by Lisa Kumar
She blinked at him, her eyes dazed. “W ... what?”
His fingers tightened on her flesh. “If you reveal your secret, I’ll spare you.”
She winced. “Ouch, that hurts. Stop it. What are you talking about?”
“The spell or enchantment you put on me.”
“I did no such thing.”
Her outraged voice made him smile sardonically. “I’m to believe you?”
“Yes.”
If only it were that simple. Trust and loyalty were but words to be bandied about. Life had taught him that lesson early on. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word on it. Don’t make me press harder.”
Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Dismay and fear stared him back in the face. “Please,” she said. “I’m not a sorceress or a witch. If I were, don’t you think I would’ve saved myself from the drunk?”
She had a point. Some sorceress she’d be if she couldn’t use her powers to escape a drunken idiot. “Maybe it was a ploy to get my help.”
An unladylike snort was her answer. “Trust me, if I had any so-called powers, I would’ve used them to leave your butt back at the park.”
He let up the pressure of his thumbs and cocked his head to the side, confused. His hands slid to her shoulders. “Why in Eria would you want to leave my butt but bring the rest of me? Is this some new blood-thirsty torture you humans take sport in?”
Her lips twitched before annoyance stamped itself across her face. “It’s a figure of speech. I just meant I would’ve left you — all of you, whole and in one piece — at the park.”
Another reasonable explanation, if one discounted her rather odd way of first expressing it. “Hmmm, so if you’re not a sorceress, how did you draw my likeness?”
“I don’t know.” She pulled herself away from him slowly as though she were afraid he’d grab — or even choke — her.
He released her, though they were far from done with this conversation. But for now, he was apt to believe she was no sorceress. She didn’t waste a moment before she retreated at least six feet from him. Let her believe that gives her some safety, some control.
Walking the perimeter of the room, he made a clockwise circle. He narrowed his path with each rotation, bringing himself ever closer to her. Each time he entered her line of sight, she tracked his every movement, and when he was out of it, her posture stiffened until she was strung as tight as a wire. She wanted to bolt. He knew she did, but she also wanted to appear strong. So she stood her ground.
What she didn’t understand is that she never stood a chance against a master manipulator like him. He couldn’t keep the cruel smile off his face. Fear was a powerful motivator for inspiring honesty and obedience. He didn’t even have to lay a hand on her, and he preferred it that way. Physically harming females of any race was to be avoided if at all possible. He’d only broken his tenants with two females — once with the king’s mate, Maggie. Though slapping her hadn’t been his proudest moment, she’d been mouthy and his emotions had been running high. And the other times were with his dear tormentor, who’d demanded the behavior of him. With her, his abhorrence had quickly changed to some kind of sick satisfaction at the notion of returning her own medicine.
Shaking himself free of the memories, he zeroed in on his prey. She quivered like a leaf in the wind, though she valiantly tried to hide it. If she weren’t careful, he’d pluck her right from the tree. He came to stand behind her, not touching her but almost.
“Tell me about these drawings,” he said, his voice as soft as velvet. It was a voice he’d used often to get what he wanted from females, whether it be attention, information, or sex.
She shuddered, though from fear or the sensuality of his tone, he didn’t know. And it didn’t matter as long as she gave him what he desired.
“I don’t know how much I can tell you, because there’s really not much to tell.” She shrugged hopelessly. “I’ve been drawing you since I was a teenager.”
His mind wheeled with all the possibilities this could represent. “When you began, how old were you exactly?”
“Fifteen,” she said softly, as if admitting something shameful.
How innocent she was if that were the case. Had he ever been that untried? Doubtful with the family he’d been born into.
Still, why did Caralyn look mortified — all hot and flushed — at her admission?
A slow smile spread across his face. Could she have been attracted to his image in the drawings?
Another thought slid into his mind, one that set nausea and humiliation churning in his stomach. Had she drawn him during his most private and demeaning moments, and witnessed his shame?
