“Not from the moment we began to dance, my halfling. Your conversation is for my ears only.”
Was that a possessive thing, or a don’t let-anyone-hear-Aerinne-disrespect me thing?
Hebackedme against a tree, each step deliberative, rough bark scraping my barearmsand where my gown dippedlowon my back.
“What are you doing?” Ipushedat his chest, and finally my avatar roused. Absent bloodshed, it rarely bestirred itself to wake, much less grow. Not that there was much to wake, but at my age I'dappreciatea little cooperation.
Hisarmscaged me as he angled his head to study me as if I were an alien creature.
“Your scent reminds me of. . .” He lifted a curl from my shoulder, running the strands through his fingertips as if tasting me through touch, and even lifted the lock close to his face to inhale.
Confusion crawled along my skin, adding fuel to the near combustion level of my temper. I was trying not to blow, to endure his touch. If I resumed the feud, I’d have to face my father with an explanation. And starting a war because the Prince got a little handsy wouldn’t go over well.
“I told myself I would be patient.Butmy control is. . .challenged.” He spoke softly, voice too gentle, the hidden crouch of a silent predator before a strike.
“My father will send my guards for me.”
“No one can reach us unless I allow it.”
One beat, two.
“What do you really want from me?” I asked.
Our gazes clashed. I didn’t name him for his sake; he knew what he was. But I needed to remember.
“What do you think I want, Aerinne?”
Old, years counting into the thousands. Powerful, will made manifest almost as if by thought alone.
What Low Fae in history had waged a war against an Old One and survived? I couldn’t think of a single name.
“I can’t begin to guess,” I said, hyper aware of how close he stood, how he must be able to see the flutter of my pulse, how he must be able to hear the uneven exhalations of my breath. “I don’t know you.”
An undecipherable emotion crossed his face, gone as quick as a shooting star, leaving only intensity behind.
I stared up into a penetrating gaze edged with the kind of desire that should have been impossible between a High Fae Prince and a lowly halfling. “And you don't know me. I don't for a minute believe you took one look at me and decided you wanted me.”
“One look? No, not one.”
“Wait, just wait. Let’s think about this logically.”
Faint amusement in his gaze. “My halfling, since when do you pause to assess logic?”
I stiffened. “You don’t know me.”
“You keep saying that. To you, it is the truth.”
The Prince lowered his mouth, hovering over mine and for a moment I thought—for a moment a searing flash of heat in the air—and then he pulled away.
He let me exhale shakily before his hands swept up my sides, settling under the curve of my breasts, not quite cupping their full weight.
“You are unclaimed.” A quiet statement of fact, shorn of emotion. But I shivered, feeling the threat. “I sense no other's touch on you. Fortunate for them. Your House musthaveprotected you.”
“What? No. No one asked for me and if they did, I can say no all by myself.”
I curled my hands around his wrists, tugging, ignoring how every caress coaxed an answering ping of desire. My body didn’t rule me; I’d be dead not to physically react to the seduction of a beautiful, virile male.
He allowed me to push his hands away, a strategic retreat.
