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“Yes.” I find the little bird around my neck and give it a squeeze. “She…” I look away and shake my head. All these years later, and it still makes me choke up to talk about it. No time to get emotional. A deep, steadying breath fills my lungs. “A tornado hit our house when I was a kid. I made it out. My parents didn’t.”
“A construct of wind,” Sigurd says, almost absently.
The irony of it isn’t lost on me. My life has changed drastically twice in my life. Once by a powerful twister made of wind and now another time being bound by a king of air.
“Anyhow,” I continue, trying to force the hard memories away, “Gran raised me after that. Then, by the time I was old enough to care for myself, her health had gotten worse, and I couldn’t leave her alone. After all she’d done for me, how could I? So, I stayed and cared for her.” At some point, my gaze had slid far away, out to the darkening night. I shift it back to him. “Until you trapped me here.”
His hand flexes on his glass, the only tell that my words hit their target.
“You thought I was someone else. Ev—”
“Don’t,” he snarls.
I straighten. “Don’t?” A glimpse of sharp teeth between his pulled-back lips should have me running, but curiosity pulls me closer. “Don’t what?”
“We’re not talking about her,” he says before downing the rest of his glass in one go.
Whoa. Way to make me want to ask about her even more. Whoever she is, he cares. A lot. Enough that jealousy’s dark head rears itself within me. It’s not over him, of course not, but to have someone care so passionately… It’s a dream so far out of reach I can’t help but yearn for it.
“Fine,” I huff.
“Ask me about something else. Anything else.”
Anything, huh? I fight the devious grin trying to break free. “Is it true you started a war with the Court of the Forest?”
His eyes go wide.
I blink innocently. “You said anything.”
“Ugh.” He runs a hand down his face. “I haven’t had enough to drink for this.”
“Oh.” I set my glass aside and stand. “Well, I can fix that.” I pluck the glass from him and head for the liquor cabinet before he can protest.
I gasp as he appears directly in front of me, and I wobble on my tipsy feet. The empty glass tumbles from my fingers.
Faster than I can blink, Sigurd catches the glass just before it shatters across the stone floor. His other palm rests on the back of my thigh, steading my wobble and stirring up a whole mess of butterflies within me. Heat spreads through my chest as I stare down at him, unable to breathe, much less move.
His fingers trail ever so lightly up the back of my thigh as he rises. His gaze never leaves mine. Tingling chills race across my skin.
“Let’s play a game, shall we?” His voice is rich as the beverage we drank and warms me even more. “For each question one of us answers, the other takes a drink.”
I nearly laugh as I slide by him to grab the bottle we’ve been using. “Are you sure you want to play a drinking game with a bartender?”
Sigurd smirks. “Oh, I think so.”
Chapter 11
Westartouteasywith our game of questions and sips. Favorite color. Favorite food. Sigurd asks more questions than I do, and I’m happy to let him drink his fill. The world already blurs a little at the edge, and the last time I thought about standing up… Well, I didn’t.
“So,” I drawl as I empty the last of the bottle into his glass. “Back to my original question. Did you start a war?”
He glowers then heaves a sigh. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” I scoot closer. My leg brushes his. When did we get so close? “What kind of answer is that?”
“They have not formally declared war upon us, but they’ve moved troops near the border. Cut off all outsiders entering.”
“What do you have to do with that?”
