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The mate bond’s markings.
They appeared on a night fae’s neck after sealing the connection physically, and a mate’s touch on the markings ignited every sense a person had.
I carefully brushed her hair off of her face and neck, exposing her skin.
Pride and fear warred within me at the sight of the black, lace-like markings wrapping around her throat.
Would she think of it as another type of chain? She had been the one to instigate the bond’s forming, but she had been born an elemental fae. What if she hadn’t been aware of the connection that would follow sex?
I was a terrible fucking person.
Who would have sex with their fucking soulmate without making sure she knew the consequences?
I didn’t deserve to touch her skin. I didn’t deserveher.
But now, I was hers, and she was mine.
And I would destroy anyone else who tried to touch her.
That was something I would worry about later, though.
Because for the moment, she was in my bed. And she was fucking unconscious.
She had no visible injuries. Most of the kingdom may have considered me a monster, but I wasn’t the kind of bastard who could ever hurt his mate. I would worship the ground she walked on; she was a fucking gift from fate herself.
But she had admitted that she was ill, and there were too many physical signs to deny that fact.
Perhaps I’d just overworked her. Or overfucked her, if that was possible when a female was sick.
I decided to give her time, to see if she woke up on her own. She needed to be cleaned up, so I wetted a towel in the bathroom and used it to carefully clean the mess I’d made on her soft skin. When she was clean, I pulled the blankets up to her chin, and smoothed her hair away from her face.
It was wet; that could make her cold.
So, I gathered the silken strands and braided it all loosely enough that I didn’t think it would tug on her scalp.
When the braid was tucked over the pillow, away from her skin, I dragged a few fingers gently down her face.
Stars, the woman was perfect.
She would need food when she woke up, so I went into the kitchen and got to work making her a meal. She’d been serving stew when we met, and she said she had loved working at the inn, so I went ahead and made one of the soups my mother had taught me to cook as a child.
When I was done, I carried a bowl back into the room, hoping to find my female awake and well. But, she was in the exact position I had left her.
Frustration and fear curled in my abdomen. My magic clouded around me in response, darkening the room.
What was wrong with her?
There was only one way to find out, I supposed.
Crossing the room, I set the bowl of soup down on the table beside the bed, and then sat down beside my female. I rested one of my hands on the side of her head, then slid the other one over her palm, parting her fingers with my own.
My mother hadn’t been a good person; my father hadn’t, either. But my mother had treated me kindly, because I had something that neither of my brothers did.
Her magic.
For the lunar fae, the moon’s magic didn’t give them power over darkness or light. It was a much trickier power; one that could influence minds.
Neither of my brothers knew much about that magic, but my mother had wanted me on the throne because of it. I would merge our two histories, she claimed—start a strong line of fae with both night and lunar magic.
