by A. S. Green
22
For the next fifteen minutes, Ainsley’s chemical output continued to simmer in perfect response to Rory’s need. Alex allowed himself his own steadying breath as his young clan mate’s body began to relax. There was even an improvement in his color, though the difference was slight. It would get better, though, with time. Perhaps only a few more days.
“Were you able to reschedule the Zurich flights?” Alex asked, trying to pretend like this was just a normal day.
Ainsley’s head jerked up. “What? Oh.” She glanced over at Rory. “I printed off the new itinerary, but never picked it up. It’s still in the printer. I can get it if you need it now.”
“Yes,” he said. “That’d be good.” Maybe a little stretch of the legs would help ease her tension.
She stood. Rory’s eyes widened. She didn’t look at him, but her hands balled into fists as she crossed the office, getting closer and closer to Rory’s chair on her way to the door.
The nerves ticked up to apprehension, then moved into fear. Rory held his place, but his brow furrowed in concentration.
As soon as Ainsley stepped out and the door closed, Rory’s head snapped to Alex in frustration. “I don’t think it’s working. I can feel her, but it’s not working on me.”
“It’s working,” Alex said reassuringly. “I can already see it. But it’s a deep well you’re climbing out of. Give it time.”
“Knox said he could feel her effects immediately.”
“As I said—”
The buzzer on his intercom sounded again, and Alex glanced at it with irritation.
“There’s a delivery for you, Mr. Campbell, and you have to sign for it yourself.”
Alex didn’t answer Caroline immediately. He finished his thought with Rory. “As I said, this will take some time for you, but you’ll get there. You’re going to be fine.”
Rory growled with impatience.
“Behave,” Alex said with the hint of amusement, “and wait here. This will just take a second.”
He strode out of his office, moving as quickly as he could while still within the normal range of human propulsion.
Caroline was waiting for him at the front desk, along with a messenger with a bag strapped across his back. In one hand, he held a tablet for Alex to sign; in the other, a large envelope.
“This is it?” Alex asked, expecting something larger. He took the digital pen and signed the pad. Why couldn’t this have been put in the regular mail?
“Yes,” the messenger said. “I was directed to hand-deliver it to a Mr. Alexander Campbell of Thorn Enterprises. That’s you, right?” He glanced down at the signature capture.
“That’s me,” Alex said, slipping his finger under the seal. “Thanks.”
Alex returned down the hall toward his office. As he did, he pulled the document from the envelope. It was a single page, embossed with the symbol of a shamrock driven through by a sword. The symbol of the Black Castle Brethren.
The sight of it sent an icy chill down his arms. How many of his kind, how many fae in general, had fallen at the hands of their ancient enemy? A thousand? Ten thousand? Orla had been but one.
The anger and horror bit through him. He had to pinch the bridge of his nose and take a deep breath before he could even read the message.
Dear Vile Abomination,
The Black Castle may have fallen, but I have not left my post. I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, for her sake. I’d hoped I was mistaken. But if she truly is a queen, we now have unfinished business. I am an honorable man. I don’t take money for nothing, so I’ll complete Peadar’s assignment and see this through to the end.
The message was unsigned, except for the cowardly anonymous signature:
- BCB
Decades of guilt crashed down on Alex’s chest. It was just as he’d feared. The enemy wasn’t gone—not entirely—and he hadn’t done enough to keep her identiy hidden.
Alex slipped the letter into his inside jacket pocket and tossed the envelope into a bin. He was just about to round the corner when a voice sounded in his head, calling his name.
Alex!
The tenor of the voice stopped him in his tracks and he narrowed his eyes, focusing. He could have sworn it was Ainsley, but that was impossible.
Sure, a bonded pair could track each other as a result of the frequent feedings they shared. Most of them could gauge where the other one was within a hundred miles or so, just by the reaction of the mate’s blood within their own bloodstream.
But Alex had never fed from Ainsley. He’d only tasted one delectable drop, and that wasn’t nearly enough for—
Alex, help me.
Shit. Alex’s teeth sharpened in response, and he took off like a shot, not caring who might see. If he went fast enough, they might not see anything at all.
He practically tore his office door off its hinges, just in time to find Ainsley pinned against the wall, her feet off the ground.
Rory held her up with one hand at her hip, the other at the underside of her jaw. He’d pushed her head back, and he grazed the length of her neck with his bared teeth.
“Christ! Rory!” Alex backhanded him so hard, Rory went flying across the room, landing in a heap at the base of the bookshelf, books and priceless collectibles raining down around him.
Ainsley crumpled onto the ground. Her hand went to her throat. Mascara ran down her cheeks.
“Dear God. Are you okay?” Alex crouched in front of her, checking for wounds.
“Alex,” she rasped. She was shaking uncontrollably. He wished he had a blanket to wrap around her, something to keep her warm.
“You’re okay.” Her skin wasn’t broken, though there was already bruising along her jaw. Alex shucked off his jacket and slipped it around her. “There. Better?”
