by A. K. Koonce
“Please.” Bear waves his hand before him. “What’s mine is yours.”
“Oh, good. Because I was going to take it anyway.”
It has been far too long since I’ve gotten my hands on cheese. Soft and crumbling under my touch, I am certain this is expensive fucking cheese. My absolute favorite. Unlike the bread, I do not pull the cheese to pieces. Instead I pop the chunk into my mouth.
My jaw muscles ache in protest as I work away at the thick piece of intensely salty food. It’s so good. Just as I remember it. A moan escapes me.
“This is amazing,” I say through the far-too-large bite.
“Oh, my goddess! He gave you the cheese.” Miranda grins.
“That’s enough.” Bear growls.
“What?” With wide eyes, I stop chewing. “Did he spit in it? Is it made from goat semen?”
“That’s disgusting.” Leaning away, Bear looks utterly appalled.
“No, no.” Miranda chuckles. “Bear just really loves cheese.”
“I love cheese!” I smirk. Seriously, this food has made my attitude a thousand times better. They should have offered me food to begin with, and I would have come willingly.
Probably. Maybe . . .
“She loves cheese.” Miranda points at me, his attention fixed on Bear with suggesting eyes.
“A lot of people like cheese.” Bear pauses. “You could find many cheese-loving women down at the local Seven Elven Market.”
Oh, ho ho. Look at this guy here, recycling my jokes.
“I think it’s going to take a lot more than cheese for me to enjoy this grumpy-ass foot soldier who is dragging me back to an unfortunate arranged marriage.” A new breeze, so much colder than the last, tosses my skirts.
A shiver storms through my shoulders.
“It’s practically treason to not like the queen when you live in the Northern Kingdom.”
Miranda’s words echo oddly in my mind. He keeps calling me their queen, but I’m not. My people had always loved me as I had loved them. I made sure they were taken care of when my father was too busy with parties and politics. I can’t imagine a world where the people wouldn’t love me. Even if Bear isn’t my biggest fan. But that’s only because I’m making his job difficult.
Words linger on my tongue. Questions about the king and sarcastic comments that I should likely keep to myself. I ignore them all, though, as a snowflake lands on my bare foot.
“Guys.” My teeth chatter loudly. “In case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m getting a bit cold.”
Dark clouds drift in, dropping fat crystal flakes over every surface. The sea eats up most of the pretty flakes.
“Yes, and it will continue to get much, much colder.” Miranda points out, folding his empty cloth and tucking it into a pocket. “Best get this pathetic water fae off the top deck. Nightfall will kill her with the temperature drop.”
Bear folds up his own cloth and tosses it at the floorboards. “Want to open the doors for me? I’ll get her majesty.” He says the last two words with disgust.
How sweet.
“That’s an awfully rude way to say it.” I hug my arms across my chest for protection against the relentless wind.
“Give me.” He points to my hands.
I hold them up and let him wind the rope around and around until they are tied in a skillful knot.
In less than a heartbeat, my world is flipped upside down. The wind is knocked out of me as Bear tosses me over his shoulder.
“Fucking shit, Bear! Put me down! I am a Princess!” I holler, struggling at the uncomfortable feeling of his strong shoulders digging into my stomach.
I bounce against his broad back as he steps across the deck. His ass, perfectly round-looking in these pants that hug him just right, stares me right in the face.
It’s almost tempting to . . .
“Ow!” Bear halts. My body tumbles down on the deck.
Pain radiates through my face. It was the only thing capable of catching my fall when he let me go.
“You dropped me on my head!” I shout.
“Did you bite my ass?”
From a distance, I hear Miranda’s quiet “Oh, my.”
“You— I—” Bear mutters. “You are far more trouble than you are worth,” he finally spits out.
“You’re right. Take me back.” I shrug, still cradling my throbbing face.
He glares down at me, and I glare right back up at him.
“They rejected me, Bear! Do you understand that? I traveled to meet him. I wanted to meet him. I wanted to like him. I—I fucking thought I was going to live a fairytale with him.” My voice catches, and I choke my unsteady words back down.
His furious expression softens, and I hate the way he’s looking at me. Just be pissed at me. I can handle that. This sad, pitying look—I can’t even glance at him now.
And maybe he knows it.
“Just shut up.” Bear whispers it like it’s a sentiment. He lifts me more delicately, holding me close to his chest. My head leans into his warmth just a bit.
And for once, I have nothing left to say.
Seven
The Wanting Whispers
Syren
Cold continues to find its way in. It edges its way through the mountain of blankets piled high on my lap. The tip of my nose feels like ice.
From across the small cabin, Bear stares at me from under dark brows. His lips are a flat line cutting across what would be a handsome face if it wasn’t constantly twisted in bleak expressions.
“How much longer?” Staccato words are all I can manage. Short. Abrupt. Easy. Talking expels too much energy when I need my body to focus on keeping me alive.
Bear has yet to put on any layers. In the desk chair, he leans forward, his hands balancing on his thighs as he watches me shiver. He’s a fire fae. They say fire runs through their veins. I never believed that until now.
“We still have hours before we get to land, where we will begin the walk back.”
