by Eva Chase
She beams up at me. “Of course. I’m starving. What are we making?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Let me take a look in the pantry and see what that inspires.”
Before I do that, I spread some butter on a thick slice of bread to address the worst of her hunger—it’s no good creating an elaborate meal if she’s too famished to enjoy it while she’s shoveling it into her mouth. And the last thing I want is to give her any further reminders of her time in captivity. I gulp down a hunk for myself as I peruse our current stash of ingredients.
The lake quails in the cold room won’t take too long to bake. I gather several of those, the makings for fresh rolls, and duskapples to poach for dessert.
When I emerge with my haul, Talia’s eyes widen where she’s perched on her usual stool. “How many people are you expecting to feed?”
I laugh, the sound startling me but instantly lifting my mood. “We worked hard last night. Now we have the appetites to match.”
I toss together the ingredients as quickly as I can and get Talia started kneading the dough for the rolls while I stuff, season, and truss the quails. For several minutes, we work in companionable silence. When I sneak glances at her, she’s intent on the movement of her hands in the dimpling mass of dough, a small but definite smile curving her lips.
She likes having something useful to do with herself just as I do. And I was able to give her that when she must have needed it more than ever.
The pride that tickles through me comes with a memory of last night, of the fog clearing from my head when the taste of her blood reached my wolfish maw, of gazing up at her resolute form and understanding what she’d done. Sylas was with her then, but she must have approached him in his slathering beastly state alone. This wisp of a girl, filled out some now that she’s getting proper meals but still slim and delicate—yet not remotely fragile.
Somehow the torments Aerik subjected her to forged a soul that’s so resilient without hammering the kindness out of her.
She looks up and catches me watching her, and the corners of her mouth lift a little more even as a flush colors her cheeks. A hint of longing seeps into the sap-sweet scent her skin gives off. Suddenly I want to set so much more than my gaze on her.
The serious cast that crosses her face a moment later snuffs out my flare of desire. Her hands pause over the dough. “Most of the summer fae, like you,” she says. “The ‘Seelie.’ They think about humans more like Aerik does than like Sylas, don’t they?”
I grapple with my answer, buying myself a little time as I arrange the quails in their roasting dishes. I won’t deceive her, but I’d rather not terrify her any more than she already is either. After I’ve washed the grease and herbs from my fingers, I take the dough from her and begin forming it into balls.
“I think it’d be most accurate to say they’re somewhere in between,” I said finally. “And it’s not simply about attitudes toward humans. Pretty much all fae see mortality as a weakness. They look down on those of us with a lot of human heritage too.” I motion toward my ears, their rounded shells resembling my human mother’s so much more than my true-blooded father’s. “I can’t say even the three of us are immune to that kind of thinking completely.”
“Kellan definitely wasn’t.” Talia gives a little shudder.
“Exactly. And he also, like Aerik… Many fae use that sense of superiority as an excuse to become cruel. They enjoy crushing whoever they can with their powers; they deal with boredom by squabbling over lands and possessions. They’ll just as happily ruin a fellow true-blooded fae as a human. It’s just easier to exert their will over beings with no magical protections.”
“You aren’t like that at all. Or Sylas and Whitt, from what I’ve seen. It was only Kellan.”
“That was the largest point of conflict between him and Sylas.” I set the last of the shaped rolls on a baking tray and turn to face her. “Sylas’s main ambition is to provide for the pack as well as he possibly can—to see everyone have everything they could want, including peace. Any glory beyond that would cost our pack-kin pain and possibly even their lives. He’ll fight to protect the pack and the Seelie in general, but not out of selfishness. And there are other lords who prefer peace over conquest too.”
Talia runs her hands down her thighs to her knees, her shoulders hunching slightly. A ruddy, raised scar caused by tearing fangs pokes from the neckline of her shirt above her collarbone: a stark reminder of just how cruel the lords who aren’t like Sylas can be. “So, if it comes out that I’m here and what my blood can do, pretty much every fae will think they have more rights than I do, but some of them won’t want to outright torture me?”
Those words sum the situation up far more accurately than I like. I can’t leave her bearing the burden of that understanding alone.
I move to her, touching her arm, bowing my head over hers. My voice drops low. “It doesn’t matter what anyone outside these walls thinks. You’re with us now. Sylas meant what he said—we’re not letting Aerik—or anyone else—hurt you. If they try, I won’t hesitate to make them regret it.”
My voice turns fierce with that last promise, my own fangs tingling in my gums, but Talia doesn’t flinch at my vehemence. If anything, it appears to restore some of her own confidence. Her shoulders straighten again, her mouth firming but her eyes staying soft as she gazes up at me.
“I know he meant it. I know you mean it. That’s why I wanted to do everything I could for you last night.”
She reaches up to rest her fingers against my jaw, and all my awareness narrows down to the heat stirred by that tentative caress and the memory of what else she did for me last night—of the moment when she turned from Sylas after he kissed her and immediately drew me to her, marking her own sort of claim. Showing that she wanted me just as much as she did him, that she wasn’t going to leave me on the sidelines.
