Page 30 of Given to the Fae (The Dark Realms #3)

brYN

I awake to find myself in a bed. It’s dark outside, and I frown in the light from the fire.

The last I remember is Morgan letting me cry into his clothes, and I grimace at the embarrassing memory as I sit up.

I’m in his chamber, in his bed. I look around the room and gasp as I see a great, hulking form folded into a small chair on the other side of the room.

Morgan . He’s watching me, but I can’t see him clearly. He’s too deep in the shadows.

‘Are you...well, my lord?’ I ask, feeling an odd sense of concern for him that I don’t understand.

His answering laugh is dark, and my heart picks up.

He cocks his head to the side as if listening and, slowly, he rises to his feet.

‘Are you afraid of me, little human?’ he asks.

His voice sounds lower. More dangerous. My skin prickles, and something low in my gut twists. The sensation is odd, but it isn’t unpleasant.

I shake my head a little.

‘Are you certain? I can hear your blood pulsing. It’s increasing steadily. If not from fear, then what, female?’

I don’t answer, but I feel my heart pounding faster as he comes closer, step by agonizingly slow step, and by the way he chuckles, he can hear it too.

‘Do I make you uneasy ?’ he asks.

I give a tiny nod.

The noise he makes is somewhere between a purr and a growl as he steps into the light. I gasp at the swollen gash under his eye, running parallel with his cheekbone. He immediately brings a hand up to touch where I’m looking, and I see that his knuckles are split and bloodied.

‘What happened to you?’ I ask.

He doesn’t answer at first, just comes closer until I’m staring up at him.

‘Sometimes I fight in the pits when I need...to get rid of frustration,’ he rumbles, canting his head. ‘You almost look as if you care about my injuries, little female.’

‘I do,’ I say quietly and realize that it’s true. ‘I’ve never seen one of those fights, but I’ve heard things from others who have. They’re vicious and bloody. Deadly.’

‘Moreso when they’re illegal,’ he mutters.

He takes a long pull of a wineskin in his hand and offers it to me.

I take it mostly because I’ve never been offered wine before. I take a gulp and grimace, handing it back to him with a face that makes him chuckle.

‘What were you frustrated about?’ I ask.

‘You,’ he grinds out and my eyes widen.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say automatically.

He grunts and takes another drink.

I’m in his bed. He probably wants to sleep. Cursing myself for my stupidity, I whisk the cover back, but before I can swing my legs over to the floor to get out, he’s dropped the wineskin on the coverlet and bent down, his arms caging me in.

‘You don’t have to go.’

My eyes dart from his face to anywhere every where else as my nerves get the better of me.

Now that he's closer, I notice a myriad of bruises, cuts, and scrapes, some bleeding through his white shirt. I focus on those instead of how heated my body feels in his presence, how much I want to reach out and run my fingers through his hair or down his chest just to know what it’s like to touch him.

He lets out what sounds like a calming breath through clenched teeth and, though it seems to be difficult for him, he straightens and takes a step back. His movements are jerky and his jaw is tense. He must be hurt more than he’s letting on.

I get out of the bed. ‘I could help,’ I say, gesturing to the blood smeared over him.

‘There’s no need,’ he rumbles. ‘I’ll take a potion later.’

I look up at him. ‘There aren’t any, my lord.’ I wince a little as I tell him, expecting his ire when he’s already in a bad mood. I hurry to explain.

‘There was only one left when we went through the packs and I was given it. I’m sorry. Jak was going to buy some at the market.’

‘Don’t call me that.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry.’

I rub my hands over my face. ‘I’m not really.’

I cover my mouth with my hand, shocked that I would say something like that aloud to a master, even one who pretends he isn’t.

‘Then why say it?’ he rumbles, sounding a bit amused now.

‘Because if I didn’t, I’d get a slap in The Barrack,’ I lie.

Another slave would get a slap and know the reason was me.

‘Do I have your permission to go into the packs for supplies?’

He stares down at me for a moment and then gives a small nod. ‘As you seem to have your heart set on helping, little human.’

My lip quirks on one side and I leave the room. I know which bag has the supplies in it so I grab it quickly and return to Morgan.

‘Take off your shirt and sit on the bed,’ I say absently as I begin to rifle through the sack.

I get the bags of herbs and smell each of them thrice so I make no mistakes. Taking the ones I want, I empty the nuts from the bowl on the table and begin mixing with my hands, using a bit of water to bind it.

He watches me almost unblinkingly while I work.

‘Are you truly knowledgeable in the healing arts?’ he asks suddenly.

