Chapter Six #2
“The creature wanted you, my lord.” My voice cracks a little as I think of what the woman initially asked of me.
“I bet it did.” He chuckles darkly. “In the end, it got me. It just didn’t live to tell the tale.”
“Are you a fae hunter?” I dare to ask. A man alone in the woods, holed up in a house warded from those magic beasts.
A man who doesn’t let others see him, perhaps out of fear that they could use that information against him.
Because if I saw him, I could identify him.
I would have knowledge the fae would want and would clearly kill for.
“I do hunt some, from time to time,” he admits.
I inhale sharply. My fingers tighten around his. I am married to a man who hunts the most dangerous game in this world.
“Do you hunt at night? Is that why I hear the noises?”
“It’s better if you don’t worry about the noises.” He begins to pull his hands from mine. “The less you know, the safer you are. That creature already tried to use you once to get to me.”
The idea that I could be used to get to anyone startles me.
I’m not accustomed to meaning that much to anyone or anything.
My feelings are becoming murkier by the minute, clouded with emotions that I’ve never felt and am ill-equipped to understand.
His hands slip from mine and I’m filled with the insatiable urge to snatch them back.
Before I can, he runs a knuckle over my cheek. I feel him tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. My breath catches. How close is he? I imagine his face, mere inches from mine, staring at me with all the desire I’ve hardly ever dared dream someone would look at me with.
“What else should I know about the fae?” I whisper. I know only the warnings my father gave me in the folk stories he told me when I was a girl.
“You don’t need to know anything else. With any luck, you will not be cursed with fae in your life for very long.” He pulls his hand away from my face.
I try to catch it and grasp nothing but air, no doubt looking a fool in the process. “But the more I know, the more likely I am to be of help to you while they pursue you.”
“You’ve already been help enough. More than you know, really.” No smoke, no lies. “Now you should get some rest. Eat what you can and go back to bed.”
He stands and I bite my lip. There’s more to be said.
I can feel how tired and worried he is. I’m filled with the urge to say something as comforting or as beautiful as the old songs my mother would sing when I was fussy.
But I’m not a poet; I can only repeat the words I’m taught.
My whole life I’ve been a vessel, allowing others to fill me with their wants, needs, thoughts…
there is so much of everyone else that there is no room left for me.
And now, when I need something of my own creation to offer, I come up short.
I hear him leave and can’t even tell him good night. I realize that I never properly thanked him for saving me.
To my surprise, Lord Fenwood gives me a chance to find my voice the next night.
As I return to my wing from dinner, I find the door to the study open, the fire lit, chairs at the ready position.
I take my seat, eager to speak with him again.
I’ve had a day to recover now. My head is clearer.
And my guilt has been lessened some with the opportunity to apologize to Oren at dinner as well.
I hear Lord Fenwood’s footsteps enter the room. Warm heat rushes over me at the sound and pools in my stomach. My throat is already gummy. Just as I try to squeak out a greeting, a cloth is dropped over my eyes from above. I reach up, my hands grabbing his in surprise.
“What are you—”
“You gave me an idea last night,” he murmurs as he ties the blindfold.
The silk is cool against my flushing face.
“I wanted to try it again, if you don’t mind.
” His voice comes from above and behind me.
He must be kneeling on his chair and reaching over.
The sounds of him—his words, his breathing, his movement—fill my ears and are accented by the ghost of his warm breath on the nape of my neck. I try to suppress a shiver and fail.
“It’s fine with me,” I manage to say.
There’s more movement behind me, the scraping of the chair, the clinking of ice in his glass.
I feel the air move as he comes to stand before me, and my nose picks up keenly on the crisp and earthy aroma that follows him.
I imagine him looking down at me. There’s something vulnerable, in an exciting way, about knowing he can see me when I can’t see him.
In my mind’s eye, he’s a mere silhouette, picked out from the darkness by the firelight.
His features are hazy voids waiting to be filled.
“Stand,” he commands. I oblige. He takes both my hands in his and guides me a step over. I listen as he moves the chair I was just sitting in, presumably to face his seat. “There. Now sit.” He guides me back to the chair.
“It’s not fair,” I blurt out, catching his hand as he goes to pull away. “You can see me, but I can’t see you.”
“The rule—”