Curse of the Troll

by Emma Hamm

  He closed the door and brought the wine bottles with him back to the seating area. Elva stared at the wall, still lost in her own thoughts.

  “Here,” he muttered, popping the cork on one of the bottles and holding it out to her.

  She took it, glancing at him in confusion. “Didn’t you say I wasn’t drinking anymore tonight?”

  “Normally, I would say drinking your feelings away is a bad idea.” He ended the words on a grunt as he popped a cork on another bottle for himself. “But tonight seems like a good night to share a drink with a friend.”

  She arched a brow. “Are we friends now?”

  “Well, I’d like to think so.” He leaned forward and clanked their bottles together. “We’ll see by the end of the night. I don’t associate myself with those who cannot hold their liquor.”

  Elva snorted. “You might be a dwarf, but I’m quite certain you haven’t drank anything in at least a few years.”

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t drink you under the table, faerie. All your kind have a rather delicate constitution.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Try me, dwarf.”

  And so he did.

  9

  Elva’s heartrate sped up, pounding in her chest and making her breathing difficult. The night was cold. Frigid even. She could see her breath in the air, and any part of her body that was exposed to the air felt like ice.

  He still sat at the end of the bed, as he always did. It wasn’t fair for him to stay there. She still didn’t understand why he had to linger in her room, but apparently the topic was still off limits, whether he was talking about his bear self or the human man.

  What kind of curse required him to stay in the same room as her? She had never seen his face at all. Just the dark outline of his body in the shadows. Even when they were drinking together, she could just barely see his movements. So what was the point of forcing him in here with her? To be so close to someone else, but never really within touch?

  Elva stared at his silhouette. He wasn’t likely to hurt her. Yes, he’d said over and over that he didn’t want to touch her if she didn’t want him to touch her. But everyone always said that.

  She’d found even the most trustworthy of men could turn on a dime if they wanted something. It made it damned difficult to plan her life around them. He could just…decide he wasn’t going to be so nice anymore.

  “Why are you staring at me?” he muttered.

  “I’m not.”

  “I can feel your eyes on me. Stop staring and go to sleep, Elva.”

  She pulled the furs up a little too roughly. “I’m not staring. And I can’t sleep, so you can stop telling me what to do.”

  The blustering sigh he released was enough to let her know he didn’t believe a word she said. “Elva.”

  “What?”

  “You know what.”

  The man had gotten into her head more than anyone else had in a long time. Even Scáthach with all her talents and trustworthy nature hadn’t gotten Elva to talk about her history. What was it about this man that made her want to open up? He wasn’t safe to be around. He had been cursed, and in her experience, cursed men weren’t that way because they were kind souls.

  Of course, this could all be the anxiety talking. She could hardly be around men now without losing her breath. Even Bran, her dearest and oldest friend, made her want to vomit just by touching her.

  This cursed dwarf didn’t make her want to puke. In fact, he just made all the thoughts in her mind quiet.

  Or most of the time. But not tonight.

  She sighed and tucked her nose into the fur. Elva was a warrior. She had built a new life upon strength and capability. She didn’t need someone else to give her a reason for loving the way she was. That was what she’d fought so hard for. This state of mind that allowed her to rely on herself rather than another person.

  And yet…she wanted to rely on someone else. She was so damned tired of being alone all the time.

  “It’s too cold for you to be out of the covers,” she finally said.

  “And I’m not going to take the bed, nor do I see another bed in this room. I’m fine, Elva. I’ve experienced nights colder than this.”

  There he went, confusing her again. How many men would argue with her when offered a place in her bed? She didn’t know of any man who would have. This dwarf didn’t make sense, but he certainly made her feel more like herself.

  Grumbling, she flipped the furs on the other side of the bed. “Just get under the covers, would you? I’m exhausted, and you’re shaking the whole mattress with your shivering.”

  “I’m not shivering,” he replied, laughter dancing in his words.

  “Donnacha.”

  “Elva,” he replied.

  Then he moved. She held her breath as he crawled up the bed and underneath the covers. Would he try to touch her? Would he pull her into his arms? She didn’t know if she could handle that. Not right now when her heart was thundering in her ears and her hands were already shaking.

  She gripped the furs as tightly as possible, turning her face toward him and waiting for the moment when he would insist she use her body to pay for her stay here. That she was too pretty for him to resist. That she wouldn’t mind, would she?

  He didn’t say any of these things. Instead, Donnacha sighed and stopped moving.

  She waited a few more heartbeats before asking, “Warmer?”

  “Much.”

  Silence fell between them, pressing down on her lungs until she forgot entirely how to breathe. He was here. So close she could touch him, and that was somehow more suffocating than if he had been sitting directly on her chest.

  She wanted to run. She wanted to get up and bolt, but that wasn’t normal behavior. The ghost of Fionn loomed over her. It whispered in her ear that she would never be a normal person after him. That she couldn’t think like a normal person because she wasn’t one anymore.