“I wasn’t going to bite her,” Rory moaned. “I just needed to get closer. It wasn’t working.”
“Haud yer wheesht!” Alex barked, barely giving Rory a backward glance. To Ainsley he whispered, “He wouldn’t have hurt you.”
His assurance clearly wasn’t comforting. Alex didn’t have to see her face to know that; the air was spiked with fear. He should have been more on guard.
Alex pulled his phone from his pocket and sent an emergency signal to Callum, who tilted into the office, took one look at the situation and growled.
“No time for that,” Alex said. “Get him back to the house.”
Callum grabbed Rory roughly by the arm, and they were gone.
Alex lifted Ainsley into his arms. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”
“You left me.” She curled into his arms, clinging to his shirt as if her life depended on it.
“No,” he said. “Never.” Then he tilted them out.
23
“I smell that!” Knox bellowed. “That better mean what I think it means.”
“McKee!” Finn jumped off the couch in shock. “You did it?”
“No!” Alex barked. “I didn’t.” But—damn—he’d come close.
For days, Alex had been riding a razor’s edge of self-restraint, but seeing Ainsley crumpled in a heap at the base of the wall had nearly pushed him to his breaking point. Even now, with her trembling in his arms, he wanted to claim her, to mark her as his mate, to tell all the world that she was his.
But he had to be smart about this. He couldn’t be rash. The Black Castle may already be on to her, but there could still be a way out.
Except that his claiming scent was now permeating the entire house. Knox had smelled it. So had Finn. So much for self-control.
With his queen still cradled in his arms, Alex strode down the hall toward the grand staircase with Knox and Finn close on his heels.
“What’s that—?” Alastair asked, as he entered the foyer from the other direction, his nose lifted in the air. His curious expression fell as soon as he saw the crumpled form in Alex’s arms. “What the hell happened?”
“Ask Rory,” Alex seethed. “I’m taking her upstairs to
rest.”
God help the Black Castle for threatening her. God help Rory for bruising her skin. With each step of his ascent, Alex’s fury grew exponentially, so much so, he didn’t even notice when he went the wrong way at the top of the stairs. Instead of taking Ainsley to the guest room, he brought her to his own.
He opened the door with one hand, then slammed it closed behind them. The finality of the sound not only shut out the rest of the world, but took the edge off his fears.
She was safe. No one would touch her here. Not even him, because whatever primal inclinations he’d been feeling were subdued by the relief that came from having Ainsley out of harm’s way.
He carried her into his bathroom and set her gently on her feet before turning the taps and getting the shower running.
“Alex?” she asked. It was the first thing she’d said since his office.
“You’re cold. Probably in shock. It’ll help if you take a hot shower.”
He tested the water then—satisfied with the temperature—slipped his jacket off her shoulders.
Ainsley had no agency. She merely stood there, trembling and catatonic.
"I'm going to undress you, if that’s okay.”
She might have nodded, or maybe she was just shaking. He couldn't tell, but she didn't bat his hands away when he slowly pulled her shirt up and over her head, then undid the clasp of her bra. He didn’t look at her as he helped her out of her clothes and into the shower—his mind a torrent of self-flagellation as she stepped under the spray.
As soon as that was done, he left the room, closing the door to give her privacy and space. There was nothing left for him to do but pace the floor. He needed to come up with a way to convince her to move in. It was no longer safe for her out in the world.
He snorted with self-derision, because he could already hear her counterargument. The only danger she’d actually faced was from one of his kind. If she wasn’t safe in his private office, what did it matter where she went?
And she’d be right. He deserved every bit of her disdain.
He tossed his jacket over the back of his chair, sat down, then stood up again, not knowing what to do. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and the serious pacing began.
Ainsley had to be scared out of her mind. He didn’t think any rationalization would improve things. Rory had bared his teeth, for Christ’s sake. He hadn’t gained any better control during his lockdown, and if he’d hurt Ainsley…
No. No. Alex couldn’t let his mind go there. If he did, he might kill Rory himself. Ainsley was his. Well, she was all of theirs, but she was his. And no one threatened a chieftain’s…
What exactly was she to him? He stopped at the window and leaned his palms against the sill, staring out at the wisteria tree in the center of the garden.
He wouldn’t dishonor her by calling her his mistress. At the same time, she wasn’t his bloodwife.
Knox’s words finally hit him. “That better mean what I think it means.” Obviously Knox thought Alex’s claiming scent meant he’d finally come to his senses. He’d thought Alex’s restraint was proof of weakness.
But Knox had no idea what strength it took for Alex to deny himself for the sake of their queen, for the sake of the clan.
It was one thing to be born to be a future chieftain, quite another to actually take command. Self-fulfillment came second. Maybe even third.
So all Alex had to do now was get this horse back in its lane. He hadn’t taken things so far with Ainsley that he couldn’t rein it back in. It wasn’t too late. All he had to do—
Alex caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up. Ainsley.
He hadn’t realized so much time had gone by, but apparently he’d been ruminating long enough for the bathroom to have filled with steam; it was pouring out behind her as she stood there. In nothing but a towel.
