“Whomever wishes me harm.” He shrugged.

“So why wear it in the presence of a woman?”

Because evil comes in all forms.

“Fine.” Pulling it off his hip, he gestured to her meaningfully before setting it on the table in the corner, jostling the candle.

Happy?

“How did you get those paintings?” Seeming satisfied, she changed the subject.

Bast brought them.

“They were gifts.”

She cocked her head.

I’d thought they might be beautiful in color. If I ever got to see them like that.

“Who gifted them to you?” She persisted.

“I’ve a friend…” He smiled as he tipped the dagger sheath with his fingertip. “Who adores fine things and knows of my interest in art. He brought me some from his castle.”

Lucien keeps them stuffed in every corner. Painting whenever he’s bored.

“Castle?” She gasped. Sitting upright to look at him. Gold highlights in her hair catching warm candlelight and softening the lines of her face.

Curse my fool mouth.

“Yes. He lives in a castle.” He admitted. Pride lifting his voice. “A very unique one indeed.”

No other is made of water.

“I’ve never known someone who lived in a castle. Why is it unique?”

I can’t tell you yet.

He blew a breath. “Tales for another day.”

“Why does it smell like trees and sandalwood in here?”

I’ve no idea. His brows drew together, and he looked around.

“I’m unsure.” Studying his things, he saw nothing that’d make that scent.

A smell carried in from Merwood?

“Come here.” She crooked a finger.

He eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Come.”

He hesitantly stepped to her. Surprised when she shot up to catch his tunic. Pressing her nose to his abdomen. “It is you!” Her eyes widened. “Why do you smell like that?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea!” He lurched away from her. Staring down, stunned.

What’s gotten into you?

“I like it.”

My smell? Unnerved by the odd turn in conversation, he searched for something else to speak of. Making a concentrated effort to not think about her face pushed into his belly.

He swallowed. “The-the paintings remind me of home, long ago.”

“Why?”

“Why are we suddenly speaking so much of me?”

I’m unused to it.

I’ve already told you too much.

“You always let me speak of me. It’s high time I learn of you.”

“Shrewd one, aren’t you?”

“I’m deciding if I can trust you.” She said sincerely.

Trust me!

“You’ve asked me to sit in the garden under your window and talk to you, countless times. And now you wonder if you can trust me?” Skepticism entered his voice.

Little late now.

“Yes. Now you’re real.”

I was always real.

Water dripped nearby, and her head spun to it, body tightening.

“What?”

It’s just water.

“I thought it was a bat.” She admitted apprehensively.

Of course, you did. He was amused.

“You do seem fond of those.”

“I-” She objected, brows drawing together. “You were there?”

Yes. He shrugged. Returning to the bag in the corner to search for something that wouldn’t take long to heat.

He heard her fearful thoughts.

“It’s just provisions.” He reassured.

“I said nothing.”

“You thought it.”

Potatoes. He found the jar. It was filling and would restore the energy she’d depleted. As he grasped the jar, he heard the hiss of her skirt.

Her shifting. He thought. Until he felt the interference in his magic.

She tried to cut the magic binding her ankle.

He gazed over his shoulder and caught her doing just that. Though her tiny jeweled knife only passed through the shimmering line. When he strode back to her, she lifted the slender blade threateningly, small hand clutching it close. Eying his huge frame fearfully.

Knowing I could outman her. He cocked his head.

“Where’d you get that wee thing?”

“Margaret told me of a man that tried to raid the House once but, they chased him off. She said I should always have protection.”

Tip: You can use left, right keyboard keys to browse between chapters.Tap the middle of the screen to reveal Reading Options.

If you replace any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.

Report