Of Blood and Honey (Fey and the Fallen) Read Online Free PDF

burned cold on his wrists, and his legs ached. His whole body prickled. The blond man pressed closer. Rough uniform fabric brushed against Liam’s skin. A hand slid down his back, cupped one butt cheek and squeezed.
    Liam’s heart stopped.
    “My name is Philip Sanders. You may call me Phil.” Sanders reached up to smooth hair from Liam’s face. “Tell me something,” Sanders said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Have you fucked before?”
    The hand slipped between Liam’s legs, and he stopped breathing.
    “Tell me.” Squeeze.
    Liam screamed. A hand clamped hard over his mouth.
    “Not a sound,” Sanders said. “Do you want the others to know you for a fairy?”
    After that, Liam shut his eyes and prayed, but there was no God in Hell.

    It was dark when he was dumped back in the cage. He was glad of that. No one could see his shame. He should’ve died fighting, but he hadn’t. He’d let that man do what he would. Worse, he’d— Don’t think about that. He staggered back to the barracks, keeping his mind as blank as possible. Nothing happened. He wanted to be sick, but he didn’t want the others to notice. They’d see it in him if he wasn’t careful—see it in him as Sanders had. They’d see Sanders had— A shower. That’s what Liam wanted. The other prisoners were off playing at football by the sound. They were always playing at football or betting on any random thing because there wasn’t much else to do in the cage. He went around the backs of the buildings until he reached the Quonset hut that contained the washroom.
    The pain had been horrific. The memory of Sanders’s voice sent a shard of ice through his chest. I’m to be your first. Isn’t that sweet? Liam closed his eyes and shuddered. The shower, he thought. Have to make it to the shower. He checked to see if anyone was inside. There was no one. He didn’t bother to strip—just turned the water to the coldest setting possible and stood in the stream. When he was sure he could move again without getting sick he then took off his wet clothes, picked up the soap and started scrubbing at the blood and shite. It took ten washings to get the feeling of Sanders off him. Then he sat on the frigid concrete floor and curled himself into a tight ball. He waited for the icy water to numb his skin and then cried in silence, hiding his tears in the shower’s stream. He wept until he felt as blank as the cinderblock wall. Then he dressed in his wet things, avoided the mirror above the washbasin and went to bed early. He didn’t sleep. He merely lay in his cot and stared at the tin wall, huddling under his blanket in his damp clothes and wishing himself dead.
    Sometime before lights out a jar of what the others jokingly called “Murphy’s Poteen” made the rounds. Usually Liam didn’t bother to sample the contents. The smell of it made his eyes water. However, this time he accepted the jar and drank as much of the foul brew as he could stand. Maybe it would kill him, or maybe he’d go blind. He deserved it. He hadn’t fought, not hard enough. He wasn’t natural. He’d—
    Kevin frowned at him. “What did you do to your face?”
    Memories surfaced of having his head slammed into the bars for struggling. Liam shoved the images down and away into the dark. He didn’t have the energy to speak. So, he didn’t. Unable to get an answer, Kevin let him be.
    A storm rolled in during the night, and the wind fairly screeched with the force of it. He listened to the corrugated tin rattle and the water drip from the ceiling, thoughts alternating between emptiness and memories of stark terror. The weather let up after a few hours, but the wind continued to howl. Dreams flitted past his eyes like shredded phantoms as he halfdozed—images of a huge black wolfhound. The creature was searching for him. The knowledge was strangely reassuring. He couldn’t have said why. His next recollection was of being shaken. He choked back a scream and forced open his