Feral Blood (Bound to the Fae Book 2)

by Eva Chase

“If seeing them in a couple of days means I won’t ever have to be around them or worry about them coming for me again, I’ll make it through,” she says, managing an air of defiance even though her breathing has gone shallow. She swallows audibly and adds, “I’m getting better at coping. I faced the three of you as wolves in the full moon wildness, didn’t I?”

  She did. I wouldn’t have expected that—couldn’t have been more startled to emerge from the brutal haze to find her standing with my half-brothers, the flavor of her blood in my mouth. She deserves full credit for that.

  As I continue to size her up, a kernel of a possible scheme sparks in the back of my mind and tickles its way to the fore of my thoughts. The moment I’ve latched onto it, I know it’s perfect, but part of me balks.

  I’m going to be asking her to endure so much more anguish than I’d imagine she’s been preparing herself for. How does she deserve that?

  But she wants to be a full member of this pack, and I should at least give her the choice. It’ll benefit her in the long run too. This is my job, and right now I can do it well, however the proposal might sound to her.

  “What if you had to see them for longer than a quick passing-by?” I ask.

  Talia frowns. “Why? Do you think they’d insist—”

  “No, not at all. But I’m thinking the best way to remove any suspicion from their minds about a human in our midst is for us to show off that human rather than giving any hint of trying to hide you. You’re supposed to be August’s recently acquired lover. Him insisting on you joining us for the dinner would support that story.”

  Her arms come up, stopping just shy of hugging herself. The fear that flashes across her face provokes a sharper pang of guilt. But she draws herself up straighter. “I’d have to sit with them through the whole meal?”

  “Yes. At the same table. We can tell them you’re shy to give you an excuse not to talk or even look at them much. And you’d be with us—we could seat you between Sylas and August. You’d have both of them right beside you through the whole thing.”

  I’m not going to delude myself that she’d take any comfort from my presence, even if my fangs itch in my gums both at the fact that she wouldn’t and the fact that she’d take so much reassurance from my brothers’.

  That isn’t my part to play. Why should it be? I can keep my paws off what isn’t mine.

  Talia worries at her lower lip, which tugs my attention to that lovely rose-pink mouth of hers. She appears to gather herself. “All right. I’ll practice coping with the panic—I think I’ll be ready. I’ll just focus on August. And if—if I feel like I won’t be able to handle it after all, we’ll stick to the original plan?”

  “Absolutely.” And there definitely isn’t an ache closing around my heart with the knowledge of just how much I’m asking this gentle soul to handle.

  “Okay. Okay.” She drags in a breath and gives me a tense smile. “I’m sorry—I should let you get on with your work. I didn’t mean to badger you with questions.”

  “Badger whenever you like,” I say breezily, half-hoping despite myself that she’ll take me up on the offer right now. Any conversation with her sounds exceedingly more enjoyable than the one I need to have with Sylas.

  But the mite slips away, leaving me alone in the office with all the scribblings and reports that, if I’m honest with myself, I already know won’t give me any brilliant solutions to offer to my lord. I sit there staring at the piles on my desk for a few minutes longer, and then I heave myself out of my chair with a sigh to go in search of him. No point in putting off the inevitable any longer.

  Chapter Eight

  Talia

  The basement gym feels larger in the darkness, as if the walls might have fallen back with the thickening of the shadows. I crouch on the moss mat, its surface spongy beneath my feet, and fix my gaze on my hand, which is little more than a silhouette even though it’s only inches from my face.

  “Sole-un-straw,” I murmur at my fingers, attempting to propel some kind of power into my voice. “Sole-un-straw.”

  Behind me, August shifts his weight with a rustle of his clothes. “A little more emphasis on the last syllable.”

  I try again. “Sole-un-STRAW!”

  Nothing sparks. From August’s tone when he speaks next, he’s swallowing amusement. “Not quite that emphatic.”