I grin as I combine the ingredients. ‘Afraid I’m just throwing things together and hoping it helps, or that I’m going to poison you?’

He chuckles. ‘Neither, I just wonder how you learned such a thing, is all.’

I look over at him, sitting on the bed shirtless and I realize in surprise that he actually did what I told him to do. He followed my orders.

‘I–’ I give myself a little shake. ‘There was a healer at The Barrack. He was a drunkard and a cunt, but he knew his art well enough and I watched him.’

I pick up one of the bags and smell it.

‘I know this is a root that calms raised flesh. It helps with angry wounds and rashes. I can tell you how and when to use it, and that too much will make your skin feel as if it’s burning, but I only know it by its look and smell. I’ve no idea where it grows nor what it’s called.’

‘You’re clever, you know. Cleverer than I.’

My cheeks heat and I focus back on my task with an awkward laugh. ‘I’m not.’

He’s silent after that while I knead the paste in the bowl until it resembles a thick, green dough. Then, I add a bit more water to thin it.

When I next look up, his eyes are closed and his face is turned up to the ceiling.

I take a moment to look at him properly. My eyes travel the contours of his muscles, taking in how big he really is compared to me. His biceps are thicker than my thighs. I like it. I like him . There’s an ache low in my body that makes my fingers twitch as I watch him and I swallow hard.

I turn away quickly.

‘Do you want to apply it yourself?’ I ask as I wipe my hands on a cloth at the edge of the nearby bath, my voice breathy to my ears.

‘No.’

He doesn’t move. His eyes don’t open.

I clear my throat and pick up the bowl, hands shaking a little as I dip my fingers into it and locate the nearest open wound.

I’m careful, my touch feather light as I cover each one from the deepest cut on his face to the smallest graze on his hand.

He’s a veritable statue while I work. Not one muscle twitches, not even when I rub the stinging salve as gently as I can into the worst of the gouges.

When I’m sure I’ve covered them all, I put the mostly empty bowl back on the table.

‘It will dry quickly and seal the wounds closed while they heal, or at least until you can get a healing potion. I added something to keep any infection at bay as well.’

He says nothing. He doesn’t move.

‘I’ll…sleep in the common room,’ I murmur softly, not wanting to disturb him.

But as I move away, his hand darts out and grabs me, hauling me to the bed and turning me so that I fall on it on my back.

He leans over me, his expression closed and I shrink back, my eyes searching his for malice or violence, but instead I see something which should be just as terrifying.

Lust.

‘He must be deeper in his cups than you thought if he wants you, ’ a voice that sounds like an amalgamation of Warrior and Ogdan says in my head.

I flinch at the reminder.

‘Seeing you in my clothes,’ he murmurs over me, not seeming to notice my alarm. ‘To scent you smelling of me.’ His nostrils flare. ‘It’s enough to drive even me to distraction.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, not sure what else to say.

‘Don’t be sorry,’ he says again, his eyes dipping down.

I follow them and see that he’s staring at where my hard nipples stick out like pebbles from his shirt. Looking back up at him, I gather my courage and raise my hand to trace it down his cheek.

‘I’m not really.’

He practically nuzzles into my touch. ‘Good.’

He leans in closer and smells the air again. One corner of his lip rises.

‘Do you want something from me?’

Staring at him, I try to work out what he means. Is this a trick to make me admit I covet something of his?

I shake my head.

‘Has anyone ever put their mouth on you?’ he asks after a moment, looking amused.

My hand falls from him, dropping to the bed without a sound in case he tries to bite me, or something.

‘Put their mouth on me?’ I whisper. ‘What do you mean?’

His right hand cups my cheek and then one finger moves down between my breasts to my navel, barely touching and then going lower still to my mound.

‘Here,’ he says, his eyes darkening. ‘Has anyone ever feasted on your cunt?’

My eyes impossibly wide, I shake my head in shock, choking out a ‘Who would?—’

‘I would.’ His determined eyes search mine. ‘If you wanted me to. I would make you feel so much pleasure on my tongue, if you allowed me.’

I open my mouth and then close it again, my mind not sure what to say even as my body seems to understand perfectly. My legs shift, widening a little to my own mortification.

Our gazes still locked, I feel his large hand start at my knee and very slowly caress up the inside of my thigh. He pauses halfway. My breathing has quickened and my heart races.

‘If you want this to stop, you need only say,’ he murmurs. ‘You are not a slave in here with me. You are a female I desire to taste. But if you don’t want me to, you need only tell me to cease and I promise you that I will. Do you understand, Bryn?’