Chapter 5 #3
He fills the space like a storm breaking, tall and broad-shouldered, his frame honed by the wild.
Black hair falls loose to his shoulders, tousled and shining, as if it was combed by the wind and not hands.
His skin gleams like burnished bronze. The curve of his mouth is merciless – too beautiful for kindness, too soft for cruelty.
It’s surrounded by a jaw that’s shadowed with hair.
But the most stunning feature juts from his temples.
Antlers, dark as polished oak, jut outward in jagged arcs, their wild symmetry more beast than man, yet too arresting to look away from.
And then there are his eyes.
They’re green, like those of all other fae, but not the shade of grass or leaf.
They are the shade of deep groves untouched by the sun.
The same gold Marian saw in Little John’s and Allen’s eyes pulses in his, but it’s richer, like melted coin.
Those eyes drag up the length of her and settle on her face.
Marian’s stomach flips, heat flushing unbidden up her neck.
Her pulse flutters wild as though her body mistakes him for something to be desired rather than feared.
The realization chills her. She tells herself it’s the lingering effect of their healing magic.
Some trick or glamour meant to soften her resolve.
Because no creature so dangerous, so powerful, could make her pulse stumble with anything but terror.
She forces her breath to steady. ‘You enjoy cornering women in locked rooms?’
‘If you feel cornered, that is because you know you don’t belong here.’
Her chin snaps higher, even as her pulse thunders. ‘It was your kind who dragged me here. If I foul your air, then open the door and let me go.’
His laugh is low, rich, sliding along the chamber walls like oil down glass. ‘You wouldn’t make it three steps before the wood ate you whole. You are alive because I allow it.’
Marian flinches, but only for an instant. ‘Then you are no better than the very mortal men you detest, who chain what they cannot control.’
His smile sharpens as he steps closer. His presence is so near, she can see the faint sheen of sweat at his temple.
Her body feels caged, her lungs straining against the heat radiating from him.
His eyes gleam, gold threading brighter through the green.
He circles her slowly and Marian tracks his every move.
His gaze dips deliberately to her throat, where her heartbeat flutters beneath the skin.
For a long moment, he says nothing. His stare lingers, steady and unflinching, until she feels as though he has peeled her apart and sifted through every raw piece of her.
Then, slowly, he leans close enough that his breath grazes her cheek.
‘Clever,’ he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. ‘But cleverness can only carry you so far.’ His mouth tilts, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. ‘In the end, even the sharpest teeth cannot save a creature caught in a snare, little fox.’
Marian’s nickname belonged to her mother alone; it should never fall from a filthy fae tongue. The sound of it sinks into her like a hook, intimate and cutting all at once. She hates him, hates that he can name her with such casual precision, as though she were already his to hunt.
The shadow of his antlers stretches over her, his presence filling every corner until there is no space left for her own air. Marian locks her jaw, refusing to move, refusing to give him the satisfaction of even a step backward.
‘I will not shrink from you,’ she grits out.
‘Good,’ he murmurs. ‘Fear makes for dull company.’
The silence between them stretches until the door creaks open behind him. Lantern light splits the shadows like a blade.
‘They’re ready for you,’ Allen’s voice cuts through, bright and irreverent, the lilt of it snapping the spell.
Her captor does not turn at once. His gaze rests on Marian a heartbeat longer before he finally straightens to his full height. When he does pivot toward the door, the motion is languid and unhurried; a predator conceding the moment only because it chooses to.
Marian drags a deep breath into her lungs, sharp and shaky, her pulse still thrumming hard against her throat. The air feels thinner now, less suffocating, but her body remembers the press of his shadow, the weight of his words.
Allen leans one shoulder against the frame, lute strap slung casually across his chest, dark brows lifted. His eyes flick between them as the other fae passes, curiosity sparking with questions left unsaid.
‘Well,’ Allen drawls, his grin slanting, wicked, ‘looks like you’ve made an impression. Not many go toe-to-toe with our fearless leader and come out unscathed.’
The reveal drops a stone in her gut.
‘That’s Rob—’ she starts, mouth falling agape as she chokes on the rest of his name. Marian had thought the fae was merely some brute sent to torment her. She trails behind the antler-crowned figure as he slips through the doorway, her gaze never leaving the back of his head.
Lox.
The Lord of Elswyth, decider of her fate. And she has already bared her teeth at him.