I don’t know what it means.
The wind suddenly howls, and he tucks his wings more tightly around me, protecting me from the chill. Though it’s dim inside the cocoon he’s created, just enough light filters through to allow us to look at one another. Not for the first time, I consider how savagely handsome he is.
To my utter shock, my fingers tingle with the urge to reach out and stroke his long, dark hair. The heat panging between my thighs also increases, and my breaths start coming faster.
He’d looked so wild and fierce as he flew toward me in the mountain village with his hair streaming behind him. Gods, for as long as I live, I will never forget that moment.
“Lord Blackthorne…” I begin, only for my voice to trail off. I want to beg for my freedom again, but I’m afraid it’ll make him angry. I’m also certain he’ll refuse, so perhaps I shouldn’t waste my breath. The only way I’ll ever escape him is if I run away. But how could I possibly outrun a powerful, highborn aerial scout?
“When we are alone together, you may call me Merak,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through me, eliciting a cascade of heated tingles that almost has me swooning.
He leans closer, and his eyes gleam with… desire. I’m sure of it. He’s staring at me as though he wants to kiss me again. A real kiss. Not a forehead kiss, but a passionate kiss with his lips pressed to mine.
He’s staring at me as though he wants to push me down on the blanket and have his way with me as the snow flurries drift down around us.
Why does the idea leave me breathless and achy?
I should be more terrified about his plans for me.
Yet I cannot help the strange pull I feel toward him.
After the events of the last fortnight, perhaps I’m just struggling to think coherently. Perhaps that’s all this is. I’m exhausted, dirty, and shaken. Perhaps after a bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep, I’ll see things more clearly in the morning.
“Merak,” I whisper, unable to help myself, and warmth fills me as I utter his given name.
His eyes flash with pleasure, and a hint of a smile plays across his lips.
I doubt many others have called him by his given name aloud. It’s my understanding that among the fae, titles are important. Titles are only omitted when addressing a friend in private. But when in public, titles are always used, even between mates. I picked this knowledge up from the traveling merchants who visit Braemar.
“You are very beautiful, Gwen.” He shifts his hands into my hair and runs his fingers through my long, mussed locks.
My face heats, partly from his compliment, but also from embarrassment. I’m filthy, and my hair is tangled and matted with grease. I try to pull away from him, but he tightens his hold in my hair, not allowing me the movement. Not that I could go very far. His wings are surrounding me, holding me in place.
Despite myself, I am starting to feel safe in his presence. He hasn’t hurt me yet. And though his wings should feel like a prison, instead they feel like a protective shield.
“I’m filthy,” I blurt, still trying to pull away from him.
“Well,” he says with another hint of a smile, “not even the dust from the road can hide your beauty.” He keeps one hand secure in my hair, holding me in place, while he resumes running his other hand through my mussed tresses.
I flush again. I can’t help it. I also can’t help the waves of heat spreading through me, nor the steady pulsations in my core.
“Please let me go,” I whisper, needing to break the tension. “I just want to return to my family.”
His face immediately darkens, and his hands tighten in my hair.
Fear skitters through me, a chill that instantly douses the warmth that was just building within me.
“I will never free you, Gwen. Do not ask again.”
My spirits fall, and I stare at his chest, unable to hold his gaze. Tears burn in my eyes, but I blink them back. He bought me as though I were livestock. He paid twenty pieces of silverfor me, and now he thinks he’s entitled to keep me forever. Just because he outbid all those other males.
Despair washes over me.
Will I truly never see my family again?
If I continue to plead for freedom, how will Merak respond? Will he punish me for disobeying him? He’s a highborn fae male with darkness in his blood. Perhaps his kindness has a limit. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to provoke him.
If only I were braver. If only I were brave enough to openly curse him for keeping me as a slave. But I’m not even brave enough to plead for my freedom one more time. At least not at this moment. Perhaps after some time passes and I’m better able to understand his moods… but not now.
