No. No. No. Selly chanted the denial mentally, willing Jadren to be her friend and turn down the offer. Or, she’d take him being her enemy, as long as he refused the carriage. She did not want to go to House El-Adrel. Jadren seemed to have forgotten her existence, considering Sammael thoughtfully. “I couldn’t possibly impose,” he finally said.
Sammael waved that away. “No imposition. It’s the second-best carriage as Sergio is off with the best on that errand we discussed.” He slid his gaze significantly to Selly and away again. “Really, I insist.”
Jadren shrugged and nodded. “Why not, then? I’d love a ride.”
“Excellent. Shall we have another glass of wine while I have the familiar bathed?”
“Too late now.” Jadren sighed heavily. “I’ll just have to put up with the stink.”
Selly growled twisting away from him, but his gaze pinned her with glittering warning. Wrapping insistent fingers around her wrist, he held her close to his side. She hated him. She was furious with him, so why did the sensation of his firm grip give her a thrill of pleasure? It was a terrible time to be thinking of it, but she couldn’t help remembering how he’d held her on his lap while she sobbed. How he’d seemed to understand why she couldn’t get in the box. How he’d been kind and comforting and hadn’t thrust her away even when she impulsively kissed him. Yes, she’d been half-crazed as he often accused her, and yet he’d taken care of her.
Now he held her wrist tightly, but not enough to be painful. “No trouble, poppet, or we put the collar back on you.” He raised a brow, waiting for her acquiescence.
She nodded, resolving to escape later.
“Have you Fascinated her then?” Sammael asked. “She’s considerably more tame with you.”
Jadren grinned. “How else do you think I wooed her away from Phel? That, and a few other enticements, if you know what I mean,” he added suggestively.
Sammael laughed appreciatively. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, I suppose.” He gestured them out of the salon.
It seemed an interminable walk to the entrance, close as it was, Jadren and Sammael chatting and laughing like old friends. Jadren still held her wrist and she didn’t fight him. She wouldn’t, not until she was away from this house with its collars and chains and tethered, mindless puppets of familiars. They had to wait for the carriage to come around, at which point Jadren practically shoved her inside before embracing Sammael, thanking him for the hospitality.
She’d already tried the handle on the other side, considering leaping out and making a break for it. Surely scaling these steep rocks couldn’t be worse than climbing trees. Before she made her move, however, Jadren snagged her wrist again, clamping on with a fierce look.
“Don’t,” he said, reaching over her to pull the door shut again, triggering some magical mechanism to lock it. The move pressed him against her, his freshly cleaned hair smelling of spices that should’ve been appealing, but that smelled more like House Sammael than Jadren’s natural scent. Still, she nearly leaned into him for comfort, which made no sense at all.
Then he was gone again, turning to wave jovially to Lord Sammael as the carriage smoothly shot into motion. It surprised a squeak out of her and she grabbed wildly at the black leather seat with her free hand, unreasoning panic fluttering inside her. If not for the locked door and Jadren’s restraining grip, she might’ve flung herself out of the carriage, uncaring of the steep drop on the other side.
“Elemental powered,” Jadren informed her in world-weary tone. “You remember the rules, poppet. Speak only when spoken to.” He gave her another of those meaningful looks she didn’t know how to interpret. But he was also calling her ‘poppet’ again when he said he wouldn’t, so there seemed to be some kind of code there.
“I thought you were dead,” she said, defiant and also needing to know the truth. Besides, he’d spoken to her, hadn’t he? Also besides, he wasn’t the boss of her.
He arched a brow. “Clearly you were mistaken about my death.”
“But I saw—”
“But,” he interrupted sharply, “I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, that you believed me incapacitated and otherwise wouldn’t have abandoned me as you did. You’re lucky our good friends at House Sammael were able to rescue you.”
“Lucky!” she spat. “Do you have any idea what—”
He clapped a hand over her mouth, tightening his grip on her wrist even more when she fought him. “Hush, little familiar, or I’ll gag you. I tire of your incautious prattle.” His wizard-black eyes bored into hers, intense with that hidden meaning. Taking his hand off her mouth, he slid his fingers lightly over her jaw, gentleness in his touch now as he lightly gripped her chin and turned her head to make her look at a spot near the roof of the carriage. He flicked his gaze at it, then back, raising his brows.
She looked where he pointed her—not that she had much choice—and saw nothing of note. Still… her skin crawled a little when she gazed there too long, an odd sensation creeping up the back of her neck, much like the chill of fear she remembered from telling ghost stories around the campfire.
Then the magic inside her seemed to surge, to move of its own accord, like water stirring in a shimmer of moonlight. Selly didn’t have much of a relationship with her magic. For most of her life, she hadn’t known it was there—or, if she recognized its presence in herself, she hadn’t known what it was. Magic felt like madness, the mists that had dragged her under and made the world an incomprehensible, ever-shifting landscape.
Now, at Jadren’s silent insistence, she became aware that her magic was reacting to a presence. It was actually trying to inform her of something, and that feeling was real, not a figment of madness. The stunning revelation cut through the panicked need to flee, to demand answers from Jadren. For the first time, she understood that this curse of magic that she’d never asked for could serve a useful purpose. She relaxed in Jadren’s grip, focusing on the oddness in the upper corner, then meeting his gaze and subtly nodding.
Relief softened the unrelenting black of his eyes, which she suddenly realized were very close, his mouth near enough for her to scent the wine on his breath, warm and fragrant against her lips. His fingers on her chin released, stroking the skin along the line of her jaw absently as he gazed at her, seeming to search her face. Was that concern in his expression? His fingertips trailed over her throat, caressing the bruised and abraded skin where the heavy collar had rested, soothing, offering… an apology? She shivered at the caress, warming to his touch, feeling herself melting and wanting more.
He inhaled, his touch against her skin seeming to drink her in, his expression taut. It seemed that he, too, had things he wasn’t saying. She just didn’t know and she had so many questions. If she could just ask—
Jadren seemed to read that impulse in her, shaking his head minutely, eyes hardening again in warning, the fingers on her throat briefly encircling and clasping. She pressed her lips together in resignation and his mouth quirked in an answering half-smile. He released her throat and tapped a finger against her lips. “There’s a good poppet,” he murmured. “Quiet and obedient, just as you should be.”
The warning still in his gaze, he eased away from her, then held up the wrist he still held. Slowly he relaxed his grip until he loosely encircled her wrist with his fingers, a questioning lift to his brows. She made a face, but nodded, silently promising not to fling herself from the carriage. Patting her hand, he set it down. “Are you hungry, sweetling? There’s food and drink for you, little familiar, so you may maintain your strength.”
He popped open a polished wood cabinet set in the center of the spacious carriage. The interior was as luxurious as House Sammael, and the cabinet expanded with a silky movement to display trays of cold and hot food, along with a bottle of wine set in a bin of crushed ice.
