The Cursed Fae and Hope
Chapter One
Rion stormed through his camp, rage coursing through his veins. He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasted blood, then used what was left from his water skin to cleanse his mouth.
He snarled at those who dared to even meet his gaze. They quickly turned away, scurrying behind tents.
Rion wiped his bloody hands over his tunic only for it to smear from more that had soaked into his clothes.
He hated every single one of them. He ought to just be done with the entire camp. Wipe it off the continent and give Móirín an easy win. It would be better than dealing with it himself.
But if he did that, he’d wind right back up in Nàdair’s palace. He’d been in the field for almost a decade. Returning to a life of comfortable pillows and prattling nobles wasn’t appealing in the least.
A warrior exited his tent right in front of Rion, and Rion snarled at him. The male bowed at the waist, his gaze averted. Rion had no way of knowing how many were involved in the most recent attempt on his life. Probably all of them.
He’d barely stepped through the gate when they’d lunged. A dozen of them. It was always the same story. A group, usually the young, would band together, certain they could outsmart him. None ever succeeded, though a male had gotten a good hit in, hence his bleeding gums.
They’d been a savage lot till the very end, coming at him until none could stand. Even the last hadn’t faltered.
A lot of good it had done them.
Rion marched up the small overgrown path to his cabin and slammed the door open. The magic circling his body entered first, always searching corners and shadows for any who might try to press their luck.
The grains paused. A fluttering heartbeat met his ears, then her scent flooded his nose. It sent his blood racing. Raging all over again, but in a different sort of way.
He spotted the female in the far corner of the room, staring at him with wide frightened eyes. Rion bared his teeth at her. He knew the scent of his enemy better than anyone. Knew the crisp smell of waters that wafted off their kind.
Rion stepped into the cabin, eyes roaming over her face, then her body. He noted the scars around her wrists, the absence of shackles that were supposed to accompany a slave.
But this female wasn’t a half-breed.
He waited, daring her to move, to summon the magic he’d encountered on the battlefield so many times before. Females were just as strong as males, and usually more cunning.
She didn’t so much as blink. The female just stared at him with piercing blue eyes. Eyes that stripped him bare and dug down to feelings and secrets he’d hidden from the world.
For a moment, Rion forgot his anger. For a moment, he was breathless and reeling. For a moment, his pain vanished entirely.
Rion kneeled, clasping his hands together as he studied the female before him, suddenly more curious than angry. Something . . . pulled him toward her. An invisible hand he couldn’t explain. For the first time in years he wanted to touch someone, pull her up from the floor and trace her face. The pulse in her throat.
His magic moved instead, always separating him from a potential threat. She lowered her head to the floor, exposing the back of her neck. Her wrists were already turned up.
Pure submission.
It sent a thrill of delight through him, this female submitting. So many others had done it before, but her—his blood sang for it.
Sand reached her hands and crawled up her arms, wrapping around her fingers and wrists. Coaxing. Teasing. Demanding.
Her scent was intoxicating. A lethal drug begging him to taste it.
Mine .
The word pulsed through him. His blood pounded in his ears. Her heartbeat quickened. She was his . His prey. A beautiful fawn trapped in his grasp.
A low animalistic growl rumbled through his chest and his sand dared to venture beneath the poor excuse for a dress. It traveled up her torso, wrapping around that slender neck.
A sob escaped her lips and the world stopped. Cracked. Whatever trance he’d been under shattered as Rion came back to himself, driving instinct and desire back to the far recesses of his mind.
Ice coated his veins and something in him screamed that this was wrong . So very, very wrong.
He stood and reined his magic in, struggling to control it for the first time in decades. Rion stared at the female. Her shaking body. Her breath trembled and guilt overwhelmed him. He hadn’t felt guilt in a long time, either. Rion hated the feeling. Hated the way it sat heavy on his chest.
This female, half-breed or no, was a slave. Had been for several months. Possibly even years, if the scars across her wrists were anything to judge by.
She’d disguised herself, letting others believe she was nothing. Useless.
Why?
Rion wasn’t sure why he wanted to know or why he cared, but the curiosity was already eating away from him as if it were a parasite. Curiosity was dangerous.
Perhaps she was part of another ploy from the warriors in his camp. Maybe they’d figured out what she was and put her in his service with the hopes that she’d eliminate him herself.
Cowards.
Rion stared at her for another long moment, then marched to the small bathroom and slammed the door shut. He listened as he pulled off his clothes and piled them on the floor.
The female didn’t move.
He should have killed her, but he’d never been able to bring himself to kill a slave.
Rion worked his jaw and splashed water on his face before retrieving a cloth to wipe his body down.
He’d wait. Feel her out. If she proved herself innocent, he’d run her to the edge of the mountains and point her home.
If she didn’t—
A spark shot through Rion’s body as he recalled those cerulean eyes. Something deep in his body had come to life at the sight of them. Like she was the song he’d been trying to find his entire life.
That word echoed through him again. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t know what it meant or what he’d do about it. Rion only knew he liked the way that word tasted on his tongue.
Mine.
***