She rose smoothly to her feet, her garments dusted with snow, and she tilted her chin as her gaze met his. “How long did you lurk in the shadows, my lord?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Long enough to see you command beasts as though they were men under orders. Tell me… how did you know I was there?”
Her lips quirked in something not quite a smile. “Your scent.”
His brows drew together. “My scent?”
“Aye.” She crossed her arms, her green eyes never leaving his. “Steel, leather, smoke, and a touch of arrogance. Hard to miss.”
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, the cold air sharp, the tension sharper. And for the first time in morethan a year, Rhodes felt as if something came alive in him. It was not submission, not placating obedience, but the sweet, heady taste of defiance.
He stepped fully into the clearing, his broad frame casting a long shadow over the snow. His dark hair caught the thin winter sunlight, and the hard lines of his face seemed carved of stone, yet his eyes… held a glint, sharp and assessing, as though he were measuring more than her words.
“You mock me with talk of scent,” he said, his voice low, a deep rumble that stirred the cold air between them. “But you forget, lass, I am not a beast so easily dismissed.”
Her chin lifted, curls flaming bright against the white of winter. The green of her eyes burned clear and defiant, but there was something else in it, something that sparked before she masked it.
“Nay,” she said, her voice steady though her pulse leapt, “you are worse. At least a beast kills only when it must.”
He should have bristled, should have lashed back with the pride that had become his armor. Instead, he found himself caught by the curve of her lips, the fire in her gaze, the way she stood slim and unyielding before him, though she barely reached his chest. Her boldness stirred him like no sword ever could.
“You mistake necessity for cruelty,” he said firmly, taking a step closer. Her breath hitched, he saw it, felt it, and it struck him in a place he had not known was vulnerable. “I take what is mine because I can, and because it keeps my clan strong.”
“You mistake cruelty for strength,” she returned quickly, though her voice wavered for the barest moment. Her heart hammered in her chest, she could feel it, could almost swear he heard it. Yet she held his gaze, unflinching. “And there’s naught in me that will bow to such thinking.”
The silence that followed felt weighted and charged. The air between them seemed to hum, as though the whole of the forestheld its breath. Rhodes found himself studying the delicate line of her throat, the proud tilt of her chin, the defiance that made her beautiful in a way that stole his breath.
And Fawn, surprisingly, noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in the way he carried himself, tenacious, immovable, dangerous. A shiver coursed through her that had nothing to do with the cold.
His mouth curved then, slow and certain, a smile that promised storms. “You’ll wed me,” he said, his tone low, implacable. “You may fight it with words, but it changes nothing.”
Her breath caught, outrage flashing. “You cannot simply declare?—”
“I can,” he interrupted, his voice a dark command. “And I have.” His eyes swept over her, lingering on the proud line of her jaw, the stubborn fire in her gaze. “You’ll be my wife, Fawn. That’s the end of it.”
She stood frozen, words burning on her tongue, but he turned and walked away before she could utter a word.
His heavy footfalls marked his retreat. Yet in his chest something fierce and undeniable stirred. He would have her… nothing would keep him from it.
The kitten clawed his way up Fawn’s cloak, and she scooped him into her hand and clutched him close, her heart still racing as she watched Rhodes disappear among the trees. The scent of leather, steel, and smoke lingered where he had stood, unsettling her far more than she wished to admit.
She bent her head, whispering into the kitten’s soft fur, “Never. Not in this life or the next will I ever wed Lord Rhodes of Clan MacBrair.”
But even as the words left her lips, she felt the heat of his dark gaze as though it still lingered on her skin.
The trees closedin around Rhodes as he made his way back toward the village, his boots biting into the ground. His thoughts lingered on Fawn, her green eyes fierce, her tenacious defiance. She was a challenge, and by God, he would not let her slip from his grasp.
A voice cut through the stillness.
“You cannot have her.”
He stopped.
A figure emerged from the shadows beneath the pines, her cloak dark as midnight, her pale face framed by strands of white hair… the witch. She stood as though she had stepped straight from memory, her presence unsettling the very air around her.
Rhodes’s mouth curved in a dangerous smile. “I wondered when you might come slithering from the shadows.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “She is not meant for you. Your cursed wish binds you apart from her. Walk away, Rhodes of Clan MacBrair, before you destroy more than yourself.”
