Page 18

AMELIA

My trembling gradually lessens as Tristan holds me. He runs his hands up and down my back and occasionally strokes my unbound hair. At some point, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him back.

How can this be happening?

I don’t have the strength to push him away. He might be the enemy, and he might be my captor, but I need him right now. I desperately need the comfort he’s offering.

Why am I so relieved that he survived the battle unscathed? Is it because he shielded me with his body, protecting me from the flaming projectiles? Or is it because I’m starting to fall for him in a romantic way? My breath falters at the prospect.

I keep my face pressed to his chest, and with each deep inhale, I soak up his fragrant Summer Court scent. His arms feel like the sweetest refuge. Even though they shouldn’t. Even though I should be pushing him away and demanding he set me free.

His emotions are so clear to me, it’s almost as though I can read his thoughts. Almost. He’s dismayed that I’m so upset I’m shaking, but he’s thrilled to be holding me. He’s thankful I’m allowing him to comfort me, and he’s hopeful it means I’m starting to trust him.

Can he sense my thoughts and emotions? It’s a startling possibility, and I pray he has no idea what I’m thinking.

My power to bypass his wards, at least partially, plus my ability to sense his thoughts and emotions… what could it mean?

Not for the first time, I consider the prospect that I’m his fated mate. But if I am, wouldn’t he have known the first time he laid eyes upon me? I’ve heard that’s how it usually works with fae couples, but maybe since I’m human things have become a bit muddled.

In any case, he didn’t claim me as a mate. He claimed me as a war prize. Never mind that he hasn’t physically claimed me. Yet.

It’s my understanding that in fae culture, war prizes and concubines hold a slightly higher status than mere slaves, including pleasure slaves. But I’m not free to leave.

If I’m not his fated mate, and since he hasn’t physically claimed me yet, I’m starting to believe there’s no way I could be, what will he do with me once he meets his actual fated mate? I mean, assuming that happens during my lifetime.

It occurs to me that I don’t even know Tristan’s age.

He could be one hundred or a thousand. Fae typically live for thousands of years.

They are practically immortal and only perish due to a grave injury, something so terrible a skilled fae healer can’t be of help.

At nineteen, I probably have seventy or eighty years left if I’m lucky.

When I start to show my age, will Tristan cast me aside?

I should rejoice at the idea, but instead, it leaves me saddened and even a bit angry.

But how could I blame him, or any fae, for parting ways with a human war prize/slave/ concubine who starts to show their age?

Not only do fae live for thousands of years, but they also retain their youthful appearance.

Most of the fae occupying the Sorsston castle didn’t look a day over thirty by human standards.

I try to banish the morose thoughts as I sink deeper into Tristan’s arms. He truly enjoys comforting me, and he hopes he’s being helpful.

Gods, how can such a ruthless fae male treat me with so much gentleness? It boggles the mind.

I’ve watched him slaughter humans and orcs, and even a dark mage, and I could’ve sworn his eyes gleamed with pleasure with each kill he made, yet he hasn’t visited any brutality upon me.

Earlier, not long after he raised his voice at me, he issued a heartfelt apology. He wasn’t faking either. I know because I’d felt his genuine regret. I also know he’s shocked I bypassed his wards. I’m shocked as well, and I kind of want to try to step outside the tent. Just to see if I can.

My trembling gradually stops, and I start to feel much calmer. I’m safe. Tristan is safe. The danger has passed. The marauding orcs are all dead and so is the mage.

A weird dark thought passes through my mind. If Tristan had perished during the attack, what would’ve happened to me? It’s a rather selfish thought, but I can’t help but wonder. I doubt his army would release me. Would I have become a pleasure slave for one of his soldiers?

Yes, there are quite a few reasons I would like Tristan to remain healthy and whole. For as long as I’m traveling with the Summer Court army, my wellbeing depends on his survival.

But if I’m being honest, I would like him to survive not just because my wellbeing is tied to his, but because the thought of any harm coming to him is devastating.

How much longer does he plan to lead the Summer Court army? Does he have any plans for retirement?

At last, I withdraw partially from his arms, and I peer up at him as my heart pounds a rapid rhythm in my chest. Part of me wonders what it might be like to kiss him.

Not that I would ever initiate such an intimate act.