“Walk?” Physically, I recoil deeper into the blankets. How utterly repulsive. I can’t survive sitting on this tiny freezing ship. How am I supposed to survive walking in this cold?
“You water fae are such babies about the cold. You’ll be fine. It will get warmer once we reach land.”
“If I make it till then.”
Bear’s head lifts slowly as if he’s thinking over my words. Was me dying not a thought in his pretty little head?
He stands. His hands clench at his side once before he lets out a long breath and brings them up, tugging his shirt over his head as he does. Bronze skin and perfect lines of muscle are revealed in the dim lighting.
“What—what are you doing?” I tug the blanket closer to me, tucking it under my chin. Though my eyes betray me as I let them follow the perfect angle of his lean hips . . . down.
“Stop it.” Bear wags a finger at me. Scolding me like a child. “I am to bring back a princess meant to be queen. You must arrive alive. For fuck’s sake, your lips are turning blue.”
Boards creak under his shifting weight as he walks, no saunters, towards me. His entire demeanor has shifted from bored and brooding to a sultry confidence.
Or maybe that’s just how I perceive it.
Because even as he lifts my blankets and I hiss from the sharp whisk of winter air against my skin, he frowns.
“It’s for the people really.” He nods, talking himself into it.
What the fire fae fuck.
“I don’t want to share a bed with you,” I mumble, trying to angle myself away from him. Though as one of his feet slithers under the covers, I can already feel the relief of his heat.
“You mean to tell me you haven't shared your bed with a man before?”
“That’s not your business.”
He blinks slowly. He decides not to say anything further and slides completely onto the worn mattress.
Everything in me feels rigid and stiff, though it’s not from the cold. My lips curl downward.
T
his vile beast of a man stole me from my sanctuary.
And now, we’re spooning. Lovely. Just lovely.
I gulp down air as if I’m drowning, my body violently shaking.
“You know, this will work a lot better if you come closer.”
Closer. Yes, that is what’s scary about it. I need him to keep me from hurting, but do I need him that bad?
My body says yes as I shake once more. Damn it all.
“I’m fine,” I say with a chatter.
His dark eyebrow arches at me.
“I just—give me a minute. I’m about frozen solid, and it’s hard to move.”
His arm snakes across my stomach, wrapping around me and pulling me to him in one smooth movement. Warmth spreads over my skin, thawing even the most terrible spots of cold. The firmness of his touch against my stomach melds my back against his chest.
“Don’t you think the king will be upset when he learns that you spooned me?” I ask, breaking the heavy silence.
“Don’t think about that.”
“It’s hard not to think about my immediate impending doom.”
“I think he will make an exception just this one time,” he whispers, breath fanning along my neck. The quiet hush of his voice makes me wonder if he doesn’t want Miranda to hear us. If he is truly worried about the implications of his actions.
His defiance makes me like him. A little.
“So,” His big palm sprawls flat against my stomach, covering the place where my top and my skirt reveal too much soft skin to his rough palm. “Tell me what you’ve heard about your husband-to-be. I can help you learn a little something. Separate fact from myth . . . and maybe help you decide that this arranged marriage isn’t as bad as you think it’s going to be.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Humor me,” he says, and I can’t help but shiver from every word he breathes against my neck.
Squirming against him, I think. What do I know about King Iri? I’ve never met him. I saw a worn portrait of him years ago. He was as mythical to me as the goddesses.
Slowly, like I’m trying to taste the words on my tongue before I say them, I speak. “I know he rejected me.”
“I wouldn’t call it rejected.” Bear’s words may just be words to him, but to me they are a burning arrow of pain directed at my heart.
I twist until I see his serious dark eyes. His brooding features look almost . . . concerned.
“He never met me. Never saw me. Heard piddly little rumors about me and decided I was no good. He took me away from my kingdom, only to send me away to be alone for the rest of my time, where one day I would die without any comfort of friends or family.”
His lips press tightly together, and his eyes shine with a deep sadness. Or is it pity? I do not want his pity.
“Are you close to the king?” I ask, rolling back over.
“Very close.”
“Do you like him?”
His breathing stalls, fingers drawing lazy circles along my stomach as he contemplates his answer. Time continues to tick away, and I think he may not answer at all.
Bear tilts his head into me, his lips hovering so near my neck that one small movement would leave a very dangerous kiss against my pulse. The soft edges of his mouth and deliciously rough beard brush across my skin. Everything in my body rebels against my stubborn, hating mind as a shiver tingles down my spine.
I don’t dare to move, too nervous that I’ll be the one who accidentally removes the small space between us. My body is a demented bitch: loving the heat and his all-to-possessive touch, yet hating how wrong it is.
“No, I don’t always like him,” he finally admits with a dark whisper.
“Why?”
“He is cruel. The Cursed King. The Cruel King.”
Another shiver down my spine, but this time for an entirely different reason. Fear drives my now-racing heart. It beats through me, leaving my pulse so wild I’m certain Bear can feel it thrashing against his lips.
“He has to make a lot of hard decisions. That’s worthy of respect, yes. Yet, sometimes I think that all his losses took some of his humanity with them. People tend to die when they get close to him.”
