too little, too late, and he was perversely glad of it.

Beside Irial, Rabbit was still, cautious, all the things Irial wasn't feeling. Rabbit said, "She's my sister, Iri. I wasn't going to turn her over for testing, not when you had a plan that might work."

Ani swayed and tried to step around Rabbit to leave. He scooped up his sister, holding her aloft and away from his body like she was feral, but looking at her with the same affection he'd had when Ani was just a newborn pup.

He pointedly changed the subject. "Leslie's leaving now."

To hide just how confused he was about the feelings he was having for Leslie, Irial focused on Ani, who was kicking her feet in the air and giggling. "Ani can't stay here," he said.

"I know." Rabbit kissed Ani's forehead. His eyes twinkled as he added, "Dad's going to have an awful time with her."

Irial felt the Hounds approach, a skin-prickling roll of terror that he let wash over him like soothing balm. Fey outside—not his, but summer fey—cringed as the Hounds passed. He let himself take nourishment from the horror they wrought by their presence.

"Daddy!" Ani squealed, kicking her feet again.

The Hounds stayed outside—all but Gabriel. He nodded at Rabbit. "Pup."

Rabbit rolled his eyes at his father and turned to Irial. "You ought to go after Leslie soon. Daddy can handle Ani." He grinned then, looking every bit like Ani's sibling. "In fact, I'll get Ani's bag together first so she'll be ready to leave with the pack."