Chapter 2
I wake to a warm breeze teasing my senses and the fire’s heat pressing against my skin.
But what actually commands my attention? The intoxicating scent of a male Fae, threading through the air like a warning I can’t ignore.
Memories flood my mind, images flashing: the disastrous meeting with Filip, burning bridges with a family friend, teleporting to the bloody desert, and then getting stung by those damn Arametis vines.
Come on. Think.
I’m lying on the shifting sand, my head resting on what feels like an improvised pillow; probably a folded jacket.
The gesture is small, but it tells me he cares enough to make me comfortable, which means he’s not planning to kill me right away.
There seems to be little room here for negotiation, and chances are he’s after gold. That, at least, I can provide.
Deciding on a course of action, I shift slightly. My limbs ache, but I’ve been through worse.
Have you figured out how to approach me yet? The hypnotising voice echoes in my mind.
A mind intruder.
Heat rises to my cheeks in embarrassment at failing to hide my thoughts.
Mind intrusion is common among Vikans—mortals with access to magic. But among the Fae, only those who have sullied their blood by cohabiting with mortals possess the ability.
That is how Rhodria is divided: Vikans, mongrels, and pureblood Fae.
I know he is a mongrel from the scent he carries. Raw. Savage. Impossible to tame. Completely opposite to the delicate, sweet, hormonally charged scent of those untainted by foreign magic. Completely opposite to Jestin.
“Quite the strategist, aren’t you?” This time, the voice is loud, carried in the open air. I want him to ask again. His voice is liquid temptation, and damn, I want to be tempted.
“Quite a kidnapper, aren’t you?” I parrot before I can shut my big mouth, and I blame his filthy voice. He’s kept me alive, but how can I be sure he didn’t grow those vines himself?
“How did I not think of that first?” he muses, enthusiasm dripping from his words.
His shameless amusement makes me snap my head towards him, doing a double-take.
Across from the crackling fire, under a velvet night sky, in a shallow hole in the sand, sits a stunning male, his pale, sculpted body relaxed, legs crossed on the ground, and his shirt brazenly unbuttoned. The air around him hums with elegance and grace.
But his face? Ho-ly mo-ly. The Architect himself must have sculpted it. He is that perfect mix between rigid and masculine, yet soft and nonchalant.
Ugh. Get yourself together. I scan our surroundings. We are low in the sand, sheltered from the wind and weather, but it is also an open invitation for an ambush, and we would be none the wiser.
He is grinning at me, throwing me completely off balance. What a total loon.
“You should check your hand,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Instead of worrying about your surroundings.”
I do and freeze.
On my left wrist, a slender brand burns bright, a delicate spiral of glowing runes etched into my skin. A deal bond. Sweet Gorok, I am in so much trouble. If Grams were alive, she would disown me again.
“What do you want from me?” I ask bluntly, no flattery. I straighten, tilting my chin, but it’s hard to think strategically when worry is squeezing my chest.
Or is that shame?
“Everything,” he says it while still smiling, so ridiculously seductive that I’d bet my fortune he’s an incubus.
Suddenly, laughter rips through the night.
You’re salivating, he whispers in my mind.
What a total freaking loon.
I stare him down while he fights to regain his composure, and an arrogant smirk spreads across his features. The smirk of someone who looks down on you.
“Strategist with a sharp eye,” he muses. “Quite a catch.”
Is he completely out of it? What an infuriating male.
I shift tactics. “Please, give me some answers.” Verbal sparring wasn’t getting me anywhere, so maybe he will respond better to the damsel-in-distress approach.
“Another deal already?” he raises his hand to his mouth in exaggerated outrage. “Darling! You need to be more careful,” he scolds, every word dripping with mockery.
You would expect this tone from an aunt who acts friendly but secretly hates you, but not from your captor.
For fuck’s sake, I am getting nowhere. I sit up, frustrated. The warm breeze kisses my shoulders, and I’m desperate to come to any conclusion with him, though every word makes it clear that isn’t what he wants.
He chuckles. Who said coming is off the table?
“Leave my freaking head!” I snap, fed up with the hum of intrusion at the edge of my consciousness.
“It will be so entertaining,” he cheers, clapping as though he can barely contain his excitement.
I force myself to focus on my magic. Imagining a large door sealing itself shut, I dress it with the intention of shielding my mind from him. Checking every brick, solidifying any nook or cranny with steel and granite.
Then I double-check to see if I’ve done a good enough job.
Satisfied, I turn my attention to him.