I don’t know how I got so lucky to have earned that devotion from her when she could have offered it all to my lord, but I don’t have it in me to refuse it. I can’t even refuse the hunger that surges through me now with her body so close to mine, her scent in my nose, and those tender words in my ears.
I lean in, and she tips her chin up so she can meet my kiss. That simple gesture nearly undoes me. My wolf rears its head, and what I intended as a gentle peck transforms into a scorching melding of our lips.
As I capture Talia’s mouth, a needy, breathless sound escapes her, sending a bolt of lust straight to my groin. Her hand slips to my chest, her lips part to welcome me, and it’s all I can do not to outright plunder the tart heat within.
It’s hard to believe this is only the third time we’d ever kissed. As I tug her closer, every inch of her body feels familiar; every breathy noise falls into harmony with the pounding of my pulse. I’ve watched her; I’ve longed for her; I know her. And she embraces that yearning with all she is.
I want to hoist her onto the island and bury myself completely in the arousal that’s already lacing the air, want to bring her gasping to a climax ten times as ecstatic as the one she found with my guidance in the basement sauna pool. Want to feel her come apart around me, clutching me and arching against me, every fear and worry forgotten.
Skies above, how I want it.
But as I let my tongue delve between her lips, as hers flicks out to tease over it, a tremor runs through her frame. Her fingers grasp at my shirt as if she needs to hold onto something or she’ll be swept away. The eagerness doesn’t fade from her kiss, but my lust recedes at the reminder of how new this sort of encounter is for her. Two weeks ago, she hardly knew what pleasure she could bring to her body on her own.
If I follow my hunger to its intended end, she might go along with it, caught up in the sensations I’m provoking within her—but will she be happy afterward? How can she know how much she wants if she’s too overwhelmed to consider that question?
I will not be like— I will not use her. I won’t let my wants trample over hers, human as she is. Until she
’s had more space to decide—until she’s sure of what this all means—until I’m sure I can be everything she needs—
I brace my hand against the edge of the island behind her and ease back just a few inches. Talia’s pale green eyes glow with desire, her cheeks flushed, her lips darkened by the kiss. I swallow hard, having to master myself all over again.
“I’d love to keep doing this all day, Sweetness,” I murmur, brushing the lightest of pecks to her forehead. “But I did promise you a meal.”
From her smile, I’ve managed not to make my retreat feel like a rejection. “Better not to find myself among three starving wolves?” she teases, and glances past me to the counter. “How long will the quails take in the oven?”
“Twenty minutes or so.”
“I should probably take the opportunity to get some clean clothes on, then. If I’m going to be ‘lady’ of the keep, I’d better at least kind of look the part.” She tugs at her shirt, which is rumpled from being slept in but doesn’t at all detract from her charm. I force myself to step farther back so she can slide off the stool. A very large piece of me is gnashing its teeth in self-reproach for not having taken the opportunity to strip her of those clothes myself.
I watch her slip out of the room, so nimble now despite the faint limp the foot brace Sylas made for her can’t quite correct, and then turn to my baking. As I set the trays in the oven, my mind is still on Talia, the heat of our encounter thrumming on through my veins, a more ardent warmth wrapping around my heart.
I’ve never felt this all-consuming adoration for anyone before. There hasn’t been anyone in our diminished pack who roused enough attraction for me to think it was worth courting them and risking the tensions that might follow if my interest dwindled. When I’ve passed the fringes of the Mists into the human world to blow off more carnal sorts of steam, I’ve always gone to women who make a job of it, who I can compensate with money with no chance of misunderstandings about the encounter leading to more.
What am I supposed to do with so much feeling? If I offer it all up to Talia in a deluge of emotion, will she welcome that or shy away from the implicit hope of receiving just as much in return?
Those questions leave me restless, but I don’t know where to find the answers. All I do know is I have to show her she’s so much more to me than an object to lust and fight over. There’s got to be more I can do than cook for her, kiss her, and unleash my rage when an immediate threat appears.
A vague but forceful sense of resolve grips me. As the scent of roasting quail wafts into the air, I head upstairs to Sylas’s study.
“Come in, August,” he answers at my knock. Does his deadened eye give him a glimpse of who lies on the other side, or does he know us well enough to differentiate the sound of our knuckles? That seems like an impertinent question to ask.
When I step inside, shutting the door behind me, my lord is at his desk, frowning at a map and a page of notes set across it. He rests his elbows on the corners of the map and looks up at me expectantly. “I assume you’re not here simply to summon me to lunch.”
His unshakeable aura of measured authority always sends me back to the days when I hadn’t yet come of age to join his cadre at all and he oversaw much of my education. Probably because nearly a century later, that level of studied control still eludes me. But I have plenty of other skills to compensate—at least, I’d like to think so.
I square my shoulders to better look the part of cadre-chosen. “I know my main duty has been defending the pack from physical threats as they come up, but I’d like to become more involved—in the planning and strategizing. It might not be my greatest strength, but I’m sure I have enough experience by now to contribute something, and you and Whitt have so much more on your plates now with Kellan gone.”