  I grimace in his general direction and exhale raggedly. It took me years to get bronze right. Maybe there isn’t any point in attempting to master more true names. By the time I get this one, all our battles might be over with—in victory or in failure.

  But I said I’d learn—I want to learn—so I have to give it a proper shot. Anything that’ll make me feel a little more powerful before I have to face Aerik and his cadre again is a good thing.

  At least this time I have a teacher instead of going it alone.

  “Sole-un-straw,” I say, with just a little extra force at the end. The air around my hand stays dark.

  August steps closer and grazes his fingers over my hair. “That sounded pretty much perfect to me. You’ll get there. Have you tried using your emotions like you needed to before?”

  I think back to Aerik’s fortress, to the cage, but the distress that quivers through me doesn’t quite fit my intentions. I’m attempting to produce light, and that terrible room was always already lit up when he and his cadre visited me. If anything, I’d have wished for more darkness during those times to escape their disdainful gazes.

  How can I magic up some light if I’m picturing a place that’s already bright?

  My grimace softening into a frown, I give it a go anyway. If I could have summoned a full-out blaze, cast it right into Aerik’s or Cole’s face…

  The idea stirs a little satisfaction, but no light sparks with my next few recitations. Sighing, I sit back on my ass, resting my hands on the mat. “Didn’t you say this is one of the easy spells?”

  With a gesture from August I feel more than see, the globes that normally illuminate the room flicker on. “It’s one of the first most fae children learn,” he says. “But it still usually takes them weeks or even months to master.”

  “When they’re kids.”

  “When they’re fae and it comes naturally to them. Don’t forget it’s practically a miracle that you can work any magic at all.” He hunkers down next to me, cupping his hand over mine. “You’re not going to get there in a couple of days—none of us would expect you to.”

  But the longer it takes before I can pick this up, the more time we’ll all sit with the uncertainty of whether I’m just a one-hit-wonder. I press my fingertips into the mat as if I can dig the power I need out of the thick layer of moss.

  “We should take a break from that now,” August says. “Getting frustrated only makes it harder to connect to your goal. What do you say to burning off some of that frustration with a little more physical training?”

  I raise my eyebrows at him. “That’s what you’d rather be doing anyway, isn’t it?”

  His grin is sheepish. “Hey, I’ve never denied that hand-to-hand combat is my area of expertise. If you think you’d do better practicing the magic side with Sylas or Whitt—”

  “No,” I say quickly. “You’re good at teaching that too.” The tattoos etched across his arms and neck—and more beneath his clothes—prove that he’s mastered plenty of magic even if it isn’t his go-to solution. The last thing I want is to put another responsibility on Sylas’s shoulders, and Whitt…

  Would that unpredictable man even agree to teach me? Maybe if Sylas ordered him to, but having a reluctant teacher, especially one known for snarky remarks, doesn’t sound like much fun.

  I push myself to my feet and stretch out my arms and shoulders in preparation for the sparring. My gaze travels to the far wall, picturing the landscape outside, the houses of the village. “When do you think I’ll be able to start joining the rest of the pack while you’re training them? It’d save you time not having to give me separate lessons for the actual
fighting techniques.”

  “Time spent with you is never a waste, Sweetness,” August says, his grin turning cheekier. He tugs on a lock of my hair, his golden eyes so brightly eager that a giddy flutter passes through my chest. “Unless you’re getting sick of having so much of my attention.”

  “No, not at all.” The words spill out so quickly that a blush flares in my cheeks, but the way August beams at my enthusiasm takes the edge off my embarrassment. “But if I’m going to be a real part of the pack—if they’re going to get used to me and accept me even though I’m human… I thought it might be good for them to see I’m working at this stuff too.”

  “They will see,” August promises. “I just—I want to be sure they’re ready to train with you. None of them have any recent experience working around humans… They have to know what they’re doing well enough to adjust to your differences.”

  “My weaknesses, you mean.” I say it matter-of-factly—I know the fae are naturally stronger. I don’t really want any of them coming at me as if I’m one of their own either. Although I guess that’s the end goal: fending off the supernatural beings despite my frailer human body.