I do not want to die. I do not want to get close to him.
“He is called the Cursed King, as you stated before, for that very reason,” Bear adds.
“It’s rumored that he is the one that kills those close to him. Paranoid that they’ll take his throne.” Now it’s my turn to be scared that Miranda might hear me. And I know Bear heard me. But perhaps condemning myself for treason is the only way to remove myself from this marriage.
Breaking all the rules could force King Iri’s hand. Ending my life now is preferable to living side-by-side with that so-called murderer.
“Not everything you hear is true.” Bear leans away, allowing the tiniest sliver of frigid air to worm between us.
I roll until I’m cradled in his arms, and he is looking down on me, his brown locks hanging over his shoulder. Instinctively, my fingers find a strand of his long hair, and I twirl it in the silence. It’s surprisingly soft. The one soft thing about this brooding fae.
Bear watches me, his amber eyes deepening to a darker shade. That looks like it might work to my advantage.
“Tell me something that you’ve heard about me.” I glance up, holding his gaze from beneath my long lashes in the most practiced way. A look that always made my father’s guards swoon.
“I heard you were beautiful. In the most sinful of ways.”
“Well, that’s not really an accomplishment.” I flash him a slow smile. Moving closer, I press away any cold between us and let his skin burn against me. His big body fits nicely next to mine.
He looks away. “I hope you clean up nicely, because right now you’re as dirty as a street rat.”
“That’s rude.”
“My apologies, Princess,” he draws sarcastically.
“What else have you heard of me, other than my undeniable beauty?”
Bear rolls his eyes, but looks back down at me. “I heard you were stubborn and impulsive. Both, I’ve already learned, are true.” The hand against my stomach tentatively runs up my arm until his fingers are stroking my exposed collar bone. “I heard you also love your people, and your people love you.”
I don’t know why I’m surprised that he would willingly admit he heard something nice about me, but I am. I’ve only known Bear for a short period of time, and he doesn’t seem like the type of person who openly admits other people's strengths.
“Your turn.” Two fingers tilt my chin up to him in a dominating way.
As if that’s an invitation, I plant my hands against his hard chest. In the dim light, his eyes seem darker than the hints of red glinting in his beard. It’s like the light constantly plays tricks on my eyes when I look at him. His hair is mostly dark brown, but in the right light, it’s red. The telltale sign of a fire fae.
He grabs my hands in one large palm, a tingling promise shivering through me at the idea of him pushing my hands above my head, pinning me beneath his big body and letting every part of him thrust into me hard and fast. When he speaks, his voice is flat, and those dirty thoughts slip away all too quickly.
“Talk,” he says.
“I’ve heard that . . . he has a pet werewolf.”
“Werewolf?” His eyebrows furrow. “Like half-human, half-dog? What would he do with it when it was human?”
“Chain it up and walk it around as if it was still a dog? Call him Carlton and take him on walks in the park?” I offer.
“He has a wolf. All wolf, no part human. Her name is Jubilee.”
“Jubilee? Like a party.”
He nods. “Guess she’s the only good thing in his life. Or at least, that’s how it seems. He treats her better than some of his men. Though . . . in his defense, some of his men are whiny little bastards.”
He pauses like he realized he was rambling about a sweet little dog, and immediately changes the subject.<
br />
“Okay,” he continues, “I heard you hardly ever wear your . . . undergarments.”
“What?” I laugh. Taking a hold of his feverish grip, I bring his hand down as I slide my leg up over his hip. Confidently, I run his touch over my exposed knee underneath the thin layers of skirt. His eyelids lower in a sexy way. Slowly, I push his rough palm up my thigh until he brushes the ruffle of the short fabric along my curves.
“Undershorts, yes.” His chest rises and falls faster as I skim his big palm over the fabric of my dress until he is cupping my bare ribs under my bust. I pretend to not notice. “Though occasionally, I skip my corset,” I explain, as if his touch isn’t making me want far more.
“Those must be restricting.” His words are hardly words at all, only the bit of air released from his heavy breaths.
He feels good. He does. I hate to be that person, but his weakness is something that can be taken advantage of. And I really, really need an advantage here.
The boat rocks against a vicious wave, knocking our bodies together and trapping his hand between us, against my ribcage.
Roughly, I chew my lip, watching his mouth part. I lean in closer, considering what it would be like to press just the smallest kiss against the undeniably perfect pink of his lips.
Fingers dig into my skin as he takes my hands and twirls me away from him, flipping me flat on my back in an instant. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not interested.”
Though his words tell me he wants nothing to do with me in that way, his body still presses closer, his arms wrapping around me until nothing separates us but the layers of wrinkled clothing.
My body trembles against his.
“Cold?” he rasps in my ear, making me shiver violently against his hard chest.
“No—yes. So cold.” I force another shake of my shoulders, but the humming laughter in his throat makes me wonder if he believes me at all.
I’m warm. Finally. But he holds me the rest of the night. We don’t speak. We don’t risk roaming hands. I don’t try to taunt him into kissing me.
Because if I were executed for treason against the Northern King, Bear would be too.
And for once, I almost care about Bear’s life.