With hands that shook far more than he would’ve liked, he spun her around. “What did you see in these drawings?”
A blush stained her cheeks. “Nothing much most of the time. Sometimes a room or somewhere outside.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I meant. How did you see me?”
Confusion slackened her features, and he crushed the urge to shake her. “What did you see me doing?” Or see being done to me?
She bit her lip. “Most of the time, you were merely looking fierce, kind of like right now. Other times a little sad. But ...”
His frustration exploded, and his hands clamped down on her arms. He couldn’t stop himself from giving her a few good shakes, though he was still in control of himself enough not to hurt her. “Yes, yes, but what?”
“Other times, I saw you in bed either sleeping or ... or looking like you were having some very sensual dreams,” she admitted, reluctance strong in her voice.
He relaxed somewhat. So the mortal had seen him pleasuring himself? Or dreaming about being pleasured? Though it was embarrassing, he could live with her intrusion of those moments. “I was alone in those drawings?”
“Yes, except for one or two, where you didn’t look ... happy, so I don’t know if I’d classify those as a sexy type of drawing.”
His throat tightened, and his breath came out as a strangled sound. “What did you see in those?”
Though dread of her answer nearly made him vomit, he needed that same answer as much as he’d ever needed water to quench his thirst.
“You were younger than you are now.” She blanched before going on. “It appeared more like a BDSM scene gone wrong. You were bloody with lacerations on your back, your legs. Your cheeks were wet.”
Humiliated anger burned a hole through his chest. He wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze. If it were anyone else, he probably would’ve — not even the echoing threats of Aistiane could’ve stopped him, but with this mortal, this fragile human, something stayed him.
But the way she stared at him, by the Mystics, the way she stared at him! It nearly undid that resolve not to strangle her. The horrors that were all too likely flittering through her mind tormented him from all sides. They surrounded and consumed him in a tide of hate, sliding his thoughts into a hysterical rant. What could a puny, insignificant human know about it? You’ve never lived it, couldn’t survive it, yet you look at me with a pitying stare full of pain? I won’t allow that!
Before he fully realized what he was doing, he’d slammed them both against a wall. His palms straddled both sides of her head. The breath fled from her lungs and fanned over the cheek of his bent head. Fear shone in the wideness of her eyes. Good, let her be afraid. “You know nothing of what you saw. It never happened and won’t ever be brought up again, understood?”
She nodded. Her fright called to him and brought forth something possessive and dark. Oh, he wouldn’t harm her, but he could devour her.
He glided his hands down the sides of her coat-covered body, eliciting a gasp from her. When he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her closer, she squeaked.
He cut short the sound with his mouth. Her lips were as sweet and soft as he’d imagined they would be, and he adjusted the pressure of his kiss to be gentler.
At first, she remained frozen
and unresponsive, but her lips then moved tentatively against his. The sensation sent arrows of heat down to his member. By the Green Mountains, if this was what a simple kiss did, what would more intimate touches do? No other female had ever had such a profound effect on him, not even Serrina. That name alone almost caused his desire to wilt, but he banished all thought of her. She had no place here, not between him and this delicious mortal.
With a swipe of his tongue, he slipped into her mouth. A moan ripped from him. The taste of honey and spearmint wreathed his senses and tingled on his tongue. He could inhale the scent forever — inhale her forever. As he explored the farthest reaches of her mouth, she pressed herself against him. His blood pounded through his veins, and he ground his hips into her stomach. She groaned. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard.
He released her mouth so he could trail his lips over the curve of her jawline, paying extra attention to an area below her ear. Her hands slid beneath his hood and into his hair. A ring on one of her fingers caught in his hair and tugged uncomfortably at the strands. Everything inside went still, and as if cold ice pelted him, he snapped out of his lust-crazed stupor.
As she attempted to tug her ring free, his hand shot up and grabbed hers by the wrist. He spoke between gritted teeth. “Stop. Don’t pull.”
