by Marilynn Fae
“Why not?” I ask carefully. “Wouldn’t you be picking up other people?”
“Yes,” he says. “First time I’ve picked up one of your kind,” he continues, confusing me even more.
“My kind?” I ask carefully, glancing down at myself.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with your kind,” he adds quickly and all but runs off before I could ask him what he means, metaphorical tail between his legs like he’s afraid I would cast a hex on him.
Shrugging off the odd encounter, I slide the carriage door close and make a nest of coats in the seats and press my forehead against the glass window. The train rattles loudly as it starts on it’s journey and I manage to stay awake until the sun has drifted over the horizon.
My dreams are full of dark clouds and crows cawing in the trees, warning me of danger, voices in the forest telling me to take the train back.
“Hello,” a voice murmurs and I startle awake at the sudden noise that has broken through my dreams.
I hadn’t heard the door opening. I rub sleep from my eyes and make the mistake of looking up as I answer, which leaves me with my mouth partially open because the man leaning at the door is unnervingly beautiful. His suits are like nothing I’ve ever seen, all ruffles and beautiful white linen that is paler and whiter than any color I have seen before.
His skin is almost as pale as his undershirt, though the way he holds himself leaves no question that he is stronger than he appears. His lips are the most riveting part of him, red, full and completely kissable. I lick my own lips as my mind inadvertently begin to fantasize on how lovely it would be to have his lips on mine.
I wonder what he is doing on a train like this. He seems better suited for personal carriages, or perhaps even one of those fancy locomotive that doesn’t require horses. He has strong legs, his thighs firm and shapely. The tight pants that he’s wearing leaves little to the imagination. I wonder if it’s leather.
“Would you mind terribly if I joined you?” he asks, drawing my attention back to his face and I quickly close my mouth.
I frown as I remembered the conductor’s warning. Surely someone as handsome as him suffered no lack of companionship. “Is there nowhere else on the train to sit?” I ask carefully, feeling more than a little rude for even suggesting it.
“Unfortunately not,” he says with an easy smile, not taking offence.
I may not be cognizant of the ways of the city, but it is not proper for an unwed woman to share space with a stranger.
“I assure you, I mean you no harm,” he continues, standing at the threshold of the carriage door.
“That’s not exactly comforting,” I find myself saying. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I bite the inside of my cheek. “I suppose you can join me,” I add softly, hoping to redeem myself.
He chuckles and turns around. For a moment, I think he is leaving to find a friendlier companion to spend his time with on the train, but he lifts his luggage from somewhere behind him and brings it into the carriage with him.
He pauses at the door abruptly, nostrils flaring as he breathes in deep, and then he’s staring at me with eyes that burn as bright as the sun.
“My,” he starts. “What’s someone like you doing out of your territory?”
I frown. “I don’t- I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
Lines form between his brows and his expression shifts to something less like hunger. He sinks down into the seats opposite mine and continue staring at me. “How old are you, child?” he asks.
“It’s terribly rude to inquire after a lady’s age,” I say.
He cocks a brow and smiles. “I see,” he says in a matter that is frustratingly cryptic and reminds me of my mother.
Now that he is close, I can see that there is something wrong. He is holding himself too stiffly and his breathes are labored and tired, as if he has been on his feet for a long time. Despite that, he is still terribly and unfairly attractive. I try not to stare, certain that I am embarrassing myself by showing how attractive I think he is.
“Why are you on the train, little one?” he asks.
I cross my arms and huff. I suppose I had asked for that slight since I did not tell him my name. “I’m fetching a doctor for my mother.”
His expression turns even more curious. “A doctor?” he echoes.
“Yes.”
“And you are certain you can convince the doctor to return with you?”
I nod. “He is a family friend.” I am exaggerating since I have never met the doctor before, but he does not need to know that.
“Family friends still need to be paid,” he says and I blush because even though he does not say it, he is correct in his assumption that I do no have much to pay him.
“Yes,” I answer carefully. Liam had assured me that he will charge fairly, but it is possible that he overestimates my family’s wealth. We barely have enough to make it through Winter every year and now that mother has fallen ill, we have even less to go by. I had been hoping to work for the doctor in order to earn the medicine, or perhaps offer him our house.
“I may have something…” He digs into his luggage and pulls out a leather box. Moonlight reflects the jewelry he has in the box as he retrieves a necklace and lifts it up so I can see the diamond dangling on the necklace. “For you,” he says breezily, offering the expensive-looking gift as though it means nothing to him.
I suck in a breath. “I can’t possibly accept that,” I say honestly. “It looks expensive.”
He shrugs. “I have no use for it,” he says. “And I am certain that you would fine better use of pretty jewelry than me. Or would you rather I give you money? I have plenty of that too.”
I stare at him for a moment, thinking there must be something wrong with him. Or there is something he wants from me. Nobody is this kind for no reason. “What do you want from me?” I ask bluntly.
“Nothing you aren’t prepared to give,” he says.
