I strengthened my back muscles and forced myself into an upright position, since my body must have dripped down the chair without my acknowledgement.
I opened my eyes as I shoved the pain away to discover that the sun had faded to a small orange hue, starved by the purples and heavy weight of the stars.
The tent was beginning to fade into darkness once more, revolving back to what I originally knew, what I had discovered the night before. Yet, instead of seeing the bed and scarcity of furniture around the area, in front of me stood a man.
So tall that I was surprised I didn’t break my neck when I raised my head to meet his eyes. A man who, by the furrowed brows and the annoyance in his obsidian eyes, was the one whohad initially kicked me awake.
I didn’t have to spend my guesses to know who this might be.
“You are Dahr,” I said with no emotion, not wanting to reveal anything about myself that might make me look weak in his eyes.
“I am Dahrrian Drake Grannicus,” he replied instead, his voice deep and commanding, overly harshened by authority.
“I am Milenora Cortez,” I replied then. If he didn’t want me to use his nickname, then he might as well struggle with pronouncing mine.
“You are March,” he scolded me in a gruff tone, as though I had already received instruction on this matter and refused to obey for some reason. He’d mentioned this before, just last night, when I had tried to introduce myself and asked for help. He’d replied with the same name, a name that must have some sort of significance to either him or his culture.
Karisha hadn’t called me by the month’s name and neither had the two women, but in fairness, they did not address me at all, so I had a very small sample to make my selection from.
“Is that why you woke me up? To tell me that I am March and not the name I was given?” I blinked up at him and suppressed my senses from over analysing the man in front of me.
Because…
The faeries were extremely lucky, let us settle that. They had artwork after artwork just walking around, displaying their beauty. And in front of me I had such a fine specimen, that I truly needed to take a breath to settle my heart and force my brain back into functioning.
Dahrrian was tall, broad-shouldered and if the leathers he wore left anything to the imagination, he was overly sculpted into the mould of perfection. He had dark wavy hair that barelytouched his shoulders and just enough stubble to accentuate his strong jawline.
I forced my eyes to lower and take other details in, details that would be more beneficial to me than merely his looks.
He wore some sort of leather vest that was tied together by a band at the waist and leather pants with a belt that stretched along his hips to hold various types of knives and weapons.
I didn’t dare look below his belt because I didn’t want to make assumptions or be blinded by lust. I wanted to focus elsewhere, so I looked over at his hands, but noticing how his forearms were as thick as my thighs didn’t help matters either.
“I woke you up…” he stopped to take in a breath, either to settle his anger or to admonish me, I wasn’t exactly sure, “because you should not be sleeping on a chair.”
“By all means, please allow me to return to my own bed,” I jumped at the opportunity to make the request, while making sure that I added a smidge of politeness. After all, I was too small a person to go against an entire camp, so my only option was to attract them with honey.
“That is not something I am willing to entertain, March, so I would suggest you stop asking,” he said with a slightly calmer voice, revealing just a dash of pity. “It is never going to happen,” he added for good measure, lest there be any surprises.
I swallowed a dry lump in my throat at the confirmation of what I had already guessed, but was too scared to let myself understand. After all, he wouldn’t kidnap me for the fun of it, there must be some higher purpose to my arrival and residence in this tent.
“I don’t know much,” I forced myself to look up and keep tears at bay. There would be enough time to shed them later on. My eyes met his harsh ones, and I forced my voice to speak slowly, all the while feeding the connection our gazes had forged. “I am an arts teacher. All my education consisted of art history,with a focus on the Renaissance. So, unless you want to discuss why Michelangelo’s curves generally angle at 37 degrees or why Donatello’s stone-choice pigmentation tends to be on the yellow side, I am not of much use to you,” I replied as fiercely as I could under my current situation.
I expected him to snarl, to curse at my impertinence or to even raise a hand to me for daring to speak to him in such manner. I even tensed my jaw as soon as I completed my sentence in waiting, just in case. What I did not expect was the slight elevation in the curving of the corner of his mouth.
He was… smiling at me. For whatever unknown reason.
“Do you understand what I am trying to say?” I continued. “You chose the wrong girl, so I suggest you go and pick one who can give you the proper information you require and let me go on my merry way.” I took a deep inhale once I finished and then added for good measure. “Please.”
His soft smile turned into a frown and as soon as his brows started furrowing, I knew I had miscalculated this opportunity.
The man towered over me and leaned even closer, probably in an attempt to let me see his features over the darkening surroundings. “I didn’t kidnap you.”
It was my turn to portray surprise, but he was merciful enough to continue.
“I have no control over who is chosen or who comes into this tent, March. Nor do I have the power to return you.”
I had to take a long beat to fully grasp the information he had provided. He was not the one who took me, nor was he the one who picked me. Yet, by his tone, he was the one who would be responsible for my fate.