With a few brutal jerks, he ripped his hair loose. He didn’t mind hurting himself but couldn’t abide anybody else doing it.
Once he stepped away, the mortal lurched away from him. “You ... you kissed me.”
He sneered. “You were convenient, and I wanted to see what all the excitement about humans was.”
A wounded expression filled her eyes. “So you were just curious?”
“You didn’t think I really wanted to kiss you, a human woman, because I truly desired you?” He gave a disbelieving laugh, and its hollow sound and air of untruthfulness echoed in his ears as if to mock him. “Sadly, the experience didn’t live up to the rumors.” Liar, liar, liar. But he was that and far worse, so why did a trickle of guilt seep down his back like sweat?
She turned away from him and said in a flat voice, “I’d tell you to get the hell out, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. However, do me a favor and stay the heck away from me. I’ll tell you when dinner is ready.”
OF ALL THE ARROGANT, mannerless asses I could’ve picked up — She slammed the pasta and meat sauce down on the small dining table that took up most of the space in her breakfast nook. Did the jerk even eat meat? Who knew and who cared? And she wasn’t going to make him one more darned thing if he didn’t.
Apparently sensing her bad mood, Archie lifted his head from where he lay on the floor and made a few whining noises. She sighed guiltily and went over to pet him on the head. “I’m fine, boy.”
After she picked up Archie’s food bowl, she sat it in the sink to scrub later. Her mind returned to the being who lurked in her living room. At least she’d derived a tiny bit of satisfaction by coolly walking away from him and leaving him standing in the living room. While she’d cooked, a series of discreet glances had shown him either walking around and perusing the room or sitting as still as a statue on her couch. Nervousness, or some other similar emotion, had to be driving the way he switched between those two activities every few minutes. Good, let him stew.
Though he might be handsome and the best kisser she’d ever encountered — not that she’d encountered many — it didn’t dull the fact he wasn’t human. Yet that detail didn’t bother her like it should’ve. It was his black, cruel personality that took that honor. He was downright creepy at best. She still didn’t know what he was, but she’d find out — even if she had to beat it out of him.
A cringe stole through her. Okay, maybe not. If her drawings were anything to go by, he’d already received a few good thrashings in his life. She wouldn’t add to that number, not that she could. He was much stronger than her.
Releasing a ragged sigh, she raked a hand through her hair. How could she feel sorry for the jerk? With his attitude, he’d probably egged on his abuser. Even if he did, that didn’t excuse his treatment. Gosh, darn it! Why did her mind keep defending him?
She stomped back to the kitchen counter to pick up the basket of garlic sticks. They met the same fate as the pasta and sauce and made a gratifying bang on the wood. Straightening her shoulders, she took a deep breath and prepared herself to face the nasty man.
Going into the living room, she froze. He’d discarded his cloak and now sat on her couch. The dark green tunic stretched over his shoulders as he leaned forward, and she saw a hint of his black leggings and boots not covered by the sofa.
However, it was his profile that caught her attention. Eamon had a look about him that she thought she’d never see: an intense loneliness and sadness that enveloped him like a shroud.
The idea that she was intruding upon a private moment hit her with the subtlety of a hammer, and she knew he’d never want her to witness him like that.
He didn’t appear to notice her, so she crept back in the kitchen with her heart pounding in her throat.
So the psychopath wasn’t so unfeeling after all.
Chapter 6
The sounds of plates clanking from the kitchen drew Eamon from his melancholy. Glancing around the dim living room, he grounded himself by taking in the light beige walls and the white ceiling. Tasteful pictures and paintings dotted the space. All in all, her abode wasn’t so different from elvin homes, except nature wasn’t interwoven nearly as closely here as it was in Eria and most other fae realms. Caralyn did, however, have a few plants, so she wasn’t a complete savage.