My mother taught me better than to accept gifts from strangers but something expensive would surely convince the doctor to leave with me quicker. Light reflects from the diamond on the pendant, bright and tempting. The necklace itself is gold and lovely. I want to touch it, if only to feel it’s weight in my palms.
“Take it,” he insists, the corner of his lips curving into a grin that looks almost feral. His eyes appear to glow for a second but it must be some sort of trick of the light because when I blink and look at his face more clearly, it is gone.
“This is too expensive,” I insist. “Is there a way for me to pay you back?” I ask.
“Perhaps there is,” he says.
“I don’t have money,” I tell him honestly. “Unless you want our house.”
He shakes his head. It is kind of him not to scoff at the idea. “Take it,” he insists.
“I barely know you.” I don’t know why I’m protesting so hard. I need it for my mother. But my mother had always cautioned me against taking anything from strangers.
“That is something we can rectify,” he says breezily.
I nod in agreement. It is a long way to my destination, after all. I put my hand out with the palms facing up and he lowers the necklace carefully into the middle of my hand. I draw in a sharp inhale. There is a shift in the air and I tremble as a gust of wind appears out of nowhere and tickles my skin. It is dark suddenly. I look out the window instinctively, expecting it to be open. It isn’t.
When I turn back, I find him peering at me, eyes so bright and soulful that it is as though he is devouring me with his gaze.
Without warning, he stands and closes the space between us. The tips of our feet are touching as he stands in front of me and leans down, hands on either sides of my head to pin me in place. I find myself pulling back, every instinct in my body telling me to put as much distance between us as possible. The blood in my veins are throbbing in rhythm with my blood, beating in tempo to the danger alarms ringing in my ears as I begin to regret the decision to accept the necklac
e.
Chapter Three: Payment
“Sir, you are being terribly improper,” I say, hands pressed against his chest to keep a semblance of space between our bodies. There is barely any space at all. He is so close that I am certain we are breathing each other’s air. I try to push him further back. He is as solid as he looks and it is like pressing against a brick wall.
He chuckles and grasps my chin lightly, lifting it to ensure that I would not be able to look away from his eyes. They seem to draw me in and I feel as though I am falling into them, losing myself more the longer I stare at him.
He is close enough for me to smell the scent of metal on him. He must be some sort of metal worker. Or maybe he works on the train and that’s why he-
I clench my fingers on his chest and he hisses, drawing back sharply as though I’ve burned him.
I stare at him in confusion, uncertain of what I’ve done to cause such a reaction. “Did I hurt you?” I whisper.
“Hardly,” he chuckles but there is no mirth in his gaze. He rolls his shoulders and steps towards me again.
I reach forward to halt him and furrow my brows in confusion. There are red stains all over my fingers. It does not take long for my brain to make the right connections. “You’re bleeding,” I feel the need to state the obvious.
“I’m injured,” he tells me with the same tone of someone commenting on the weather.
“Do you- do you want me to go get help?” I ask even though I knew what the answer was. He would not be here if he wanted help. Perhaps if I run towards the door, he would not stop me and we can pretend none of this has happened and we’ve never crossed paths.
“No,” he says. “I have what I need right here,” he continues, looking at me with a sort of hunger that makes me shrink into myself and wish I was somewhere else. I feel like a buffet spread laid out in front of him the way he looks at me.
Tentatively, my fingers reach for the lapels of his jacket, my heart thumping against my ribcage so loudly that I worry he would be able to hear it. He lets himself be drawn in by my light touch, brows arched in amusement.
Afraid, but also immeasurably curious, I start unbuttoning his suit jacket, wanting to see the extend of his injuries. It must be severe if it had not stopped bleeding by now.
“You need- you need stitches,” I saw, swallowing the bile in my throat at the sight of the slash across his chest that had torn his undershirt and stained it red. “You need help,” I say, standing up with the intent of running to the train conductor so he could pull over at the nearest station and get him to a doctor. His hands lurch forward suddenly, pulling me beck and away from the door.
“Don’t,” he warns darkly, his grip on my wrist to tight that I am certain he is leaving bruises the shape of his fingers on my hand. His breaths come in slow heavy pants as he clutches a hand to his stomach. “You can help me,” he says.
“Me?” I echo numbly. “I’m hardly a doctor.” If I were, I would not be on the train at all and my mother would not still be sick.
“If I told you you can help me, that you are the only possible way I don’t die here today, would you?”
I stare at him. “I don’t know how you think I can help you,” I say honestly.
The corners of his lips quirk upwards. “You will do it then? You’ll help me?” He grins despite the pain and it is terribly unfair that he could still look so seductive even as he is bleeding.
I know it is stupid to agree. I know nothing about the man except that he is unnaturally attractive and I would very much want to kiss him. Heat rushes to my cheeks at the inappropriate thought. I’ve never even kissed a man before. I’ve never wanted to. The boys in the village are like brothers to me and I’ve never wanted them in a more… intimate manner.
It would be stupid to say yes. Yet, something about him makes me want to do everything he asks without question.
“I’ll help you,” I say despite the blaring alarm in my head. “I want to help.” I have a feeling that I would regret this, but I know would regret not helping even more. If he were to die here, it would be my fault and I would not be able to live with myself. And it is only fair. He had given me the necklace that would convince the doctor to come to my aid so I should pay him back in some way.
