Chapter 4
GIDEON
As the lights of another human town come into sight, I pause, beating my wings while hovering as quietly as possible in the night sky. Beneath the sound of the wind, I hear the scampering of forest creatures below, the distinct hooting of snow owls, and the faraway snarl of a wildcat.
A growl builds in my throat, but I don’t release it. I remain silent as I listen to the nighttime forest and try to feel the growing bond with my fated mate.
Since I departed Braemar, nearly a fortnight ago, I’ve continued dreaming about the golden-haired female each night.
I’ve also started to detect her presence, and I’ve allowed my senses to guide me as I travel through the countryside going from town to town.
She’s so close. I can feel her, I can smell her lilac-sweetness, and I can feel the warmth that emanates from her as though she’s right next to me.
My gaze narrows on the human town, but as I start to fly closer, the feeling begins to dissipate. But when I fly to the south, away from the town, it grows stronger.
Worry causes my heart to race faster. My mate is down there somewhere in the ussha-blessed forest in the middle of the night… when forest predators are most likely to be prowling about. Finally, I release the growl that’s been building in my throat.
I fly closer to the treetops, desperate to find Isabel.
I think that’s her name, though it’s still possible she’s not the female that King Theron tasked me with finding.
But I’m certain it’s my mate whose presence I sense in the forest below.
Her warmth and her lilac scent fill my senses, as well as her strength and stubborn determination, a whisper of her essence.
Mine. She’s mine.
Can she sense me too? Does she know I’m getting closer?
I hear a deep, feral growl, then a scream suddenly rends the night. I swoop down into the trees, pursuing the sound of running and snapping branches. Multiple growls soon follow, and it sounds like the eerie, deadly growls of direwolves.
Fucking fires. I fly faster, determined to save my mate.
I land in a small clearing directly in front of a panicked human female, but I don’t vanish my wings as I usually do upon landing. I suspect we’ll have to make a quick escape.
The golden-haired female’s eyes flare wide as she tries to avoid barreling into me, but she ends up running straight into my open arms. I scoop her up just as a direwolf comes into sight, quickly followed by two more of the creatures. Wasting no time, I clutch the woman close and bolt into the sky.
She screams and thrashes in my arms, but after she peers down at the forest below, she goes utterly still and whimpers.
“Don’t be afraid, little moth. I’ve got you.” Warmth fills me as I finally utter the nickname I’ve been using for my mate during the time I’ve been searching for her. Little moth… for her golden hair that resembles the delicate wings of sunmoths.
As I snuggle her closer and take a deep inhale of her lilac-scented hair, I decide the endearment suits her even though I can’t quite glimpse the brilliance of her golden hair in the darkness.
My mate doesn’t speak as I fly beyond the town. She trembles in my arms and emits a soft whimper every so often. Gods, it feels good to hold her. Finally. And it’s a relief to have her in my possession where I know she’ll be safest.
To think that she almost got torn apart by a pack of direwolves…
The mere prospect of harm coming to her prompts my arms to tighten around her, and I can’t help the sudden growl that emanates from my throat. Anger ignites within me. What in the fires was my mate doing in the forest all alone in the middle of the night?
Is her name Isabel Sinclair? And if so, where is her father?
Gods, did the direwolves get him first? I suppose if her father was naught but skin and bones, the beasts might’ve continued chasing her down in hopes of a second meal.
My anger starts to fade, and I remind myself that I don’t know the exact circumstances that led to my mate’s presence in the forest tonight, though I resolve that I will soon find out.
When I spot a familiar mountain, I head straight for the dark mouth of a cave.
The Winter Court army camped on this mountain several weeks ago, and we left some supplies behind in the largest cave in case any of our aerial scouts, like my friend Lord Blackthorne, happened to venture this way during their scouting missions.
I’m grateful for the foresight as I land just inside the entrance of the cave.
Just after I land, I vanish my wings in a flash of light.
Then I gently set my mate on her feet and turn her to face me.
I cup her cheeks and stare into her eyes, wanting to verify that she is indeed the human female from my dreams. Familiar green eyes stare back at me, and warmth spreads through my chest. Yes, she is the woman from my dreams, my golden-haired beauty.
My mate.
A new sense of possessiveness grips me.
She belongs to me, and I will never let her go.
Finally, after two thousand years of waiting for my fated mate, I have found her. Some of the loneliness that’s clung to me, the dark emptiness I feared would never abate, begins to fade as I continue staring into her eyes.