  He’d sunk his claws so firmly into her that she’d never be able to look at a man the same again. She’d never be that innocent little thing who was so kind and forgiving. Elva would never be herself again.

  Donnacha cursed and threw back the covers. “I’m not doing this.”

  “What? I already invited you to stay under the covers, Donnacha. Where are you going?”

  “You don’t want to do this,” he growled. “I’m not going to make you uncomfortable just for a little frost. I’ll be fine, faerie. Just—”

  She reached out and grabbed his arm. All she could think was that he should stay. She could learn how to be a normal person without having a panic attack.

  And then, all she could think was that he wasn’t just a short little creature like most dwarves. He wasn’t covered in fur like a bear pelt. His arm was warm, strong, muscled far more than she would have expected.

  He felt like velvet under her hand. Not smooth like Fionn had been, like a sculpture or glass. But textured with hair, scars, and the feeling of another person. He was real.

  “Stay,” she repeated. “It’s okay.”

  “You’re the one shaking now,” he said, remaining firmly at the edge of the bed. “And I don’t think it’s because of the cold.”

  It wasn’t. And she was embarrassed he’d realized his closeness had affected her. “I can’t let it run my life for any longer. The idea of being alone for the rest of my life terrifies me. But I can’t even sit next to someone else, let alone sleep in the same bed.”

  “So you want to throw yourself into the most difficult part first? You have to be a little gentler with yourself, Elva.”

  “It’s my choice,” she spat the words. “I get to decide how to heal my own wounds and, right now, we’re both cold. This castle is made out of ice. We have to warm up, and we can warm up on other sides of the bed. Without touching each other.”

  He sighed. “We were already doing that, and clearly it wasn’t working for you.”

  It hadn’t been, but now he knew where her mind was. He understood she was panicking j
ust from him being close to her. Somehow, that made it feel a little bit better. She wasn’t struggling alone anymore.

  “Just try again,” she finally said. “It’s warmer with you in the bed anyway.”

  Donnacha hesitated for a few more moments before he slid back under the covers. He was careful to remain as far away from her as possible. “Dwarves are like furnaces, so I’ve been told.”

  “Oh, really?” She stared up at the ceiling, trying to calm her thundering heart. “Who told you that?”

  “An old lover.”

  “Any more details than that?” She let out a chuckle. “That could have been anyone.”

  He muttered a single word, clearly trying to muffle the sound.

  “What was that?” she asked, quite certain she’d heard the right thing and holding in laughter.

  “A banshee.”

  “A banshee?” Elva burst into laughter at that. So she had heard him right. But who slept with banshees? No one wanted to be around the terrifying things. “They are the souls of the dead. You know that, right?”

  “Doesn’t mean they don’t have needs,” he grumbled.

  “Needs? Like sucking out the souls of those they deem unworthy of an afterlife?”

  He remained quiet for so long after that she thought perhaps she’d insulted him. Then he expelled a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, she was good at sucking something.”

  “Oh, for gods—” Elva whipped one of the pillows at him, striking him hard in the face.

  Now, a full belly laugh rumbled through his body. He tossed the pillow back at her. “You walked into that one, faerie! Come on, now. What else were you expecting?”

  “A little gentlemanly decorum perhaps?”

  “I could say the same about the woman prying into a man’s love life. I’m not exactly prolific in my philanderings, if you must know.”

  She shook her head and tugged the furs higher. “Oh really? I find that hard to believe. Even in the Seelie Court, we’ve heard how dwarves find lovemaking to be…quite an experience to enjoy.”

  “Ahh,” he sighed. “So the faeries of the courts do remember their old friends.”

  “Old friends? Is that what you call them? Seems to me you’d want to be with someone younger, but for a man who enjoys the company of banshees, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

  Elva shook her head. “Not likely.”

  They fell into a companionable silence. Elva tried to keep her mind in that lighthearted state of mind. She wanted to focus on the way he’d made her laugh and the sound of his own happiness.

  He had a way of doing that to her, a way of breathing life into a situation that felt so dark she couldn’t inhale.

  Except, now he was right there. She could feel the blankets moving with a twitch of his foot. Even the sound of his breathing reminded her that someone was right there. So close she could have reached out and touched him.

  Did she want to? Elva wasn’t really sure. She didn’t know if that would make this infinitely worse, and then she’d have to ask him to leave. Leaving the room wasn’t possible, which meant she had even less control over this situation than she wanted to have.

  There was that tight feeling in her chest again. She curled her fingers in the furs and forced herself to relax through the panic attack. He wasn’t trying to touch her. He was just trying to get warm. She could be here, force herself to live through the horribleness, and it would be fine.

  “How are we doing over there?” he asked.

  “I’m okay.”

  He shifted, rolling over in the bed so his silhouette was turned toward her. “Okay, now I’m going to ask that again, and this time you’re going to answer me truthfully. How are we doing over there?”

  “We are doing fine,” she repeated. Then muttered, “I am not at my best, however.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Donnacha shifted a bit away from her. “Better?”