He stands up straight and then unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way, tugging it off his body with a slight grimace as the movement pulls on the wound and causes blood to drip sluggishly down his chest.
My eyes widen at the sight of the gashing wound on his stomach on full display and quickly look away because even despite the injury, he is still unfairly attractive. His chest is muscular and defined, though a little ashen. Loss of blood explains his pallid complexion. I reach for the wound despite the discomfort in my belly at the sight and a part of me wonders if I can close it together if I pressed hard enough.
His hands grip my wrist and stops me midway. He presses my hand to my breast, right above where my heart is. I can feel the rapid, panicked thumping beneath my own fingers.
“Are you afraid?” he asks needlessly. Surely he can feel how rapidly my heart is beating?
“I am terrified,” I tell him honestly. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Stay still for me,” he says as if it is that simple, as if all I needed to do is stay rooted to the spot and he will somehow be magically healed. There is something about the way he is looking at me now that makes me think it is entirely possible, that it is exactly what he means. Maybe he has me under a spell. It would certainly explain the attraction.
His fingers are cold on my own and I feel the weight of his body press against my own. His free hand cups my chin, tilting my head back. His fingertips brushes against the hair on my neck and pushes it away as he tilts my head to the side.
“I have never tasted fae blood willingly given before,” he growls as his lips brush against the sensitive shell of my ear.
I swallow, fingers clenching tightly on the cloth of my dress as I keep still. “Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, sounding calmer than I felt. The rational part of my brain is telling me to run, to push him off and sprint out the door as fast as I can. I listen to the part of me that wants to stay and see what happens.
“Only a little,” he confesses, his hand snaking around my waist and pulling me taut, keeping me trapped beneath him as though he can sense my desire to run and is making sure I have nowhere to go.
I freeze in his arms and staunchly ignores my flight or fight response. When I feel his teeth bite gently on the tender spot just below my ear, I make a soft sound that makes him push me back harder against the seat. He uses his feet to gently ease my legs open to that he can fit in between them.
Gasping at the sensation of his teeth sinking into skin, I clutch at his biceps and feel the muscles there rippling as he moves. My nails dig into his skin to pull him closer. I should be doing the opposite, but my brain seem to have abandoned me and all I do is tilt my head to the side, giving him easy access to the unmarked expanse of my neck.
“Perfect,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice a warm vibration down my spine. I let out a breathless gasp when he rolls his hips and I can feel the hardness of his body against my own soft curves. There is something hard nudging on my inner thigh, a throbbing warmth that draws color to my cheek. His hand creeps down my neck to the hem of my dress, slowly easing it up.
“Please,” I whimper, not understanding what’s happening, but wanting more from this nameless stranger. He is holding me so closely, his touch alighting all the erogenous zones in my body to make me keen with want.
“Do you trust all the strangers you meet so easily?” he asks huskily as he pulls back to draw my dress up and over my head.
“No,” I shivers, wrapping my arms around myself and feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. I look down in humiliation, feeling like a whore for letting him undress me. I sour at the thought of him thinking that I do this for anyone who looks at me right.
I’ve never done this befo
re and it’s unfair for him to say such things to me when I’ve only done what he asked. My eyes burn with unshed tears and I try willfully to blink them away, feeling like a child as I fight back the swelling feeling of helplessness that I have been feeling the past several days as I try to deal with my mother’s illness.
“Are you mocking me?” I ask quietly, turning my face away.
“Look at me,” he says and I do it because the alternative isn’t feasible. “I’m not mocking you. I was merely teasing,” he promises, looking sincere. “I’m sorry for insinuating otherwise. I let my tongue get the best o me.” He presses a kiss on the corner of my lips and then another on my forehead. “May I continue?” he ask, gesturing to what little garments I have left clinging to my skin.
I chew on my lower lip, suddenly unsure of what to do until he dips his head and presses a kiss on my exposed shoulder. His lips linger there for a few seconds and I can feel his warm exhales.
“Please,” he murmurs. “I need you to help me.”
I lick my lips and nod.
He grins, teeth cold on my skin. Then, he is dragging me into a hungry kiss, licking into my mouth as he wraps his arms back around me. “You’re so beautiful,” he says. He expertly strips me of the rest of my clothing until I am wholly bared beneath him, hiding nothing from his heated gaze. He licks his lips as he drinks in the sight of my naked body and I am suddenly rapt with desire, heat burning from the base of my neck all the way to the tips of my toes. I have to remind myself to breathe. Maybe I’m really under a spell.
“You’re not under a spell,” he says and I blush when I realize I had said it out loud.
“You could be lying to me,” I say, breathless even though I haven’t done anything yet. I bite my lip and stare into his eyes, unable to look anywhere else.
His fingers skim around my nipples and they pebble up immediately under the attention. I let all the air out of my lungs and my fingers tighten around his arms. The light, airy caress of his thumb over my pink buds sends a jolt of pleasure all through my body.