Sylas considers me with a contemplative expression. I suspect he can guess that this proposal has been driven at least partly by my desire to protect Talia in every way I can. I did brawl with him the other day to secure a better fate for her. He seemed to respect the show of commitment even as he rebuked me for the insubordination, though. It might work in my favor more than against it.
“Did you have anything particular in mind?” he asks.
I came up here in such a rush I hadn’t taken the time to think that through. “Well, I—I’m not sure what you and Whitt have already discussed or how you’d want to approach the situation with Aerik. But I’m at your disposal. And if I could be included in discussions of those strategies from now on, I’d happily share my views.”
“Fair enough. Perhaps I should have brought you into them sooner.” Sylas rubs his temple, the subtlest sign of the burden he’s carrying as lord. I might have gotten frustrated with him over his plans for Talia before, but I can only imagine how difficult he’s found this balancing act, weighing the needs of the pack against her safety. He saw a way through, as difficult as it might make our lives going forward, and that’s why I’d throw myself into any fray in front of him.
After another moment’s thought, he motions to the wall in the direction of the pack houses. “You are my general of sorts. There’s a chance this dispute could escalate into a battle. With most of our warriors at the border, we need every pack member as prepared to defend what’s ours as they can be, regardless of age or physical prowess. Let them know that tomorrow you’ll begin training them.”
The thought of a battle sends an uneasy prickle through me—most of the pack isn’t in any state to go to war. But that’s exactly why he’s giving me this responsibility.
I nod sharply. “I can do that. Thank you for trusting me with the task.”
“Of course. I’d have had you do it sooner if I hadn’t wanted to spare our people the stress of wondering why we’re preparing them. But as things look now…” He exhales with a grimace and pauses. “Talia should learn whatever you can teach her too. Work with her here in the keep for the time being, and with the others once she’s revealed herself to the pack. She’s had to fend off claws and fangs too many times already without the means to give her a fighting chance.”
Yes. The image of a wolf lunging at her swims up from my memory, and my muscles tense instinctively. Anything I can to do to teach her how to protect herself is twice as good as the protection I can offer.
I dip my head to my lord again, drawing myself up even straighter. “I’ll see to both. If it comes to blows, we’ll be ready for them.”
Whether we’ll be ready enough to win… That’ll come down to how well I do this new job I’ve demanded.
Chapter Three
Talia
A hand slams my head down, fingers digging into my scalp in five bruising points of pain. The weight of the man’s body squashes me into the cold floor so forcefully I can’t breathe. My legs flail instinctively—no, no—and all at once he wrenches backward.
He snatches my foot, fingernails sharpening into claws. With a violent twist, the bones snap. Pain floods my leg. I shriek, and the stale air clogs my throat with the stench of urine and blood, choking me, suffocating me as the agony blares on and on—
“Talia.”
A steady but determined whisper. A hand, much gentler, stroking down my arm. I jerk awake, barely processing those sensations, my heartbeat booming with panic for the few seconds before the bleariness clears from my gaze and I make out Sylas looming over me, sitting on the edge of my bed.
A nightmare. I’ve had another nightmare about my time in captivity. I’ve thrashed the covers off down to my waist; the thin fabric of my nightgown sticks to my back with sweat now turning clammy. A sour, acidic flavor laces my mouth. I swallow hard, trying to rein in my racing pulse.
The fae lord’s hand stills by my wrist. He peers down at me with his mismatched eyes, and not for the first time I wonder which sees more. “You cried out,” he says evenly. “More than once.”
Crap. As my terror retreats, embarrassment prickles in to take its place. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
He shakes his head
dismissively. “I was still working, but even if you had woken me, it wouldn’t be your fault.” He pauses, his thumb grazing my forearm in an arcing caress. “You haven’t had one that bad in some time.”
That’s true. During the month I’ve stayed here, the nightmares never went away, but in the past week or so, they’d lost some of their potency. The sense of Aerik and his cadre stalking me must have riled up those fears all over again.
I’m sure Sylas can connect those dots himself, so I simply say, “I know I don’t have to really worry. Here you are saving me from them even when they’re only in my head. Thank you for breaking me out of the dream.”
It isn’t the first time he’s called me out of one of those nightmares, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
His mouth twists. “I wish defeating our foes in reality were half as simple. But we will shield you. Are you all right now?”
My heartbeat has nearly evened out, and the suffocating sensation has faded from my lungs, but I hesitate at the thought of being alone again. Sylas takes that momentary silence as an answer in itself. Without another word, he stands and scoops me out of the bed, the covers falling away from my legs. His arms tuck me close to his broad chest, the rich earthy, smoky scent of him washing over me with his warmth.
“I’m okay,” I feel the need to clarify, even though it’s hard to want to be anywhere but nestled in his embrace now that I’m there.
The fae lord gives a low rumble that sounds amused. “But you could be better. You told me before you felt safer in my room than yours.”
As he strides out of the room and down the hall, carrying me as if I weigh nothing at all, the warmth condenses into a deeper heat at the thought of the things we did in his room the last time I slept there. The heat pools between my thighs, but I’m too groggy still to sort out whether I’d want to make some kind of move now and if so, what.