  August winces. “It might turn out you have an advantage or two. I want to be careful about it; that’s all.”

  “I do appreciate that,” I say honestly. But I’d still feel better knowing I stand some kind of a chance if Aerik turns on us during his visit. Of course, I can do plenty of work toward that goal with just August.

  I roll my neck and raise my hands the way he’s shown me, poised to block a strike or deliver one depending on my opponent’s moves. “What should we start with?”

  August cocks his head, considering. “We’ve gone over a lot of the strategies for when you have room to punch or kick. Why don’t we cover grappling today?”

  “Grappling?”

  His grin returns. Before I have a chance to react, he’s sprung at me. In one swift movement, he knocks me off my feet and tackles me to the floor, his arms braced against me to make sure I don’t hit the mat too hard. He’s so gentle about it that only the faintest flicker of panic darts through me, extinguished with one glance into his fond eyes.

  “When you end up tussling wolf-style on the ground,” he says, close enough that his warm breath tickles my face. “You don’t have to worry about balance, so your injured foot won’t hold you back, but you’ve got much less room to maneuver. How do you think you could get me to back off, at least long enough so you’d have a chance to get free?”

  An actual attacker wouldn’t be this polite about the whole thing, body held a respectful distance above my own. I know that from prior experience. Thinking about more likely scenarios if I were knocked to the ground…

  “Claw at your eyes?” I suggested. That was a technique we’d already gone over for being grabbed while upright, but my assailant’s face might be even easier to reach in a situation like this. “And a knee to the, er, groin if I can manage that.”

  August laughs. “Right for the tender spots. Good. Another option that’s surprisingly effective: if someone goes for your face, grab their fingers and twist as hard as you can. Those joints are easy to dislocate, and put your attacker in a lot of pain while making it harder to grab you. A fist to the nose can be awfully distracting too if you can’t quite get at their eyes. Try all that out to get a feel for the motions.”

  I rake my curled fingers in the vicinity of his eyes, aim my knuckles at his nose, and raise my knee—very careful to not actually land that particular blow. When August makes a mock swipe at my hair, I catch his index finger and give it a light jerk to the side, evaluating how much more strength I’d have to put into the move to really break something.

  Having him looming over me while I’m lying here like this brings an uncomfortable possibility to mind. “What if my attacker pounces on me as a wolf?”

  August pauses, a trace of his own discomfort with the idea showing in his expression. “It’s not likely anyone who simply wanted to capture or subdue you would use that tactic against a human who can’t match them. We can control ourselves in wolf form, of course, but it’s harder to moderate a bite or a slash of claws than it is to pull a punch, and a wolf can’t pick you up and cart you off… If a fae comes at you like that, they’re probably aiming to kill you.”

  My throat tightens. “Good to know. How do I make sure they don’t?”

  “The eyes and the nose will still be vulnerable areas. And the throat, if you can get in a solid strike.” He eases back on his knees, rubbing his jaw. “We’ll get you a small dagger to carry with you too—I’ll teach you the best spots to hit with that.”

  I can read what he’s not saying from his hesitation. No matter what he teaches me, he doesn’t believe I’d survive an attack if a fae came at me in full wolf mode, not unless I got extraordinarily lucky. But then, is that really so surprising? I’m not sure there’s any way I could fend off a regular wolf that was determined to savage me, let alone a fae one capable of complex strategy.

  “Okay,” I say, suppressing a shiver. No need to dwell on that right now. “Let’s focus on the human-shaped attacker tactics for now.”

  His stance relaxes. “Get ready then.”

  August gives me a few seconds and then lunges at me. He deflects my first jab at his face with a smack of his hand against my forearm, but I manage to bump a fist just below his nose. He pulls back with a nod. “That’s a good start. See if you can manage to land that first strike.”

