15. Sthiara
Chapter fifteen
Sthiara
W ren wanted me to believe that I had unleashed a kernel of my own magic in self-defence and killed that Banshee myself.
I did not.
It didn’t matter that he had come back for me. I still couldn’t trust him.
It was far more likely that he’d blasted a hole through the creature himself and was trying to trick me into falling for some elaborate hoax, wherein I would ask him to help me master my power, and he would have me hopping in a circle and chanting nonsense before both he and his damn unicorn burst out laughing.
Elera clipped and clopped down the lane in a meandering walk, unsympathetic to the fact that my legs had to move much faster to keep up with her graceful strides. Wren perched upon her back, spine straight and head held high as he scanned the empty fields like he was on patrol. The body of the Banshee was miles and miles behind us when the bones of civilisation began to appear around us.
First, there were fences, smooth wood lining the perimeters of the golden fields. Then, small cottages rose up in the distance, gentle curls of white smoke wafting from their chimneys.
We passed one such cottage that was much closer to the road than the others. It was a cobblestone house with vines of crawling wisteria, a jade-green slate roof and reinforced sash windows. Oozing with old-fashioned charm, it captivated my attention as we strolled past. Brynn would have loved it. Larger and grander than our townhouse, flaunting a blooming front garden lined with spectacularly large and vibrant flowers, it was exactly the sort of home she deserved to have.
“Goblins don’t particularly like to be observed,” Wren muttered from above me.
I was quickly tiring of his commentary, though there hadn’t been as much of it that day, and pretended I hadn’t heard him. As he’d done with Elera’s introduction, he was likely trying to spook me. Besides, Goblins didn’t make many appearances in the stories I’d read. From snippets glimpsed on television shows, they were reportedly greedy enough to covet a dwelling like that, but they would rather strip the house of its riches and drag the hessian sacks of gold and jewels back into their dark caves.
The hedges rustled. Wren swore.
“Oh, now you’ve done it.”
There was no time for me to look up at him and discern his meaning.
My eyes caught the flash of mint-green triangles above the hedges in the front yard, and then the ground was ripped out from under me as Wren yanked me up and onto my stomach over Elera’s back.
I struggled to right myself, but she broke into a gallop before I had the chance, and it was all I could do to hold onto her flank with my hands and feet as she tore off down the lane.
Auburn curls blowing across my face, I could barely make out the shape of a small, pale green creature as it burst out of the hedges and sprinted after us on all fours. I couldn’t be sure I’d seen the flash of silver, razor-sharp teeth or its long, pointed ears either.
Elera had put too much distance between us too quickly.
I gagged over her flank as the urge to throw up intensified.
It felt like a long time passed before we slowed to a walk, and Wren hauled me into a sitting position so that I didn’t become ill. My back pressed into his chest, trembling shoulder blades against granite-carved pectorals, and his arms encircled me as he reached around to regain his grip on the horse’s mane.
“I warned you that they don’t like to be watched,” he scolded me at last. The vibrations of his voice sent a shudder rippling straight through my body, easing the tightness in my chest from wrestling the sickness in my gut. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”
The question was posed so innocently. It was as if he truly didn’t understand and genuinely wanted to know the answer.
For a moment, as I sat rigidly in front of him, trying to avoid touching him without falling off his unicorn, I almost didn’t recognise his voice. Without the cocky grin across his sultry mouth or the devious glint in his burning eyes, he was less the broody High Fae bastard and more…
Not human. Not in the slightest.
But something closer to it.
“Fine,” he snapped, after minutes passed and I had not replied. “Do as you like, Aura, but at the very least, you should stop sitting there like you’ve been petrified. We’re coming into friendlier townships soon, and I’d rather not have people gossiping about us.”
I leaned forward, bracing my hands on Elera’s neck and clenching my legs around her flank, and relaxed my shoulders. My breath started to come easier. The furious knot in my stomach was mostly untangled. But she snorted in response and shook her large head, the motion rippling throughout the rest of her body in a way that made me realise she could shake me off quite easily if she so desired.
“Not like that,” Wren growled, letting go of her mane to grab my hands.
He pulled me upright, straightening my posture with a hand over my shoulder and two fingers digging into the base of my spine, and then reached around to grip my thighs. My breath came in gasps as his palms slid over me, the fabric of my jeans not rough or thick enough to intercept the sensation that came over my skin. It danced out of my reach as I sent a mental net down to capture it before it expanded, the warm flow of awareness lighting up every last one of my nerves.