He still chills by the fire, no worry on his shoulders, amusement plastered on his too-perfect face.
A hand-embroidered bag lies on the ground to his left, but I don’t see any weapons.
The most eye-catching is the way his unfastened shirt presents an utterly mouth-watering chest. I wonder what it would feel like to taste his skin, to run my tongue up from his groin.
I want to taste the salt on that sparkling chest of his.
He winks. “You are exquisite yourself.”
“What?” Right. The shield didn’t work.
Fuck me.
My agitation growing, I focus again; the doors of my mind are, in fact, sealed. Good. I flex my mental muscles, but the intruder’s presence remains; strange, ancient, wild, and animalistic. Deliciously slithering.
“Oh darling, you have no idea how good you are for one’s self-esteem.” He says it aloud, his voice permeating the space like my favourite perfume. It’s clear he can hear my thoughts.
Swallowing my rising embarrassment, which seems to be a baseline around him, I try again, going through the motion of focusing, sealing and checking.
He is still a loud, invading presence in my mind.
What the actual crap?
“What was the deal?” I ask, invoking the right.
By Fae law, he is obliged to share the terms of the contract. He must tell me the exchange.
“For aid in defeating the poison from the Arametis vines, Seleste Berigander binds herself to the stunning Aidon Draconis,” he says, emphasising ‘stunning’ with that sly grin I’ve come to memorise in this short time.
His lustful gaze pins me, waiting for my reaction.
My chest tightens. Anxiety radiates through my bones.
“Don’t feel bad,” he mockingly comforts. “I can access anyone’s thoughts, but you don’t have the means to block me because of the bargain.”
It’s going to be tougher to break free from this than I originally believed.
Fuck.
Frustrated, I rest my weight on my elbows. I direct my gaze to the sky, a black canvas where trillions of stars decorate the night, and flinch when my ears catch the barely noticeable traces of tambourines.
Jestin and his terrible timing. Where was he when I was accepting the bargain? I prefer not to see him, and I am powerless against the upcoming events. Whatever they are.
It would be seen as cowardly to flee now when his scouts have already spotted me. The Hermitage warriors are an elite force of sand-wielders, trained to move unnoticed across the desert when there is nowhere to hide. If I could, I’d send the entire royal army to learn from them.
Jestin will either tear into me or stand there grinning because I need his help after my infamous disappearance.
For the love of Gorok, I can’t decide which is worse.
I sigh inwardly and sit up straight. Let’s focus on one problem at a time. Who is this stranger who holds my fate in his ridiculously attractive hands?
Oh my, his hands are so... the veins… I cannot look at them without imagining them somewhere else. Everywhere else.
He raises a brow but allows my monologue to continue. Judging by his wild, ancient presence, seductive pheromones, and the mind invasion, he is probably an incubus. Or a shapeshifter.
It’s becoming quite the entanglement.
“Any terms?” I finally ask.
“Aidon has unrestricted access to Seleste’s mind, blood and body, but only if his intentions are not to harm,” he states, his gaze focused on me.
Are his eyes scarlet? Our surroundings are too dark to be certain, despite the light the moon graces the night with. If I am right about him, then they must be. I catch myself wishing I could get closer to find out.
His black, dense eyebrows raise in amusement. The crinkle in his forehead leads my gaze up towards his chocolate locks.
Gods, never mind his eyes; at least he seems decent.
“I am not, princess,” he smirks with so much arrogance that my blood boils and pours from the pot.
“What are you?” I am well aware it’s considered rude, but we are bonded, and he probably already knows I am curious. I need to know. Not because he is stunningly handsome, but because he is a threat.
“My territory lies within Rhodria.” He bows his head without breaking eye contact.
Something in the gesture makes my chest tighten, and I shift back almost imperceptibly.
“Tell me.” The fire’s gone from my voice.
“I am a Simon.”
“A Simon?” I blink, incredulous, “as in, blood feeding, power leeching, shapeshifter Simon?”
Aidon’s smile turns razor sharp. “You make me sound so charming.”
“You drain anything with a pulse. A rabbit or a fucking queen, it’s all the same to you.”
“Flattery,” he purrs, “will get you nowhere.”
“Simons aren’t supposed to leave the village,” I mutter. “You’re bound to the forest or the ocean. Pick a form, pick a life. Isn’t that the rule?”
“As a Draconis, I get a little more lenience.” He smirks, utterly unbothered.
“Why’d you choose forest?” If I had the choice, I’d rule the seven seas.