Chapter 20 #2
“You’re one to talk when you want me too,” I snap back at him.
Wilder smirks, his golden eyes brightening as the room grows darker. “I suppose you’re right.”
I didn’t mean for my comment to be suggestive, but his acknowledgment makes me squirm. I take a sip of wine, avoiding looking at him. He’s infuriating and attractive, and I’ve had just enough wine for that combination to be incredibly confusing.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, not meeting his gaze when I feel him continuing to stare at me.
“No. Does keeping me company bother you?”
“Why do you need my company?” I glance at the red-haired female who was pawing at him moments ago. She’s still watching him from across the room. “Seems you have quite the selection if you’re lonely. Or have you already run your way through the royal court?”
I don’t really want the answer. But there’s so little I know about Wilder outside the time he spends watching me in the training ring. I don’t even know where his room is.
The royal wing was all he said that first night he appeared.
For all I know, a different Fae shares his bed every night.
“If not more than one of them, right?” He smirks. “You think highly of me, Elorie Vale.”
“That is not me thinking highly of you.” I glare. “You’re disgusting.”
“No worse than your precious king.”
He’s not wrong about that.
“Does the thought of occupants in my bed bother you?” He wraps his arms over the back of the couch. So close I can feel the heat of him. He doesn’t bother speaking out loud anymore, which simply confuses me more.
“I don’t care who you bed.” My teeth clench, and I take another sip of wine. “I’m sure you have a lot to make up for after a century in that cell.”
That part, I mean, even if this conversation is doing nothing but irritating me. Wilder was locked in a cell for a hundred years. I can’t imagine the extent of what he’s missed. I can’t imagine that long without the contact of another. How—
“Lonely,” he finishes my thought, and I look up at him.
His golden gaze tunnels into me, and I’m no longer hearing him; I’m feeling him as he stares into my eyes. The emptiness of open wounds that never heal.
I roll my shoulders back, keeping my composure as I shift the conversation. “How do you do that? Talk inside my head?”
“The same way you do?”
“I don’t know how it happens. It just… does.”
This close, Wilder’s golden eyes are so many more colors than just gold. Flecks of bronze swim with shades of amber and honey. A river of light swirls in his gaze.
“Our magics allow it to happen,” he finally says.
“But I can’t wield my magic yet.”
“Doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”
I suppose he’s right. Whether I can use it or not, today was a painful reminder that it lives inside me. That it can be taken.
“Does that mean everyone can talk like this?”
He shakes his head. “No, mind whispering is rarely written about. Only certain magics let you speak through the threads of fate.”
My eyes widen. The threads of fate. Like that web of light and dark I keep seeing when I tunnel deep enough. The ties that bind us all together.
“Exactly,” Wilder says, seemingly reading my thoughts. “All magic is tied to the fates in our souls, our bodies, our hearts. Those who can travel deep enough can reach out more than just physically.”
“Through our minds.”
Wilder nods.
“What kinds of magic are capable of this?”
He swallows, not breaking my gaze. And I realize to anyone else in the room, it must look like we’re lost in each other’s stares because they can’t hear our conversation.
“Magic that’s only whispered about. Magic you usually don’t want others to know that you have.”
He looks away, and I’m suddenly colder. Desperate to know more.
Is our ability to mind whisper because of his magic or mine? Or both?
Does he know of any others who can do it?
What happens if the Fae find out we can speak like this?
Why is it a secret?
“You have a lot of questions rolling around in that mind of yours?” He smirks, not meeting my gaze.
I do. And I shouldn’t be entertaining any of them with my enemy. Especially when I’m transparent to him. He’ll use it against me.
“Well, I suppose you should get back to it then.” I shift in my seat. “I’m sure you have a lot of time to make up for.”
Wilder doesn’t bother scanning the room for the females watching him. Instead, his gaze finds me.
“I’m tired, so I’ll leave you to it.” I stand but nearly trip on my dress.
Wilder is on his feet before I can blink, catching me. My fingers clutch his shirt, thumbs hooking where it’s open in the front and grazing over a marking on his chest.
I swear his runes whisper. They shift on his skin. So slow, I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it.
Pulling back, I try to gather myself. I’ve had too much wine, and I should have left when Callum and Greer did.
“Goodnight.” I nod sharply.
Wilder narrows his eyes, watching me sway on my feet. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
“Why?” I glare up at him. “I’m not inviting you in.”
“Maybe I’m a gentleman.”
“Feed me a lie I might actually believe.”
Wilder steps close, and even with his hands at his sides, I feel his magic reaching for me. “Maybe it gives me an excuse to stare at you a few minutes longer.”
His voice purrs in my ears. My chest. My heart.
It’s a lie. Exactly what I asked for. But like he granted my wish, he says it in a way that makes me want to believe him. I want to think I could come close to comparing to the perfection that surrounds me in this room when I’m simply a human.
“There is nothing simple about being a human.”
“I hate that you can read my thoughts.”
“No, you don’t.” Wilder smirks, guiding me to a side door.
He’s right. I don’t. That’s my problem.