Grave Visions(24)

“Try this one,” Falin said, holding out what looked like a larger version of my boot holster.

I took it from him and examined it. “A thigh holster? I doubt that will be easier.”

“It is when you’re wearing a gown like that,” he said. I had my doubts, which he clearly read in my expression because after a moment he continued. “You’ll have to make a small modification. You need to . . .” He trailed off, gesturing at the full skirt. Then he sighed. “I can show you,” he said, but the words seemed to pain him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stepped forward, and forward, right into my personal bubble. In the last few weeks we’d barely spoken—his choice as much as mine—and he hadn’t come within an arm’s length of me. In fact, the last time he’d been this close, he’d kissed me, told me he loved me, and then pulled his knives on me and told me to stay far, far away from him.

I’d listened, and I would have stumbled out of reach now, except I was blocked in by the edge of the bed. I considered throwing myself back and trying to somersault over the bed. It was the kind of thing an action hero would do, probably drawing her weapon in the same move and having it locked on her target by the time she straightened. Me? I’d likely tangle myself in the huge gown and end up in a helpless pile. So I held my ground. Besides, Falin was clearly trying his hardest to look nonthreatening.

He knelt in front of me, lifting the edge of the gown and gathering it up, over my calf, my knees, up to my thigh.

“Uh, Falin, what are you . . . ?”

Without a word he picked up the thigh holster I didn’t remember dropping and slipped it around the exposed skin of my right thigh. His fingers moved with absolute efficiency, not lingering or caressing, but regardless, heat still rose to my cheeks as his gloved hands worked over my thigh. He pulled the dagger and hilt from where they were mostly concealed in my boot and slid them into the new thigh holster and then checked that the straps were secure. I stared at the ceiling, reminding myself that there was nothing—could never be anything—between Falin and me. Besides, I had a boyfriend.

A boyfriend whose being with me was a death sentence to him and who I couldn’t contact. Hell, I didn’t even know his real name, but he was my oldest friend and I cared about him. And at least he wasn’t likely to betray me at word one from the Winter Queen, unlike certain fae.

By the time Falin dropped the gown I was scowling, mostly at my own thoughts. When he stood, I nearly sighed in relief.

Then he drew his own dagger.

This time I did stumble backward, my calves slamming into the bed hard enough that my knees bent and I barely caught myself before falling onto the mattress. Falin frowned at me, and then down at the dagger in his hand.

“I mean you no harm,” he said, and while his face was blank, his voice was rough, like all of his emotions had caught in his throat. “My word, I mean you no harm.”

He was fae, so he couldn’t lie. He’d given his word, he wouldn’t harm me. At least, not right now. He reached out and I pressed myself harder against the bed. His frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything else. He’d already given me his word—what else could he offer?

I forced myself still as his fingers landed on my hips and traced downward until he felt the hilt of the dagger on my upper thigh. He studied the hang of the gown a brief moment, fingering the gathered folds, and then, faster than I could react, he raised his dagger and sliced a long slit into the material. Despite his word, I winced, expecting pain to blossom in my leg. When it didn’t I pried open my eyes in time to see him make similar slices through the layers of petticoats. Then he stepped back with a self-satisfied nod.

“Reach in the hole,” he said.

I couldn’t see the slit between the folds of the gown, but I knew where it was. Reaching with trembling fingers, I slipped my hand into the slit, and brushed the hilt of my dagger. Nice. I began to draw the dagger, but Falin caught my arm, stopping me midmotion.

“It’s a lot harder to get it back in the holster, and with a dagger like that . . .” He trailed off, but I knew exactly what he meant. The dagger liked to draw blood. Usually it reserved that thirst to urging my hand against someone threatening me, but if I gave it the perfect opportunity, I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t take a little of mine.

Releasing the hilt, I pulled my hand free and studied the gown. The slit closed nearly seamlessly, not completely, but you’d definitely have to be looking for it to know it was there.

Falin wasn’t finished yet.

He reached out one more time, his hands moving over the fabric without actually touching it. “Now for a thin layer of glamour and . . .” He stepped back, gesturing to the mirror over my dresser.