Page 37 of Wolf Caged (Bound to the Shadow King #1)

SAPHIRA

T he night seemed darker than usual, aurora chasing across the starlit heavens above me. A chill hung in the air, skittering over my skin, making me even more aware of the dress my handmaidens had selected for the evening’s celebrations.

One of loose blood-red material that bordered on sheer, cinched under my breasts with a band of golden swirls and glittering rubies.

The two long slits up each thigh allowed the cold air to invade beneath the flimsy layers of the dress as I walked, my satin slippers silent on the steppingstones I had been told to follow into the forest.

My heart drummed a frantic rhythm I tried to calm as I strode forwards, my step not faltering, following not just the steppingstones but the magic bubbles of light that bobbed in the air along the path, chasing back some of the gloom.

And the music.

It was growing louder, the heavy beat of the drums almost matching my pulse and the violence of the strings flooding me with a strange urge to dance, to surrender to their frantic desperation as they reached crescendo after crescendo before crashing down each time, rising and falling like waves around me.

I wasn’t sure what to expect as I edged ever closer to the feast and the sound of merriment that danced through the trees, as if the wine had been flowing for some time now.

Nerves threatened to have me turning on my heel and hurrying back to the castle, but curiosity pulled me ever onwards, towards the glow of firelight ahead of me.

The steppingstones ceased at a wall of trees, but between the faintly glowing purple-vein-laced trunks I spied more globes of light beckoning me, calling me towards them.

I moved forwards, steeling myself and seeking calm as I tried to peer through the trees that seemed to move to block my view and deny me a glimpse of the celebration.

Until it was right upon me.

My feet froze upon the threshold of a great glade packed with long wooden tables and far too many people.

None of them noticed me as they drank and talked, laughing and smiling at each other, a complete contrast to the people I had seen in the castle gardens all those times.

I recognised some of them as highborn I had seen there, sneering at others, but most of them were new to me.

Big, muscular males in loose shirts and leather pants caroused with dainty, beautiful females who wore dresses similar to mine, but in pastel hues of lavender, blue and teal, reflections of the aurora that danced above us.

Not a single other female wore a red dress.

I had never felt so aware of myself as I lingered on the threshold of this celebration, afraid that someone might notice me and how different I was to everyone else.

While my hair had been left down, a mass of waves around my shoulders and down my bare back, these females wore theirs up, drawn away from their elegant necks. While they wore pastel hues, I wore the colour of blood.

Like a sacrifice.

My gaze darted to a long stone slab near the bonfire off to my left, one that had been finely carved around the sides but was worn on top, as if it saw regular use.

Maybe I should have asked what kind of things happened at the feast.

Maybe this was the reason Kaeleron had bought me.

A virgin to sacrifice at his great celebration of Beltane.

I stepped back towards the forest and froze again as shadows snared me, wrapping around my ankles and calves.

My eyes leaped across the celebration to my right, clashing with Kaeleron’s as he lounged beneath the largest tree, bathed in moonlight.

The light from the orbs of magic glinted off his thorny black circlet as he canted his head, the distance between us seeming to shrink as he studied me too closely, his silver eyes searing me.

I was all too aware of how the cold night air affected my body and how the almost sheer fine fabric of my dress failed to conceal my beaded nipples as his shadows drew me towards him, rising to twine around my wrists like shackles.

The hairs on my nape rose as he raked his gaze over me, a slow and leisurely perusal of my curves, and my skin tingled in response, my head going a little hazy as I approached him.

There was a strange tang in the air that felt both natural and unnatural. A scent I couldn’t place.

I was sure that scent was to blame for the hot shivers that wracked me and filled me with confidence as my steps went from timid to bold strides that carried me through the parting crowd.

Head turned to track me but it didn’t scare me.

Rather than shrinking away, I only grew more confident, my eyes never straying from Kaeleron’s.

When I neared him, he slowly swept his hand over the empty spot beside him on the black velvet of the chaise longue he occupied.

A strange choice for a feast, but there were regular dining chairs near the tables that were slowly being filled with dishes of food and carafes of wine.

Perhaps this was where he waited in comfort while the feast was being prepared.

He stroked the velvet again, his eyes never leaving mine, and I felt that touch like a caress down my body, his shadows teasing me with an echo of it.