I worry if I did, he might become ravenous and be unable to stop himself from claiming me, despite his promises not to force himself upon me or harm me in any way.

Our eyes remain locked for what feels like hours, yet I cannot look away.

His gaze is dark but warm, and everything about him feels so very safe.

I’ve been wronged by too many men during my short life.

My father, the castle steward who used to punish me for the smallest infraction, fellow servants who happened to be duplicitous, and Lord Nevel, of course.

But, Tristan? I feel so safe with him at this moment that I’m starting to believe maybe he won’t trick me in the end. Maybe he won’t hurt me.

But despite the kindness he’s shown me thus far, the uncertainty of my future with him is a dark cloud on the horizon. If something happens to him, or if I’m not his fated mate, there will be a bad ending for me. Eventually.

Whatever happiness we might enjoy would be very short-lived.

A few years at most. As soon as I look older than him, surely he'll cast me aside. I’ve heard stories about that sort of thing.

About fae masters who toss their pleasure slaves aside as soon as they appear older than the masters themselves.

Why am I allowing myself to find comfort in Tristan’s arms? Why can’t I find the strength to push him away?

Despite my rambling, dismal thoughts, pleasure ripples through me as he runs his hands up and down my back.

Suddenly, I remember the kiss he gave me.

During the attack. While he was shielding me with his body, he leaned down and placed a quick kiss on my forehead.

I suppose if it hadn’t been a life-or-death situation, I would’ve melted and repositioned my face closer to his in hopes of a kiss on the lips.

He delves a hand in my hair and continues peering down at me. My neck starts to ache from the strain of staring up at him, but I don’t lower my head. I can’t. Because what if… what if he decides to kiss me right now?

Sparks fly between us, a heightening tension that’s causing my heart to patter and my pussy to clench.

Summer heat swirls in the air, and the sound of locusts, crickets, and trilling frogs reaches me.

It’s nighttime, so the magical atmosphere could be coming from the nearby ussha-blessed forest, but I sense that Tristan is the true source.

I also sense that he can’t control it because it’s a natural response to his mounting need for me.

An erotic vision bursts into my head, one that I know comes from him, and it leaves me gasping for air. I’m bent over the bed, naked, and he’s approaching me with his turgid cock in hand, preparing to impale me. My pink center glistens in the faelights, and I’m trembling not with fear but desire.

It takes great effort not to become wanton and press myself against Tristan. He’s fully erect. I know he is. If I take one step closer, his hardness will press directly on my stomach.

“Are you feeling better, sweet human?”

“Yes,” I somehow force out, though my throat is so dry it burns. “Thank you, Tristan. Thank you for saving me and for comforting me.” The sudden warmth of my cheeks rivals the pulsing warmth building between my thighs.

Pleasure flares in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear it.” His deep voice rumbles through me, eliciting more quaking waves of sensation that I wish I could tamp down. “I know you just experienced quite the fright, but are you hungry? I don’t want you to go to bed hungry.”

“Maybe some bread and cheese might help settle my stomach. A little wine, too, perhaps.”

“I will gather the food myself and pour us glasses of wine.” He guides me toward the table and helps me into a chair. “It’ll just take a moment. I’ll get you some water too.”

“Thank you.” I watch as he slices bread and arranges it on a large plate, then slices several varieties of cheese and adds that as well.

He sets the plate on the table and walks away only long enough to fetch the wine and water, as well as the glasses.

My heart constricts as I observe his movements.

He could so easily call a servant to fulfill these tasks, but he’s doing it himself.

For me. Probably because he worries I’ll become anxious if I’m around another male tonight, even if his male servants are castrated and glamoured into submission.

I appreciate his thoughtfulness. More than he probably realizes.

We enjoy the quick, appetizing snack, and I down two glasses of wine in quick succession. I only drink a few sips of water after he insists.

It’s late. Nearly the time we usually go to bed.

“Well, the camp sounds quieter. I suppose we should turn in for the night,” I say with a shy glance at the bed. I’m so torn. Torn between putting up walls and holding him at a distance (because really, what sort of future might we share?) and inviting him to join me in the bed.

Tristan glances toward the tent flap, then gives me a strange look. “What do you mean the camp sounds quieter? You can hear it now , and you could hear it earlier ?”