A pathetic human response. I cursed myself for it.
Wren gently spread my legs wider, and mortification stained my cheeks as they started shaking ever so slightly.
I focussed on my perceived loss of control over my balance. The fear of falling. Anything but his touch.
He slid his hands beneath my thighs, and my breath caught in my throat. I held it there as he pulled my legs up until my feet flattened and heels came down slightly, and then he brought my knees back to the horse’s sides with gentle pressure.
I tried—and failed—to release the breath.
Slowly, he began to drag his knuckles up and down my thighs like he was kneading the tension out of my muscles. He leaned down, warm and soft against my hair. “Relax,” he purred into my ear.
I swallowed a thick gulp of saliva and exhaled.
Releasing my legs, he brought his hands to my face and combed back my hair until it was no longer windswept across my eyes and mouth. He threaded his fingers through it once—and I could not fight the shiver that ricocheted from the nape of my neck, could not convince myself the sensation was made of anything other than sheer, unbridled pleasure—before flipping it over one shoulder, and then he bent forward to take hold of Elera’s mane again.
He’d made no comment, given no inclination that he had felt what I had—that he’d even intended to make me feel that way. He’d only corrected my position on the horse.
But his knuckles turned white.
“Let her movements guide you,” he instructed quietly. “Move with her, not against her, and hold your posture. Don’t inch away from me, or you’ll go too far forward—and, for the love of the Oracle, relax . I’ve done far more exciting things with women than sharing my horse with them.”
I nodded, chewing on my lower lip. The impact of his words was softened considerably by the heady fog still clouding my mind. With his breath tickling my neck and his body pressed into mine, his intoxicating cologne was weaving into the very fibres of my clothing, inescapable and so resolutely calming.
Too calming.
I had to fight off the tension growing in my muscles, struggling to find a balance between keeping my guard up and yielding total and complete control of my every sense and desire to the man with his elbows brushing against my sides.
“Can I put my arms around you?” he murmured, angling his head towards the side of my face not concealed by my hair.
Blush spilled over my cheeks again, and my voice was shaky when I returned with, “I don’t know. Can you?”
His low, rumbling laughter sent pinpricks of arousal skittering across my entire nervous system. With a sharp intake of breath, I silently scolded my pathetically human body for its reaction to Wren’s pathetically intoxicating presence.
“Hold onto her mane.” The tip of his nose brushed my temple as he lifted his head. “She knows where to go, so you don’t have to do anything, but it’s proper form for the rider in front to hold the reins.”
There was no opportunity for me to object.
Wren promptly released Elera’s dark silver mane, and I panicked, scrambling to grab hold of it as if we were driving a car and he had let go of the steering wheel. Elera snorted again, rather haughtily for a unicorn-horse.
“I’m going to take a nap,” Wren announced, wrapping his arms around my waist.
Once more, I was given no time to object or react before he’d made his next disorientating move. I couldn’t keep up.
He rested his cheek on the crook of my shoulder, face turned outwards, and wriggled back far enough so that he could lean his chest against me with a great deal more of his weight than I expected. “Wake me up when we get to Sthiara.”
“When we get to what ?”
He didn’t answer.
I knew the bastard couldn’t possibly have fallen asleep that quickly, but with his arms locked around my hips, I didn’t dare turn to find his face or shake him off because I knew that if he fell, he would certainly drag me down with him.
“I don’t know how you can stand him,” I muttered to Elera.
Her soft, pointed ears flickered, and she whinnied in reply—a completely neutral sound, as if she was refusing to get involved. I sighed and did as he’d instructed.
Swaying back and forth gently, I let Elera’s movements guide me as her powerful legs took up a slightly faster pace, and I was surprised at how much more secure I felt when my hands were holding her mane.
Wren was not asleep.
I was not at all familiar with the High Fae’s sleeping habits, but it didn’t take an expert to realise that the uneven breaths I could feel him taking against my shoulders were not those of a person resting. Additionally, he would have to have been certifiably insane to have surrendered any of his control to a half-breed after so thoroughly communicating his distaste for them—occasional niceties and disarming touches aside.
And yet, for some reason, I let him pretend to sleep for the rest of the journey to Sthiara.