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I scoop up the slimy cod and walk past her—I don’t care if she’s being sarcastic, she invited me in. This is my chance.
Two other changelings stand in the kitchen, one with flour all over her hands and a ball of dough in front of her, and the other peeling potatoes.
“This here fine fisherman says he can prepare the fish such that even Master will eat it.” The first one follows me, her laughter infecting the other two.
“This will certainly be worth watching.” The girl goes back to kneading her dough.
“Go on, then, master cook.” The dark-haired one leans on the wooden counter and crosses her arms. “Let’s see what you’ve got other than a mean stare and a taut backside.”
More laughter as the other two move closer to inspect my wares.
I throw the fish down on the counter and draw my blade, brandishing it at the cooks. “Scream, and I’ll gut you.”
The laughter stops as I grab the changeling with the flour on her hands and press the dull side of my knife to her throat. I won’t hurt her, but they don’t need to know that.
“Don’t.” The dark-haired one holds up a hand, her eyes wide. “Please.”
“Tell me where Beth is.”
“Beth?” The one with the potato peeler edges toward the door.
“One more step, and I’ll open her throat.”
The shivering girl squeaks, and the potato changeling freezes.
“We have no Beth here.” The dark-haired one is sober now, her mouth pinched. “Please just go.”
“Lenetia. That was her name here. Where is Lenetia?”
The dark-haired one and the potato one exchange a dark look.
“Where?” I shake the terrified girl.
“In the slave quarters. But if you mean to harm her—” The potato one steps closer and raises her peeler.
I shake my head. “No. She’s mine. I would never hurt her.”
“Granthos sold her to you?” The dark-haired one’s eyebrows rise.
“No. She’s mine.” A growl permeates the last word, and the dark-haired one blinks with understanding.
“You’ve come for her?” She arches a brow, surprise and wonder mixing in her tone. “To free her?”
“Yes. I will take her to the winter realm where all are free.”
She throws her hands up. “Why didn’t you just say so?” Hurrying past me, she opens a door that leads to a narrow staircase. “Down to the bottom level, third door on your right. If you get caught, you never saw us, and we never saw you. And if you don’t get caught, have a care for the rest of us if you can.” With a shove, she thrusts me onto the landing and closes the door behind me. Her exasperated voice carries through the wood. “Bloody high fae yapping instead of acting. Typical.”
Are all changelings this odd?
I hurry down the stairs, my steps loud as I toss caution by the wayside. When I reach the third door, I throw it open. My heart seems to expand, battering my ribs as I take in my mate.
Her eyes round as a purr emanates from me, my need for her like molten gold in my veins. Her light hair, pale skin, the brown of her eyes—all of it is indelibly marked onto my soul, and I will never love another the way I love her. Her wild scent calls to me, but the air is colored with something darker. Blood. Her blood.
She takes a wobbly step toward me with a wince. “What are you—”
I take her in my arms, pulling her hard against my chest as I unspool the last of my healing magic, a slight green glow lighting between us.
“Oh.” She goes limp in my hold. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t follow me,” she mumbles against my chest.
“I did, but I landed in the sea.”
“Can a winter fae swim?”
“This one can.”
She sighs. “You were avoiding me. Every day since the Gray Mountains.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The green glow dissipates slowly.
“I didn’t want to become too attached to you.”
She pulls back, her mouth in a hard line. I guess that was the wrong answer?
“Good to know. Why are you here?” She tries to push me away. She may as well try to rip the stars from the sky, she’d get as far.
“Because you’re mine.”
11
Beth
“Leave it to a high fae to try and claim ownership of a changeling.” I roll my eyes. “I thought all were free in the winter realm.”
He bares his fangs. “You’ll never be free of me.”
“Missed your changeling sidekick, eh? Needed someone to kick around, did you?” I put a bite into my tone, though I don’t know why I’m so angry. He’s here, after all. Even if he smells like weeks-old fish and has a crazed look in his eyes, at least he came.
“I need you.” He strokes a hand down my cheek so gently that I wonder if I’m dreaming.
My breath stutters, my eyelashes fluttering as his purr intensifies. That sound sends vibrations to all the right places, waking up dormant needs. What is going on?
“My beloved.” He leans closer, his gaze more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s as if he sees me, finally. And not just that—he wants to devour me.
I blink. “Did you just call me ‘beloved’? I thought I was the ‘smartarse changeling,’ or ‘that one’, or ‘the one with the mouth’, or ‘that—”
His kiss is unexpected, powerful, and hot enough that my knees go weak and my mind blanks. I squeak in surprise as his tongue brushes along my lips, his hold on me tightening as he backs me into the wall, his hard body pressing against me. How many times have I fantasized about his thick muscles, his firm lips, the way his hands seem to swallow me up? I moan as his purr intensifies, and heat blooms between my thighs. His fangs graze my bottom lip as he grips my hair, angling my head to the side and deepening the kiss that seems to singe every bit of my skin. I grip his hips, holding on as he reaches down to my ass, squeezing it in one palm and lifting me with ease until I’m straddling him, my back against the wall, my breasts crushed against his chest, and my mouth his own personal playground. When I moan, his hips buck against me, his impossibly hard length pressing against my core. I’ve never wanted a male. Not really. Not like this. Every part of me screams for more, for him to throw me down and take me.
He kisses to my throat, his fangs dancing along my skin.
“Gareth,” I breathe and clutch his shoulders. “What is going—”
“You’re mine.” His eyes meet mine, and they’re no longer the dark green I’m used to, but instead a vibrant gold.
“Feral.”
“Hmm?” He sniffs my throat and thrusts his cock against me.
“You’ve gone feral.” I can’t catch my breath.
“I can smell every bit of your arousal.” He grinds again. “Honey on the air. I want to coat my tongue in you, lick every drop from your sweet cunt.”
“Gareth!” I gasp. Proper Gareth would never use such a word. Now I know he’s gone feral. And maybe I like it, filthy word included. Scratch that, love it.
