Feral Blood (Bound to the Fae Book 2)

by Eva Chase

  Heat creeps up my neck. “Well, I—I managed to conjure a tiny bit once. It seems like the light might rely on different emotions from bronze.”

  “Interesting. What sort of emotions?”

  “Well, happier ones. I don’t know if it would have to be exactly like this, but—” The heat tickles across my face. “When I managed it before, it was after August and I had—we’d been making out.” That would be the right word for it, wouldn’t it? Even if what we did together felt nearly as intimate as I imagine actual sex would.

  An answering heat glows in Sylas’s unscarred eye. For a second, I’m afraid he’ll let some hint of aggression slip out at the thought of August and me together, but to my relief, all that crosses his face is a broader, knowing smile. He rests his arm against the back of the sofa and strokes his thumb down the side of my cheek, taking the skin there from hot to searing. “I see. And you’ve tried drawing on those memories to no effect?”

  “It hasn’t worked so far. I mean, it’s hard to know when any time I think about him, I can’t help remembering where he’s gone and getting anxious…” I duck my head. “And obviously it won’t be very useful if I can only speak to light if I’ve just been intimate with someone.”

  “No, but you’ve progressed in how you can work with bronze, getting better at calling on the power you need even if you’re not in literal danger. I’d imagine you could do the same with light.” Sylas pauses. “Would you be open to seeing if you could stir up some of that power with me?”

  His voice has dropped so low it sends an eager quiver right through my body. I glance up again, meeting his intense, mismatched gaze, recalling so vividly how good his capable hands felt traveling over my curves, his mouth branding my skin. The breathless answer slips up my throat without a second’s hesitation. “Yes.”

  The fae lord gives an approving rumble and traces his fingers along my jaw to draw me into a kiss.

  The way his mouth meets mine is every bit as thrilling as when I’m with August, but at the same time as different as the two men’s dispositions. Sylas’s kiss is all controlled power, capturing my lips with the giddying impression that he’s moderating the full force of his passion, keeping fiercer impulses that might crush or bruise in check. As my mouth moves against his, parting with the commanding probe of his tongue, he makes a hungry sound that’s almost a growl. But I don’t for one instant fear he’d mark me in any form I haven’t made clear I want.

  His other arm comes around me, tucking me closer—trailing over my hip to shift my legs across his lap, then circling my knee. I never thought of my lower legs as being all that sensitive, but they wake up with a tingling rush that shoots straight between my thighs.

  My fingers curl into his shirt, grazing the taut muscles of his chest. Sylas pulls back just an inch, his breath still mingling with mine.

  “You deserve better than a hasty tryst on a worn sofa,” he says roughly. “Come with me?”

  The moment I nod, he scoops me up in his arms, much like August did taking me from our dinner with Aerik what feels like years ago. I lean against Sylas’s even brawnier frame, his smoky, earthy smell filling my lungs, and am struck by the urge to melt right into him, as if I could.

  The lights in the first-floor hall have dimmed. The kitchen staff have returned to their homes for the night. As Sylas strides on up the staircase to the bedrooms, a warm ache forms in my chest amid the heat blazing between our bodies.

  This man has offered so much to and given so much for me. He’s valued my safety above the security of his pack; he’s awarded me with every ounce of freedom he can at the expense of recovering the honor he lost so unfairly and has spent decades striving to recover. I’ve seen how deeply he cares about the pack—I know it hasn’t been easy for him. I know he’d fight to the death for any of us.

  I told him I didn’t belong to him, but nevertheless he’s made me his own.

  I don’t know how I could possibly deserve all the compassion and generosity he’s shown me, but I can’t help reveling in it, beaming from the inside out with the awareness of it. And burning at the same time to give just as much back to him, as if there’s any way I could.

  How can I feel this much for him when I only just recognized that I’d fallen in love with August? But the pang can’t be denied. It isn’t just desire coursing through my veins but that bone-deep affection that brings a nervous shiver with it.

