Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ROSAMUND
His words shouldn’t be reassuring. I shouldn’t need to hear them. I realize nobody ever said anything like that to me. It was all, “You can make it, You can get out of your room, You can smile and laugh and go through life as if nothing happened.”
Nobody ever offered to take revenge on behalf of my mother and me.
Of course, these are dark fae we’re talking about. Rogue. Werewolves. Dangerous. Who in their right mind would have gone after them?
But nobody ever said, “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make them pay somehow. I’ll understand if you need your space to heal.”
And something cold and frozen inside my chest feels like it’s thawing, and it hurts. His too-knowing gaze on me doesn’t make it any easier. It’s as if he can read my mind, feel my emotions, feel that thawing ache.
As if he knows he put it there, and it pleases him.
It would make sense. Dark fae like pain. They like experiencing it, as well as dealing it to others. Their souls are pitch black, their interests primal.
I hadn’t thought much about emotional pain. If that gets them off. I bet it does. He’s feeding off my discomfort. He’s twisting a ghostly blade in my heart and enjoying it, only… Only the ache is kind of pleasant.
He’s kind of a good person. His kindness, his fierceness on my behalf, is what hurts, because he’s the last person I’d ever expect it from. I treated him terribly since I met him, and yet he’s here, still protecting me. Still saving me.
A good man.
The thought haunts me as he eats, always watching me, fat and meat juices dripping down his chin, as he cuts more thin slices for me. He looks like he wants to feed them to me, but keeps himself in check.
It’s as if I’m the pet and he’s the master.
So many things should be bothering me about this situation, but they aren’t.
I’m too tired and weakened. That has to be why I let him control everything, pass me those fine slices where he’s biting into thick chunks of meat and bone.
Treating me like the princess he says I am, as if a princess would deign to sit in the dirt and eat with her hands pieces of meat handed over by a savage werewolf.
He doesn’t look savage right now, though. Fierce, yes. Dirty and half-naked, sure. His gaze is so intent, it reminds me that he’s really a fae and a wolf. An eldritch creature who can hear the earth’s language and use its magic.
He looks like he could ravage me against the rocks, like he could press that tall, heavy body on top of mine and make me feel good. Safe. Protected.
And if that image starts a different, sweet ache between my legs, then that’s quickly becoming my new normal. Seeing him shirtless, allowing my eyes to travel over that chiseled torso is so… freeing. Exciting.
Not to mention, the cause of restless sleep and vivid dreams.
Curling up on the ground, my back to the rocks, I watch him sitting by the small fire until my eyes close.
I don’t know how I let my guard down enough to sleep in this wild place, after all his warnings, but his presence makes me feel safer than I ever have.
In all honesty, I’ve never felt safe in my house, in my room.
In my bed. That’s where I was taken from, as if the doors were flimsy mist, as if nobody could stop the enemy from breaking in.
And they hadn’t.
Valen saved my life several times. He became that door, that wall that won’t break when the enemy batters against it. A fortress surrounding me, a dragon breathing fire on those attacking me.
When sleep claims me, it’s him I see.
I seem to have swapped my usual nightmares and anxious dreams about wolves and blood with fantasies involving a certain tall, muscular dark fae. A wolf. Talk about irony…
So what is going on in my head, right? Going from hating the monster to desiring it.
Craving it. I toss and turn on the hard ground, touching him in my mind.
Mapping the hard planes of his muscular chest, the scars and bruises, the dark lines of ink.
I slide my hands over the perfectly cut muscles, the small brown nipples, the washboard stomach, and those deep lines cutting into his pants.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this. I thought I was a late bloomer, that my trauma suppressed any physical desire I might have expressed by now.
I’m not a child. I’m in fact kind of old for an arranged marriage.
Most ladies I’ve met or heard about get married when they are barely out of childhood, and I always supposed I was given some leeway because of my past.
Or because Lord Eorl was too busy to marry sooner, I don’t know. I’m aware I did my best not to dwell on the matter.
Going from not knowing if and when he would honor the marriage deal with my family to having to suddenly pack everything and prepare to leave, then finding myself running for my life… is so weird.
