CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX #2
“I have no doubt they will.” Brennan bit his lip.
“And …” he leaned in toward me, his cheek grazing the side of my hair.
He was so close, he was offering me a whiff of his perfume, his musk and spiced oil, the scents I now associated with him, the scents I longed for.
He moved even closer, and yet not one part of him touched me, though every inch of me was more than aware of where he stood, the little distance there was between us.
He inhaled deeply, his face coming dangerously close to the crook of my neck.
His breath tickled my skin as he exhaled.
“They smell like you,” he whispered, my ear tingling in response.
I was supposed to be pulling away. Sending him off without feeding. Without rousing the beast within. But instead, I found myself asking, “And what do I have that smells like you?”
He pulled back just enough so he could see me.
“I thought you’d never ask.” He reached into his purse, hanging from his belt.
The same style as the ones he wore to Geoffrey’s—the same ones that Geoffrey had confiscated and stolen from me.
But within this purse was a small handkerchief, dyed a dark blue with the golden thread of House Lafir embroidered across the center into the design of a moonstag, one that looked exceptionally like Aurick.
He wiped it against his neck, then folded it and tucked it into the top of my dress. Heat coiled low in my belly, heat that was all mine and not the Azete’s.
We had seconds before it woke, before it started to process just how much Brennan was lingering with me, delaying his leave for the hunt.
And seconds before my desire was squashed by the predator within.
“Go,” I said. “Kill the boar for me.”
“I promise. Be good while I’m away,” he said.
“I will. Now be safe and be well,” I said without thinking.
Brennan paused, his brows furrowed. It was the exact phrase he’d said to me as Samara, the same one he’d thought in his mind. He’d never said it to me as Olivay, though. He’d never had to.
Brennan smiled uneasily, a question in his eyes, one strong enough that the Azete reared up, and I connected to his mind.
He didn’t think it was the strangest combination of words.
But they were his words, words his mother used to say to him, words he’d continued to say at farewells in her honor.
And words he’d never heard anyone else use, not unless he’d said them first.
But despite being unable to remember a time Olivay had heard them, he shook his head, dismissing the thought and the question. The connection between us broke.
I was practically holding my breath as I reached for the handkerchief tucked into the top of my collar, and pulled it out, pressing it to my nose.
Brennan’s jaw tightened, watching me.
Then Kienan and Rowan came behind him, slapping his back, and dragging him away.
“Return him safely to me,” I called out, stepping back, afraid I might feed off of Brennan again.
But they all laughed and walked out to their moonstags. Brennan mounted Aurick and held up his sword. White lace ribbons tied around the hilt blew in the wind. He looked back at me once, took a deep breath, his eyes studying me, and then he yelled out, urging Aurick forward. The hunt began.
And mine came to a close.
I retreated to the library. It was going to be days before he returned, days before I could feed again, if I could avoid Olivay’s parents.
I stayed there until dinner, then returned, reading until my eyes hurt and went to bed.
Every day of the hunt, I curled up with a book, including several of Olivay’s favorites, and after endless hours of reading or window-gazing, I would retreat to my room, send for Abigail, and go to bed for the night.
Thoughts of Brennan injured by the wild boar, or coming home and being hurt again by me, plagued my thoughts.
My guilt was becoming unbearable. So I kept reading, losing myself in story after story after story.
“Olivay is reserved,” the Hermit said when he found me on the third day. “But she is far more social than this.”
“I’m exhausted,” I spat. And I was hungry. So fucking hungry. Three days without Brennan, without sustenance, was taking its toll.
“Then feed yourself,” he said, reading my mind. “Eat.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I can’t. It’s barely possible–especially right now.
” No one was having strong feelings toward me.
All of the men were gone. Even Olivay’s parents were calm and spent their days socializing with the other nobles.
Unless I wanted to shift into a strange woman who stumbled upon the lodge to seduce the guards, I was just going to have to continue conserving what magic I had left.
“Fine then.” The Hermit shrugged, his eyes narrowing. “Suffer. But you must leave this room. While many believe that the air in Eskalon is difficult to adjust to for those born in Spartva, some are beginning to whisper.”
I closed my book and set it on the table. “Whisper what?” I stood up, not looking at him.
“Whispering that Lord Kienan, who is also from Spartva, has never suffered from the affliction that seems to have confined you to your rooms.”
“I’m not in my room,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter that you don’t sleep here. You have confined yourself. You’re not gossiping with the noblewomen, nor sewing, nor picking wildflowers or whatever Godsdamned activity they deem worthy of their time.”
I’d thought of that, but the noblewomen, so obsessed with their own lives, would give me nothing to feed from.
And I’d only lose more energy in their presence.
I didn’t expect the Hermit to understand.
As far as he was concerned, I needed to use any means necessary.
But I was already doing too much. I’d been Olivay for almost two weeks, and it wasn’t getting any easier.
“The hunters return tomorrow,” I said. “I will be more social then.”
“And you will feed. I expect your betrothed has been missing you.”
My stomach turned. “Fine. But for now–I need to rest.”
He rolled his eyes. “Continue reading. Things seem calm. I trust you’ll be all right on your own for one night?”