Page 6 of How To Please A Princely Fae (Wild Oak Woods #3)

KIERAN

I hate that I can feel the terror traveling through Willow’s perfectly plump curves as I fly with her in my arms. It’s a short trip back to her quaint stone cottage and lovely glass greenhouse, but feels all too long to get away from the prying eyes of the villagers and the magic of her sister witches.

"You're safe," I tell her, brushing my lips against her ear.

She trembles again, and I wonder how she’s so afraid of what I love most in the world: flying. At least, I think it is.

I purse my lips, trying to conjure a memory of it before now.

Nothing’s there.

Self-doubt tickles the back of my mind, but it melts away when I realize that Willow is not trembling in fear at all—no, she's trembling with barely-contained laughter.

"What's so funny?" I demand, wanting to be in on the joke.

I need to know what it is that's made her create the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.

She doesn't answer the question, though, instead responding with even more laughter, leaving me to guess at the source of her merriment.

The weathered wood shingles of Willow’s roof quickly draw into view. An icy breeze whips from the edges of the thick forest, the boundary of the Wild Oak Woods visible here where she lives at the very perimeter of town

I set down gently, my wings strangely tired from the effort of flying. Is flying, despite the pure joy of it, something I typically don’t do? I frown, struggling to remember why I wouldn't fly when it seems as natural as breathing.

And then Willow turns to face me fully, the pure joy on her lovely face banishing all thoughts other than her.

I want to wrap my arms around her, soak in the heat of her deliciously curved and soft body.

"That was unexpected,” she says, her lips twisted into a smirk, an expression I’d very much like to freeze on her face forever.

This smile is much preferable to the annoyance and sadness that’s hung heavy over her since waking.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch the corner of her mouth, wanting to memorize the lines of it. I may not have old memories, but this? Willow grinning up at me, happiness shining through her skin? This is something I do not want to forget.

Willow steps back, away from my touch, her smile faltering before melting off her face completely.

Dismay rocks me, and my hand hangs between us before I manage to retract it.

It's the furthest she's been from me since we first arrived in the tent, and I find myself missing the warmth of her body immediately. Immeasurably.

Still, I resist the urge to pull her against me. She doesn’t want to be close to me, or she would be. I told her she was mine, I tried to show her how much she should want to be with me, and still, she’s afraid… as if she’s been ill-treated in the past.

I’ll kill whoever dared put that fear in her heart.

Her gaze turns cautious, her pretty green eyes narrowed. Bright red cheeks under her eyes, a token of the cold air whipping around us.

Her glorious fire-red hair is wild, curls unruly and spirited, much the same as Willow the witch herself.

"What's wrong?” The question lingers between us, a sign of how unable I am to help myself when it comes to her.

I know I shouldn’t push, so when she takes a moment to consider her answer, I stay silent.

"What was that all about?" she asks. Her hands fly to her hips as though the sharp crack of her elbow will stave me off, as if anything could. I take a step closer, trying her— and she doesn't move away.

Victory emboldens me, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

And only succeeding in inhaling her intoxicating scent.

"They said we need to keep you safe. I decided that your town square was no longer safe," I say slowly, because isn't it obvious?

Can’t she see how real the danger is for her? How close she could come to being ripped from her home and my arms, where she belongs?

Mine .

She stamps her foot, another curl escaping the crown of braids on her head. My wings snap shut behind me, my instinct crying out to conserve energy in case I must pursue this female. In case she runs.

Heat rolls through me at the idea, appealing to me more than it would be honorable to admit.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She shifts her weight from foot to foot and my instinct insists she contemplates running; a doe chased by a monster.

"I wouldn't go any further," I rasp out.

She freezes, her eyes wide. I lunge towards her before I have time to think it through, only knowing that all my senses are saying I need to grab her before she decides to run.

“I told you not to do that.” It comes out a violent snarl and she goes stiff in my grip. My fingers find her chin and I tilt her face up so that I can look into her eyes.

“Why?" she squeaks out.

"Because if you run,” I tell her, keeping my voice as easy as possible, "I will have to chase you."

I watch the pale column of her throat as she swallows.

"All right," she says breathlessly.

When her eyes flash, though, belying her words, I can't help the guttural growl that instinctively comes out of me in response. The scent of her fear shifts and my growl turns to a groan as it melts into something closer to the spicy scent of desire, overwhelming.

My fingers tighten on the soft curve of her hips and I want nothing more than to feel her tightness around me as I enter her.

"And," she draws the word out, her voice gone husky with desire. "What happens when you catch me?"

She likes the idea of it.

My entire body throbs in response.

I sink my mouth onto her skin, letting my fangs grate against the delicious expanse of her neck.

"I would mark you as mine," I tell her honestly, lifting my mouth from her face to better look at her. My fingers tighten, digging into the thick, feminine curve of her hip. "So that no male, whether of this world or another, would think that they have a chance with a woman such as you, a witch worthy of a love unconstrained by time and space."

Her pupils dilate, the scent of her arousal hanging heavy the air.

Perfect and delicate and addictive.

Just like her. Mine .

I lift my face from her ne towards hers. I inhale deeply, breathing her in, unable to stop my groan of desire. Our lips are a whisper's breadth apart, and when her mouth parts in anticipation of mine, I decide I will kiss her now.

I lean down, closing the distance—when she pulls away, taking a step back.

I blink, then straighten.

Her breasts rise and fall rapidly, fetchingly, a result of her accelerated breathing.

Accelerated… because of me.

There shouldn’t be distance between us. I want to hold her in my arms and feel the flutter of her heart against my rib cage.

I don't move, though. I stand stock-still, so as to avoid further frightening her. As much as I'd love to chase her, to catch her, I want even less for her to run.

Part of me understands that she needs to come to me willingly. I may not know exactly who I am, I may not have all of my memories… or any of them, but I have a feeling I’m looking at my future.

My instinct knows.

She takes another step back, the red hair tugged from her braids wild against her cheeks, stray curls tumbling down her back.

The corners of her lips turn down and I long, more than anything, to press my fingertips against their curves until she's smiling once more.

"You're not in your right mind,” she says. Her gaze finally breaks from mine, and it feels as if my soul has been broken in that moment and the only way it can be repaired is to have her in my arms again.

“I'm capable of telling you what I want and what I don't want,” I tell her seriously. “And I’m looking at everything I want right now.”

She arches one red eyebrow at me, a challenge if I've ever seen one. I’m sure I’ve seen one at some point, at the very least.

“We have work to do,” she announces, ignoring my declaration, but it's clear from the heat of the scent left in her wake as she turns on her heel and opens the arched door to her shop that it's only a matter of time until I get what we both want: each other.

I don't need my memories to know the truth of that.

I let myself smile.

Patience is all I need.