As he settled into himself, he inhaled deeply, only then noticing the smell of food. Delicious smelling food. His stomach rumbled. He truly must’ve been too far gone to pay the tempting aroma any heed.
He couldn’t quite say what had happened, but as the tumultuous emotions and sensations pumping through his body from the kiss died down, a fear and sadness had arisen to take their place. But he shook the lingering effects off. The mortal wouldn’t catch him looking as though he’d lost his land, his people ... everything. No, whether here or on Eria, he had an aloofness to maintain. It was what kept him in control of the situation, not to mention his sanity, to the utmost of his ability.
Caralyn appeared in the entrance to the kitchen. “It’s ready.”
Her voice contained no bite. In fact, it was subdued sounding, and a neutral expression was painted on her face. The changes in her demeanor pleased him. Exhaustion had swamped him, and he wanted to enjoy his dinner in relative peace and silence.
She retreated back into the kitchen as he stood. Since she could turn around at any time, though, he made sure to project a refinement to his movements that he definitely didn’t feel at the time. “Let’s see if it is palatable.”
Caralyn stiffened but kept heading for the table. “Well, you better find it so. It’s all you’re getting.”
Her attitude made him grit his teeth. ‘You should be honored to serve one such as me.”
She snorted as she sat down. “One such as you? Right. Um, by the way, what are you?
“Far above any mortal. Where do I wash my hands?” Even after living on the streets for three weeks, he couldn’t forget millennia of proper hygiene.
“The sink?” She pointed to the area in question.
He made quick work of washing and drying his hands. After he stomped to the table, he stared down his nose at her before he jerked out a chair and sat.
She glared right back. “Maybe you shouldn’t eat food cooked by a mere mortal since it’s sure to disappoint. And what do you mean about mortal? Are you saying you aren’t?”
“There aren’t any of my people here to see to my needs, so a human will have to do,” he said, ignoring her questions.
Caralyn’s pet snuffled from one of the corners of the kitchen. The animal looked to be deep sleep, its nose and paws twitching every so often. At least it wasn’t up and begging for food, though he didn’t part
icularly like the idea of a dog sharing such close quarters with him. The grime, shedding, and drooling they tended to do or have was positively disgusting.
He swept his gaze over the small table, and his hands twitched. The arrangement of the bowls of food wasn’t a complete disaster, but the way she had set out the silverware was. Such disorderliness wasn’t to be borne.
With exacting precision, he switched the position of the knife and spoon. Every heathen knew that the knife went nearest the plate with the serrated part of the blade pointing to the left. Then he nudged the spoon upward until its bottom was level with that of the knife’s.
There, everything was as symmetrical as possible. The tight feeling in his chest loosened.
Unfortunately, he took a good look at the food. That was what had smelled so tantalizing? “What is this?” He eyed the pasta as if it were a mass of wiggling worms, which it just might be, minus the wiggling.
Caralyn’s brows snapped together. “It’s pasta, specifically spaghetti.”
He pinched one pale strand between two fingers and lifted it up. The pasta hung limply. How could anyone find this appetizing? At that moment, his stomach growled, reminding him it wasn’t that finicky and it hadn’t been for weeks. At least this fare was clean and didn’t come from a dumpster or garbage can.
“Just take the large fork in the bowl and put some on your plate,” she said, punctuating her words with a sigh. Gazing at him dubiously, she added, “You do know how to serve yourself, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scowled, plopping a pile of the vile stuff on his plate as gracefully as he could. Poking the pasta with his fork, he frowned. “Am I supposed to eat it like this?”
“Seriously, wherever you’re from, no one uses sauce?”
“We do. But this is human food, so how would I know what you do?”
“Well, you put that red sauce on top of the pasta. And those” — she pointed to a basket of oblong bread — “are garlic sticks. Take one and see if you like it. I promise it won’t kill you.” She sent him a considering glance. “Well, unless your physiology is quite different from humans, but I somehow doubt it.”