  She assessed the situation. Her chest was still tight, her breathing irregular, her mind incapable of focusing on anything but the way her hands were shaking. “Not really.”

  “I’ll get out of bed.”

  “No!” she shouted the word, startling even herself. “I just… Can you maybe stay where you are and reach out your hand?”

  Elva wished she could see his face. She was certain he was wrinkling his brow at her. He stopped breathing for a moment, then settled back on the bed. Slowly, he slid his hand under the furs toward her and stopped in the middle of the bed. “Like this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Why was she asking him to do this? She wasn’t going to like touching him. She didn’t even like that he was so close. Asking him to move closer seemed foolish. But she was so tired of holding all this anxiety inside her. She was so tired of being afraid.

  Elva slid her own hand under the covers until she was close enough to touch him. Did she really want to do this? She wasn’t sure. Would this change their relationship? Right now she was enjoying being somewhat close to a man with no expectations. She didn’t want him to think she was romantically interested in him.

  That was so much of a stretch for her. She didn’t know how to be interested in someone again. Not after everything that had happened to her. She was better off alone.

  Far away from any man of her own species. Far away from anyone who could hurt her.

  Wasn’t that her problem? She’d taken herself out of the world, forced herself so far away from everyone else that she was hardly living anymore. Elva wasn’t even a person at this point. She was a ghost who remained in the shadows, mimicking what life was but never actually enjoying it.

  Elva shifted her hand again so she could place her pinky over his. That was it. That was all she could do tonight, but it was something.

  She blew out a long breath and focused on the feeling of his hand under hers. It was a strong hand, like his arm. It was more than just the smooth, pretty texture that had been Fionn’s. The Seelie King had never touched a weapon in his life.

  Donnacha’s hand was covered with callouses and a few scars she could feel just from where she touched him. He had the hand of a swordsmith. The kind of hand that had gone through battles and come back out alive.

  The kind of hand who could hurt.

  She waited for the overwhelming rush of emotion that was certainly going to crash over her head. He could hurt her. He could at any point. Gods, he could waltz in here as a bear and tear her limb from limb.

  The emotions never hit her. Instead, all she remembered were the times he could have hurt her and didn’t. In the garden where she’d talked to him. Every night when he’d sat at the end of the bed in a way to give her privacy and space. How he always kept it dark in the room and never commented on her panic attacks other than to help her get through them.

  Who was this man? Why was he so kind? So understanding of everything she was going through, even though she couldn’t voice her concerns?

  Elva sighed again and shifted her hand fully over his. Donnacha flipped his own hand over and linked his fingers with hers.

  “Still okay?” he asked.

  “I think so.” She closed her eyes and prayed he wouldn’t ask her to explain this change. She didn’t know what she was doing. There were no answers to her strange decision to touch him after two months in his presence.

  Maybe this was her desperate call for help. Maybe she really wanted to be someone that others could trust, someone another could love. Or maybe she wanted a reason to run back to Scáthach and tell her he truly was a monster.

  That he was dangerous. So she could come back here and destroy him with a sword just to rid herself of her confusing reactions to him.

  Donnacha shifted again, then murmured, “Go to sleep, Elva.”

  “Good night, Donnacha.”

  “Don’t overthink it,” he said with a yawn. “It’s just sharing a little heat.”

  But was it?r />
  10

  The mirror loomed above him. Magic reached out to him, tendrils of power that wanted to overwhelm and destroy.

  Donnacha knelt on the floor in his bear form. He ground his teeth together and refused to look up at the Troll Queen pacing on her side of the magical creation. She’d summoned him only to say nothing. Instead, she paced.

  He stared at the ground until he could take her incessant movement no longer. “What is it you want?”

  The Troll Queen whirled. The charcoal color of her skin appeared duller in this light. Or perhaps she was ill. He hoped it was some kind of plague that could kill her kind. “Your little faerie seems to be doing quite well here.”

  He felt a swell of pride in his chest. “Yes, she’s settled in just fine.”

  “Well, that’s really a shame. That wasn’t the point of her being here.”

  Donnacha knew better than to gloat. He knew better than to tempt fate by pushing the Troll Queen when she could easily snap. But he wanted to look in her eyes and see her reaction when he told her they were growing closer by the day. “We’ve become friends,” he said. “Perhaps, in time, we can become even more.”

  The Troll Queen bared her teeth in disgust. “How dare you? This was a punishment. A temptation you were not supposed to enjoy.”

  “And yet, I have. I’ve enjoyed myself greatly.”

  He was surprised to realize how truthful the words were. He was shocked that he hadn’t realized it until now, but he did very much enjoy being around her. Even the darker times, like the night when she had panicked having him so close in her bed.

  A sound of pleasure rumbled in his chest whenever he thought of how he helped her, even in the small ways. Whether that was to teach her how to better clean her sword or how to handle her time with another person in her personal space, he’d made a change in her life.

  Donnacha didn’t know how to put it in words how that made him feel. He was thoroughly, wonderfully, excitedly part of her life as someone she would never forget now. He’d done something more than just exist in her world for a few moments.