“Sit, little lamb,” he purred.

I glanced at the fae who watched me, suddenly aware of all the eyes on me as whatever spell Kaeleron or that scent had woven on me broke.

“Do not mind them.” He stroked the seat beside him again and I shivered as his shadows mimicked him, gliding down my spine. “They simply want what they cannot have.”

“Finally, some company for you. Must have been getting pretty lonely being the only one wanting what they can’t have,” I pushed out, trying to act casual even as my nerves ate away at my confidence now and I couldn’t get my mind off that altar near the bonfire.

He chuckled, the warm sound rasping in my ears, heating my blood and making me ache to have him do that close to my ear, so I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck.

On my nape.

I slammed the lid on that desire.

And gestured to the slab at the other end of the glade.

“Is that for me? Am I wearing the colour of blood for a reason? Wouldn’t want to stain a nice dress when you sacrificed me.”

He laughed now, the sound shocking me together with how his face lit up with it, and then a split second later it shut off and he locked his gaze onto me, deadly serious again.

“If I were to lay you out on that altar, Saphira, it would be so I could devour you.”

I swallowed hard and clenched my fists, trying to stop my hands from trembling as his words pushed that image into my mind, a vision of him nestled between my shaking bare thighs, giving me a pleasure I had never experienced before.

“Wicked little wolf,” he husked and pulled on his shadows, tugging me towards him. “You like the thought of it, do you not?”

“No, I do not.” I plopped down onto the seat beside him, my posture rigid as I tucked my hands between my thighs.

My first mistake.

His gaze tracked where they had gone, darkening by degrees, and the tip of his tongue poked out to sweep along his lower lip in a far too erotic caress.

“Clearly, you hit the wine early tonight.” I glowered at him, maintaining a frosty wall between us that felt as if it would crumble at any moment.

Kaeleron lounged against the raised side of the chaise, a vision of wickedness in black, with his tunic unbuttoned enough to reveal the start of his chest and a hint of glorious hard muscles.

His eyes never left me as he signalled for someone, a female who hurried from the shadows to crouch beside him.

“Serve my little lamb. She thirsts.”

I glared at him, not missing his innuendo. “I thirst for wine, not you. Anything to make you more tolerable.”

He chuckled, his face lighting up with it.

“By the gods, have you drunk a barrel already?” I wasn’t sure how much alcohol it took to get a fae drunk, but he had to be close to the limit of his tolerance.

“I am not drunk, little lamb.”

I snatched the goblet the female offered me and took a great gulp, needing a little liquid courage if I was going to get through this evening of being watched by so many people and teased by this incorrigible fae king who had just discovered how to laugh and was intent on tormenting me with the delicious timbre of it.

And choked on the drink as my eyes watered and my throat burned.

“And this is not wine,” I wheezed, my head already feeling lighter, my thoughts a little fuzzier.

My second mistake.

Heat curled through my veins, pooling low, a wicked sort of feeling that tempted me to give in to it and shed my inhibitions, to let go of everything I clung to so fiercely and embrace the parts of me that wanted to be wild and free.

“Mead. Laced with sweet woodruff. It is traditional for Beltane.” He stood in a far-too-sexy fluid motion and went to the table, peered into several of the pitchers and returned with one, pouring it into my glass. “Water, to make it easier on your delicate palate.”

“My palate is not delicate.” I sipped the drink to prove I could handle it, but didn’t feel I was proving much now that he had watered it down. The taste was pleasant, if a little earthy, and it was sweet, leaving a faint lingering taste of honey, vanilla and cinnamon on my tongue.

He chuckled again, almost goading me into tossing my mead in his face. Maybe I would have if we had been alone and not the subject of scrutiny. Too many people were watching us. Watching me. A stranger among them, seated beside their king as if I was his queen.

Or his pet.

He swirled a finger down my bare arm, from my shoulder to my elbow, the laziness of that touch reeking of entitlement. I rolled my shoulder, trying to dislodge him, even when some secret part of me craved more of that leisurely brush of his fingers across my skin.

“I’m sure this is drugged.” I peered into my goblet, the scent of it matching that unusual tang in the air. “Or I can’t hold my liquor.”