The weirdness seeps into my dreams, mingling with the memories. Open maws dripping blood, pain, and a sense of suffocation, teeth closing on my neck—and then it turns strangely erotic, the teeth pressing into my breasts, into my inner thighs, biting down—
“Princess.” A hand shakes me roughly. “Wake up.”
“What?”
“Wake up. It’s time to go.”
I blink at the pale light of morning, wondering where I am and why my back aches as if someone beat me up. Then I move, and my middle hurts just as much. I feel bruised all over and... and worse still, I feel an ache between my legs. I feel wet and tacky there. And I throb.
He’s crouched over me, his wild silvery hair in his face, that white tuft like the trail of a falling star. My gaze snags on his soft mouth, his brilliant eyes, the broad cheekbones, and that hard line of his jaw.
But he frowns and takes a long sniff. “Fuck.”
“What is it?” I sit up. “Wildcats? Boars? Wolves?”
“You.” He throws the word like an accusation. “It’s you.”
I blink in confusion. “What about me?”
“Your dreams... I used to smell so much fear on you, sour and acrid, but now... since we left the manor, your scent has changed.”
“Changed how?”
His eyes look darker than usual, the pupils swallowing the golden irises. “Sweeter. Like honey. Like—”
“I don’t understand.”
“That place was poisoning you. Memories of fear and pain. Memories of terror. It makes sense that it wouldn’t let you bloom.”
“Oh.” I nod. “The theory of past trauma. Nothing new there, I—”
“And you want me.”
I blink again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Princess… you need to stop having fantasies about me and let me help you out.”
“What?” I squawk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You desire me. That’s what I am smelling.” A smirk tugs on his full lips. “All I can smell is your arousal, and that’s a lot of delicious cream.”
“That’s... offensive,” I mutter, realizing he wasn’t lying when he said he could smell my arousal before. Fae and wolf senses. It makes sense that he’d smell scents humans can’t. “And disgusting.”
“Is it? His eyes seem to be laughing now, creases at their corners. “I’d say it’s the opposite of disgusting.” He leans in. “You smell divine, Princess.”
“But...” I splutter as he grabs my hand and gets up, pulling me upright along with him. “But I smell...”
“Like the best sweet pie ever baked, warm and creamy and decadent. Like I want to sink my teeth into you, taste you, lick you all over... Take you.”
I’m breathing hard. He’s hauled me against his tall body, and he’s gazing down at me through his lashes.
His canines show as he grins, a self-satisfied expression, and his amber eyes gleam.
With the white streak of hair falling on his brow, those dramatic cheekbones, and the pointed ears, he’s the very picture of seduction, bewitching and dangerous at once.
Since ancient times, we humans have been telling stories about the fae, about the beguiling tricksters, the captivating, beautiful men and women leading humans astray, into dark groves and caves and ravishing them.
I always thought they were naive, childish tales, steeped in ignorance and old ideas.
After all, we’ve been living alongside the fae for how long now?
Over five hundred years. It’s the same things we’ve always said about merfolk, and they haven’t proven any more lethal than us, humans. Any more deceiving and vicious.
And Valen isn’t deceiving me... right? He just... is. Handsome. Strong. Determined. Wild. It’s not a trick if that is your true nature, is it? Not a trick if you’re not trying to lure someone into a dark grove and use them...
Except, we are wandering through dark groves and among rocks, with no way of escape.
“...and there is that scent of fear again,” he growls, his smirk fading. “What have I said?”
“Nothing.” I take a step back, and his hand tightens on mine. “Just… Nothing.”
“I swear it on all the Gods,” he says, “I’ll erase that scent, that look from your face. I’ll make you trust me, one way or another. I refuse to have you afraid of me.”
I let out a breath. “It wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Princess. I understand your distrust of wolves, of fae, of men. And of me in particular. But you have nothing to fear from me. There’s nothing I’d do to you unless you asked me to. Do you understand?” He reaches up and grips my chin. “Do you understand?”
I give a jerky nod.
He sighs. “Your scent, your face tell me you’re still lying. But that’s all right. Like I told you, I love a challenge. Even if it costs my life.”
I slowly turn my head, and he releases my chin. “Your life?”
He sniffs the air again and scowls. “A wildcat has found our scent trail. We have to get out of the rocks and try to erase our traces before it gets to us. So come on, and like I said… trust me to keep you safe.”