“Are you injured?” I ask, holding her at arm’s length as I look her up and down, even though she’s fully dressed and wearing a thick cloak that conceals her body. I don’t smell any blood, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she isn’t hurt or in pain.
“No,” she whispers.
Relief fills me.
“Tell me, little moth, what is your name?”
She draws in a shaky breath and tries to step back, but I tighten my hold on her face, not allowing her to retreat.
“Your name,” I say. “Tell me your name.”
“Isabel,” she murmurs softly.
“Ah. As I suspected. Isabel Sinclair.” I release her face but immediately take hold of her shoulders, still not allowing her to step back.
The moonlight bathes her in a soft blue hue, but if she ventures deeper into the cave, it will be utterly dark until I light a few torches. But before we get settled in the cave, I want to know about her father.
“Yes. Isabel Sinclair,” she whispers, growing paler. Tears glimmer in her eyes, and I have the abrupt urge to pull her close and promise she’ll always be safe with me…
But I don’t. Not yet. I need to understand why she fled Braemar and learn the location of her father and whether he’s still alive.
It’s shocking to me how far she was able to travel as I searched for her.
I doubt she was alone all this time. Someone with a keen sense of navigation must’ve helped her.
Her father, most likely. Yet when I plunged into the forest to save her from the direwolves, I detected no signs of any other humans nearby.
“I am pleased to meet you, Isabel,” I finally say. “I am Lord Gideon Ashvale of Frostfall, and I am a commander in the Winter Court army. I was sent to look for you and your father.”
Her eyes flare wider, and a lone tear cascades down her cheek. I briefly release one of her shoulders so I can wipe away that tear. She shivers at my touch but doesn’t attempt to step back again.
“I-I don’t…” Her voice trails off, and I’m not sure what she meant to say. But she appears stunned to her core, as though she might be on the verge of shock.
I attempt to soften my visage, hoping to ease her fears.
“Where is your father, little moth?” I ask gently.
“I have no intention of revealing my father’s location.” She lifts her chin, a resolute gleam entering her eyes. But despite her attempt at bravery, her entire body continues to tremble. She’s shaking like a leaf in the winter wind.
Unused to being denied information, I narrow my eyes and clutch her shoulders just a bit tighter. Does she truly think she can refuse to answer my questions? She’s a runner… a human who fled a fae-occupied city before Tribute Day.
And now, she’s my captive.
If she weren’t my mate, and if King Theron hadn’t ordered me to leave the fate of the Sinclairs up to him, I would carry her back to Braemar and put her in the dungeon or the corral with the other human prisoners.
Then she would be designated as a slave, forced to endure a life of servitude to my people until the end of her days.
I hope that when she realizes what we are to one another, she will be grateful that I found her when I did.
“So, your father is still alive, then?” I ask.
She presses her lips tightly together and glares at me.
Glares. A human, glaring at me! It’s so preposterous, I almost laugh.
Doesn’t she realize what a fae male might do to a human woman?
She definitely fears me, but she’s not as afraid as one might expect.
Is it bravery or foolishness that drives her…
or something else? Is she that determined to protect her father?
A low growl emanates from my chest, and I pull the human female closer. I lean down until my face is level with hers.
“Why did you flee Braemar with your father?”
“Who turned us in?” She lifts her chin higher. “Perhaps if you answer some of my questions, I might be inclined to answer some of yours. I want to know who reported our escape to your people. I want to know who betrayed us.”
With another growl, I force her into the darkness of the cave.
I release her just long enough to light a torch, then I snatch her arm before she has a chance to run away.
During the brief scuffle, her small rucksack falls from her back and lands on the ground with a soft thud.
She continues glaring at me, but she also keeps trembling.
Those green eyes of hers… gods, they reveal so much depth. So much pain and loss and fear. And resilience. I scarcely know a thing about her, yet I am already drawn to her with a fierceness that steals my breath.
How will our mating bond manifest once we physically consummate our union?
My cock thickens in my pants as I imagine stripping off her clothes, laying her down on a bed of furs, and becoming acquainted with every little part of her body.
I long to kiss her all over, make her quiver and moan, and sink my shaft deep into her center.
Not releasing her arm, I use the burning torch to light several more torches lining the walls, and it’s not long before the cave is fully illuminated.
I cast a brief glance at the supplies, appreciating that there are boxes of nonperishable food, jugs of water, bedrolls, furs, and weapons.
We could hole up in this cave for an entire year if we so wished.
I guide Isabel toward a stool near the unlit firepit. “Sit, and don’t you dare move. If you try to flee, I will take great pleasure in tying you up.”