  We run through that scenario several more times until I’m anticipating his movements well enough to have a decent shot at his eyes. Then we try more intensive setups where I have to start defending myself while he’s tackling me.

  By the twentieth or so run-through, sweat has broken over my skin and my breath is coming short. After I’ve lashed out with my hands and knees in the ways we’ve been practicing, I sink into the mat with a huff of exhalation.

  August chuckles. “You’re doing great. Go ahead and take a breather.”

  He leans in to nuzzle my cheek. The affectionate gesture wakes up a whole lot more of my body. The exhilaration of the exercise deepens into a headier sort of thrill, desire tingling low in my belly. Down by where I’m abruptly twice as aware of his leg poised between mine, of his arm braced next to my chest, his wrist brushing the side of my breast.

  August inhales with a rough sound, and I can tell before he speaks that he’s picked up on my reaction. “Talia,” he murmurs, and then, as if drawn by a magnet, lowers his head to press his lips to the side of my neck.

  My breath catches, a sharper wave of heat rushing through me. Longing twists through my torso from my sternum down to that now-blazing spot between my legs. August’s tongue darts out to lick the sheen of sweat along the crook of my jaw, and an eager whimper tumbles from my mouth.

  There’s so much I’ve wanted to do with this man, to discover about how his body can feel against mine, from even before I totally understood what I was longing for. I have a better idea now. The clear indications that he’s longing for it just as much only electrify me more.

  My hands rise of their own accord to grip his close-cropped hair. August lets out a pleased rumble. He teases his kisses along my jaw with nips that send shivers of giddiness over my skin. My hips lift toward him instinctively, the most sensitive part of me grazing his thigh, and I can’t restrain a gasp at the flare of pleasure.

  With a groan, August’s mouth crashes into mine. I melt into him, lost in his musky scent, floating on the swell of passion that feels as though it might carry me all the way to the bright sky above the keep. Our breath mingles, hot and shaky with need, and all I want in that moment is to give myself over completely, to finally satisfy the ache for bodily connection that’s never quite been answered by him or Sylas.

  There isn’t anything to stop us here and now, is there? No responsibilities August needs to attend to, no breakfast at risk of burning or likely interruptions, no worries that he’s somehow betraying his lord by
following his desire.

  A trace of nervousness flickers through my chest. What if it hurts? What if I can’t please him in the same way as the women he’s been with before, women who must have known what they were doing at least a little better than I do?

  Then August shifts his weight on his arms so he can stroke one hand over my breast, and the fresh wave of heated giddiness, the possessive growl that works from his throat as he kisses me even more deeply, wash my worries away. This man who isn’t exactly a man won’t let any harm come to me, not while he’s in charge, and he’s showing nothing but delight in what I have to offer.

  August tugs up my shirt so he can caress me skin to skin, his fingertips circling the tip of my breast. They flick over my nipple and massage it to a stiffer peak until I’m whimpering for release.

  My body squirms beneath his, not entirely sure how to move. For a moment, he pauses his teasing exploration of my chest to run that hand down the side of my body to my hips, urging my core more solidly against his thigh. My sex pushes against his leg, setting off a flood of bliss. My fingers trail down his back to cling on to the flexing muscles there.

  When August pulls away from my mouth, I almost cry out in protest, but the next second his lips have closed around my pebbled nipple. A very different cry escapes me. My back arches up, and he sucks harder with a lap of his tongue that leaves me quivering like a stretched bowstring. I want, I want, I want—so much it’s almost frightening.

  My hand slides up under his shirt, tracing the scorching planes of his back. August drops his head lower, slicking his tongue down the center of my chest toward my stomach—and stops just above my belly button. His whole body stills where he’s poised over me.

  His voice comes out strained. “We can’t—we can’t do this.”

  He may as well have dumped a bucket of icy water over me. My back stiffens against the mat.

  “Why?” I ask, the question coming out in the timid whisper I thought I was done with among these men. Is there something wrong with me—did he realize he doesn’t actually want to be that intimate with someone so—?