Good god. She was more beautiful than ever, her auburn hair spiraling over her bare shoulders. His heart lodged in his throat as something startling occurred to him.
He’d refused to bond Ainsley for fear it would put a target on her back. But the Black Castle clearly knew all about her now. A bonding wouldn’t make her more of a target than she already was. Why hadn’t that occurred to him sooner?
Another burst of his claiming scent filled the room. Yes. He was ready. He hoped she was as ready as she’d seemed last night.
But Ainsley didn’t move from the bathroom doorway. Alex drew in a breath, tasting the air. There was fear there, a definite and well-defined trepidation.
He held out a hand, and he detected the flicker of doubt. His chest tightened with the pain of her distrust.
“Are you all right?” He took a step closer, but when she flinched he stopped and held his ground.
Ainsley continued to stare at him for a few seconds before finally whispering, “I feel…weird.”
“You’re scared.” God, he wanted to go to her. His need was nearly crippling. It was only her obvious anxiety that held him back.
“I am,” she said. “I’m scared that I don’t know who I am anymore.”
That wasn’t what Alex expected her to say, and it sent a pang of remorse to his heart.
She was afraid for him to come closer not because of what Rory had done, but because of what he himself had done. He’d moved things along too fast, bombarded her with too much information, overloaded her scientific mind with things that—to human experience—were utterly impossible. Then he’d allowed Rory to be alone with her.
“I know who you are,” he said. “You’re Ainsley Morris. Smart. Bold. Fearless.”
“Foolish,” she said, correcting him, and her eyes were shiny with too much moisture.
“You have to know, I would never hurt you.” Before he realized what was happening, another blast of his claiming scent filled the room.
Her eyes widened. “What’s that smell?”
“Nothing.”
She looked around the room as if searching for the source, and her gaze landed on something behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Black Castle’s letter sticking out of his inside coat pocket. He snatched the coat off the chair and quickly strode to his closet to hang it up. He came out with a soft black robe.
Ainsley jerked with surprise, and Alex only then realized how fast he’d moved. He’d scared her again.
“Here,” he said handing her the robe while keeping an arm’s length of space between them. “Put this on before you get cold.”
“I should probably go home.”
“I’d prefer it if you stayed, at least for the rest of the afternoon, until I know you’re doing okay.”
She sniffed and glanced toward his bed. “Can I at least stay in here?”
“Do you…want to?” Despite the reckless intimacies they’d shared, Alex was surprised by her question. He’d expected her to resist his plea and insist on calling a car to take her home.
“I’m just really tired.”
Well, that made sense then. She didn’t want to be in his bed, per se. It was simply the closest and most convenient option. “That’s probably the shock wearing off. If you sleep for a few hours, you’ll feel better.”
“Maybe,” she said, though she didn’t sound convinced.
“So you’ll stay?” he asked again, needing her to confirm it.
“Yes.”
Alex went to his bed, moving slowly this time, and pulled back the covers. He heard a soft weight hit the floor, and when he turned around, she’d dropped the towel and had wrapped herself in his robe.
Swallowing hard, he stepped away from the bed, giving her a ten-foot berth as she finally left the bathroom doorway and climbed between the sheets.
Alex pulled the covers over her, and she shivered.
“Are you still cold?” he asked.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Would it help if I laid next to you? I won’t touch you.” God help me, I promise I won’t touch you again. “
But it might help you regain your body heat faster.”
At his own suggestion, Alex’s claiming scent filled the room again; he’d completely lost control of it. Ainsley inhaled deeply then, despite her obvious reservations, rolled onto her side and turned back the covers in silent agreement.
“You’re sure?” He didn’t want to spook her.
“If you are.”
Alex climbed in and lay flat on his back, arms stiff at his sides, keeping his promise, though his heart shook with barely controlled restraint.
Oh, irony of ironies. After all this, here he was, wanting and finally able to bond his queen—with no good reason to stop him, except she no longer wanted him for anything more than body heat and a place to nap.
Ainsley didn’t move. She kept her face buried in her pillow and her body rigid. Even so, Alex could feel the rapid beat of her heart—like a frightened rabbit in bed with a wolf.
“Go to sleep,” he said. “I won’t leave you.”
She muttered something unintelligible, muffled by her pillow. Something more about being a “fool” and “falling.”
“Go to sleep,” he repeated. “I won’t let my guard down again. You won’t want for anything.”
She mumbled something else, but he couldn’t be sure of what it was. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore.
24
It was early. So early, not even the birds were awake, and Alex watched through his bedroom window as the first star winked out against the dark blue sky.
Ainsley had slept all afternoon and straight through the night. Her hair was a dozen colors against his pillow: red, darker auburn, with threads of gold and blond so light they were nearly silver where the moonlight touched them. She was still facing him, one hand under her cheek, the other fisted in the sheets—as if simultaneously compliant and resistant.
Alex turned over, and reached for his phone on the bedside table. He was waiting for a text that was taking too long to come. The screen lit up, just before he looked away.