  I told both of them I didn’t belong to them, and yet my heart already does. Where will that leave me in the long run? For all they care about and desire me, I’m still only a human girl, and a damaged one at that.

  How long can this last? How much could they possibly feel for me beyond the affection they’ve already shown?

  What a horrible irony it would be if it isn’t Aerik’s torments but my saviors’ kindness that breaks me in the end.

  As Sylas shoulders past his bedroom door, I try to push all those worries aside. He lays me out on the bed, both his eyes gleaming with their disparate lights, and so much wanting swells between my legs and behind my sternum that I practically yank him to me, raising my head to meet his kiss. For a short while, between his dizzying kisses and the scorching caresses that remove my blouse, I lose myself in the bliss of the moment just as I did before.

  But when Sylas’s mouth closes over my nipple, stoking the pleasure that’s already inflamed me, my head arches back into the pillow with a gasp. The fresh woodsy scent of the linens hits my nose more sharply than before—and I remember cuddling next to him here, sheltering from my nightmares.

  I tangle my fingers in the thick waves of his hair, but I can’t shake the conflicting emotions—the sense of careening toward uncertainty contrasting with the comfort I took from him here before, the fire of my hunger for him and the ache of my love for him, and the fear that wrenches through it all.

  I could lose myself with this man, and then what will become of me?

  I must tense up without realizing it. Sylas stops, raising his head to gaze down into my eyes. My mouth is tender, my breath shaky with need, but he sees more than that, maybe with that ghostly eye of his.

  “Is it too much?” he asks. “You only ever have to say the word, Talia. I’ll never force anything on you.”

  Out of nowhere, a lump rises in my throat. How can I feel like crying just like that? “I know,” I say, fighting to keep the rasp from my voice. “I want this. I just—It doesn’t make sense.”

  He hums. “It’s my experience that ‘making sense’ is rarely a quality that can be ascribed to one’s feelings.” Lowering his head, he brushes a softer kiss to my cheek. “If you’re willing to try to tell me about it, I’ll listen.”

  How can I deny him when he asks so sweetly? The words clamor to spill out, but there’s too much—I can’t say it all. How ridiculous would he think I am if I start making proclamations of love out of the blue when he clearly isn’t offering any kind of forever?

  I focus on the parts that don’t make me want to outright squirm away inside my skin. “It’s—it’s a little scary, feeling like I depend on you so much. You keep me safe and take care of me, and I also want so much more with you than I’ve ever had with anyone.” I find myself staring at the dark scruff along his jaw instead of meeting his gaze, worried that I might inadvertently offend him with the admission. “It’s not your fault. So much of this is new to me.”

  “Little scrap.” Sylas says the old nickname with nothing but affection, tipping my chin up. “I told you before that your situation here doesn’t depend on what you do with me in this bed—or anywhere else in the keep, for that matter. That will hold true as long as you’re with us. I won’t inflict my desire on you like another sort of cage. You spent too long in the last one as it is. Heart knows I want you, but only as long as it truly is making you happy, in every way.”

  I inhale shakily, relief smoothing some if not all of the jitters from my nerves. “Okay. It will. I’m not sure—I just have to get my head on straight.”


  He nods. “Take all the time you need. You decide how far we go, what you’re ready for. And if there are things you’re never ready for…” His mouth curves into an uncharacteristically teasing grin. “I can’t say I won’t feel at all disappointed, but I’ll be glad you drew whatever lines you needed to.”

  And just like that, I love him even more. I smile through the ache that’s squeezing my heart. “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Believe me, I enjoy every bit of it—protecting you… and the rest.” He gives me another tender kiss on the lips and sinks down on his side next to me, apparently having decided it’s time to put a stop to our intimate activities today. As much as the hungry part of me still throbs low in my belly, I can’t say he’s wrong to hold off for now. My emotions are still too churned up.

