Mind intrusion is common among Vikans—mortals with access to magic. But among the Fae, only those who have sullied their blood by cohabiting with mortals possess the ability.
That is how Rhodria is divided: Vikans, mongrels, and pureblood Fae.
I know he is a mongrel from the scent he carries. Raw. Savage. Impossible to tame. Completely opposite to the delicate, sweet, hormonally charged scent of those untainted by foreign magic. Completely opposite to Jestin.
“Quite the strategist, aren’t you?” This time, the voice is loud, carried in the open air. I want him to ask again. His voice is liquid temptation, and damn, I want to be tempted.
“Quite a kidnapper, aren’t you?” I parrot before I can shut my big mouth, and I blame his filthy voice. He’s kept me alive, but how can I be sure he didn’t grow those vines himself?
“How did I not think of that first?” he muses, enthusiasm dripping from his words.
His shameless amusement makes me snap my head towards him, doing a double-take.
Across from the crackling fire, under a velvet night sky, in a shallow hole in the sand, sits a stunning male, his pale, sculpted body relaxed, legs crossed on the ground, and his shirt brazenly unbuttoned. The air around him hums with elegance and grace.
But his face? Ho-ly mo-ly. The Architect himself must have sculpted it. He is that perfect mix between rigid and masculine, yet soft and nonchalant.
Ugh. Get yourself together. I scan our surroundings. We are low in the sand, sheltered from the wind and weather, but it is also an open invitation for an ambush, and we would be none the wiser.
He is grinning at me, throwing me completely off balance. What a total loon.
“You should check your hand,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Instead of worrying about your surroundings.”
I do and freeze.
On my left wrist, a slender brand burns bright, a delicate spiral of glowing runes etched into my skin. A deal bond. Sweet Gorok, I am in so much trouble. If Grams were alive, she would disown me again.
“What do you want from me?” I ask bluntly, no flattery. I straighten, tilting my chin, but it’s hard to think strategically when worry is squeezing my chest.
Or is that shame?
“Everything,” he says it while still smiling, so ridiculously seductive that I’d bet my fortune he’s an incubus.
Suddenly, laughter rips through the night.
You’re salivating,he whispers in my mind.
What a total freaking loon.
I stare him down while he fights to regain his composure, and an arrogant smirk spreads across his features. The smirk of someone who looks down on you.
“Strategist with a sharp eye,” he muses. “Quite a catch.”
Is he completely out of it? What an infuriating male.
I shift tactics. “Please, give me some answers.” Verbal sparring wasn’t getting me anywhere, so maybe he will respond better to the damsel-in-distress approach.
“Another deal already?” he raises his hand to his mouth in exaggerated outrage. “Darling! You need to be more careful,” he scolds, every word dripping with mockery.
You would expect this tone from an aunt who acts friendly but secretly hates you, but not from your captor.
For fuck’s sake, I am getting nowhere. I sit up, frustrated. The warm breeze kisses my shoulders, and I’m desperate to come to any conclusion with him, though every word makes it clear that isn’t what he wants.
He chuckles.Who said coming is off the table?
“Leave my freaking head!” I snap, fed up with the hum of intrusion at the edge of my consciousness.
“It will be so entertaining,” he cheers, clapping as though he can barely contain his excitement.