  I can’t imagine asking him if he thinks he could ever love me or if it would even be possible for us to have any sort of official relationship. But I can’t help wondering about the one woman he did have a bond with already. His soul-twined mate, fated for him, their entire spirits aligned. Just how far out of my reach is that kind of connection?

  “What did it feel like, having a soul-twined mate?” I ask tentatively. “How do fae—the true-blooded ones who get one—know when they’ve met theirs?”

  Sylas slides his muscular arm around my waist, collecting me closer against him. It takes a while before he answers.

  “The connection doesn’t solidify until you’ve both reached adulthood,” he says. “You might meet them before then and never know. But the first time you see each other once the bond is fully formed—the first time your eyes meet or your bodies touch—it hits you like a lightning bolt straight down the center of you. Like being suddenly burned through by a blast of energy, and that hollow is immediately filled with impressions and thoughts that belong to your mate. From that moment on, you’re not only yourself anymore. They’re part of you, and you’re part of them.”

  Having a stranger blast their way right into the core of your being sounds more unsettling than romantic to me, but I guess it wouldn’t be so horrifying to someone who hadn’t spent years stripped of every bit of privacy and freedom except what went on inside their head. Still… “It must be hard to adjust.”

  “Well, we anticipate it. All true-blooded fae know it’s bound to happen eventually—and earlier is better so you can build your lives together.”

  “So, you just always know what the other person is thinking and feeling? There’s no separation at all?”

  “There is some. Unless you’re purposefully sending thoughts to one another, what you pick up is fairly vague sensations and flashes of ideas. And you can tune even those out to some extent if you need to.”

  Sylas pauses, his thumb stroking up and down my naked side, but the rest of him has gone so still that the caress doesn’t reignite my desire. When he speaks again, it’s in a tone so measured I can tell he’s being extremely careful with his words.

  “That’s one of the reasons I can’t fault the arch-lords for placing some of the responsibility—and the penalty—for my mate’s actions on me. I should have picked up on the fact that she was planning something that treasonous before she had a chance to try to carry it out, but we’d been arguing for some time and she acted in a way she knew would wound me in retaliation for my refusal to support her. It did wound me, enough that I withdrew so that I didn’t need to have any more knowledge of it than I’d already been forced into. But that meant I missed other knowledge too.”

  I frown, tucking my arm over Sylas’s with a sudden flare of protectiveness—as if I could defend him from any threat. “What did she do?”

  Another long silence. I’m about to take back the question when Sylas drags in a breath. “It’s often expected that fae lords will dally outside their marriages. When children are so rare in a true-blooded coupling, it’s the typical way of ensuring any heirs will have close blood to choose for their cadre, although we can draw from outside the family if we need to.”

  “That’s how you have Whitt and August.” I restrain a shudder at the memory of the story August told me about their shared father.

  “Well, not exactly. Our father has more than his share of faults, but he was utterly devoted to my mother while he had her. Whitt came about before they found each other, and August… after she left. I subscribed to the same attitude, especially because true-blooded ladies are expected to remain completely faithful to their mates, since any outside pregnancy could obstruct the one that should be most wanted. When I married Isleen, I swore to her that she would have all my affections as I would have hers.”

  That matches the just and devoted lord I’ve gotten to know. But he still hasn’t answered my question. “That seems fair,” I venture.

  “Yes, we agreed it was. She knew how seriously I took my vow and how much our loyalty to each other meant to me as a foundation to hold our relationship steady even when we disagreed. And then she shattered it all in the course of an hour.” His arm tenses against me. “She sought out another lover. I felt her pleasure at their coupling—and her glee at knowing I would feel it—and I was afraid if I let in any more of it, if I caught wind of who she’d broken her vows with, I’d ruin our partnership even more than she had.” A ragged laugh escapes him. “Of course, in the grand scheme of things, it turned out I couldn’t possibly cause more ruin than she’d planned.”

  My arm tightens around his. To think of someone hurting this noble, passionate man so horribly—not just anyone, but the person in all the world who should have had his back the most—makes me want to punch someone. Preferably her, if she wasn’t long dead.

  Then a jolt of cold shoots through my chest. My voice quavers. “Is that why—you were upset that I’d done something with August, before—”

  “Hey, no, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Sylas hugs me close and kisses my temple. “I had no claim over you. You’d made no promises to me. Sharing doesn’t come naturally to me, but under these circumstances, I’m satisfied with the choice I’ve made.”

  “Okay.” I nestle my head against his shoulder. “Why would you want to stay with her after all the arguing and then her betraying you like that? Is it impossible to leave a soul-twined mate?”

  “No. It happens from time to time. But the bond withers with distance and often it turns into something rotten. I told you my mother left my father. He was devoted to her but cruel in so many other ways that after a time she couldn’t bear to continue supporting him. So she left to join another pack in a distant domain—and that’s when he became truly cold-hearted.”

  “She left you behind?”

  “Oh, I was fully grown by then. I could take care of myself. And she needed to take care of herself, so I can’t blame her for going. But after seeing how it broke something in my father… I was afraid of what would happen to Isleen if I abandoned her.” He grimaces. “In essence, I took the coward’s way, and it’s for that my pack and I were punished.”

  With everything I’ve heard about soul-twined mates so far, I’m starting to think it’s a good thing that “faded” fae like Whitt and August won’t have to deal with one. I press a kiss of my own to Sylas’s shoulder. “I don’t think you were a coward. It was an awful position to be in. Anyone would have had trouble finding the right thing to do.”

  “But most wouldn’t have had so many who paid the price with them. I appreciate your affirmation, though.”

  Fae live such a long time. If looks are anything to go by, I don’t think Sylas is even middle-aged yet. I’d have put him in his late thirties at most. “Could you ever take another mate? Not soul-twined, I know, but a regular one, like you said Whitt or August could? Or are fae only allowed to marry once?”

  “There are no limitations in that regard,” Sylas says. “Of course, I haven’t exactly been in a hurry to fill the position that was vacated so violently.”

  Why would he? As I soak in his warmth and his powerfully gentle embrace, it occurs to me that in a weird way I sho
uld be grateful to Isleen. If she hadn’t been a traitor, she might still be around, and they’d still be living in Hearthshire. Sylas would never have come looking for Aerik’s cure and found me. And if she hadn’t been so vindictive in her resentment, he might have already offered his affections to another fae woman, and there’d have been none left for a damaged human girl like me.

  What I get might not come close to the wrenching bond he shared with her, but I’ll take every bit of it without complaint.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Talia

  Everything is dark. Metal groans.

  The cage—the cage is collapsing in on me.

  A bar slams across my belly. I can barely see it, only feel the battering of metal against my body, the pain welling in my gut.

  I flail and twist, trying to shield myself, but my arms are leaden, my back glued to the hard ground—

  And then I wake up. It’s still dark, the room lit with the faintest of starlight from beyond the window, but I’ve got a mattress beneath me rather than the rigid floor of my former cage. Only soft sheets are wrapped around me—tangled after my nightmare-induced squirming, damp from my sweat.

  Everything is safe. Everything is as it should be… except a prickling pain that sears through my belly again.

  I tense beneath the covers. The sharp ache digs in for a moment and then fades to a duller twinge, but it doesn’t go away.

  My hand slips down under the covers to touch my stomach, but the skin there is smooth and uninjured. The pain radiates from somewhere deeper inside.

  Is it just my anxiety? Has so much of the horror seeped out of my nightmare into reality that I can’t completely shake it?

  I shift my weight on the bed and freeze, my posture stiffening even more than before. The linens beneath me aren’t just sweat-damp. They’re wet, with a slickness that creeps across my legs. And even as I notice that, a sour scent reaches my nose, far too close to the raw, sickly scent of the animal carcasses that I’ve watched August carve into roasts.