CHAPTER 1
Ginger
My entire life changed with the utterance of two small words.
“My mate.”
The stranger stood on the threshold of my pub, the most beautiful and overwhelming man I had ever seen, staring at me like I hung the suns in the sky.
My stomach sank almost painfully.
“My mate,” he declared, his gaze locked on my face, burning into my skin. The words were saturated with awe, soaked in longing, simmering at the edges.
Mate.
My mate.
Huh? No.
No.
Confusion twisted in my brain. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person," I said tightly. I glanced over my shoulder, craned my neck to see if any folk were standing behind me. That was the only logical answer.
Nobody was there.
I returned my gaze to the being before me. I couldn’t even call him a man; his presence was too…vast.
His mouth hung open the slightest bit, his lips parted and inviting. I had the strangest urge to lean in, to discover what those lips felt like against mine.
A painful looking scar marred the right half of his face, stretching from his hairline, through his brow, and curling around his cheek. The flesh was puckered and tight—it was a wonder he still had an eye. The mark did nothing to taint his beauty. If anything, it made him more absurdly stunning to look at.
I forced my gaze to the ground near his feet. His bare feet, I noticed with a start. They were tattered and wounded, covered in a liquid that was shimmering and gold. Was that hisblood?
Not all blood was red, I knew, but the color was shocking, nonetheless.
He had probably just stepped in some paint. Gold, shimmery, luminous paint. That made more sense.
“Are you going to invite me in?” the stranger asked in a melodic voice.
My gaze jumped back to his overwhelming face. “Why would I do that?” I asked.
“Because we are married, of course.”
“Excuse me?” Involuntarily, I stepped back. My fingers clenched against the edge of the door. My hooves clacked against the floor as I moved, drawing the stranger’s attention. His eyes traced over me, from my face, leisurely trailing over my body until they rested on my hoofed feet. I had the strangest urge to hide them, but that was ridiculous.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with my hooves.
He tilted his head, only just. His dark eyebrows raised. “How peculiar,” he whispered. “Folk, with some of the characteristics of the critters.”
I straightened, aghast. “How dare you!” I stammered. “I am just as much a folk as anyone else.” I resisted the impulse to fluff my hair over my antlers in an attempt to hide them from his scrutinizing view.
I was a faun, and I wasn’t ashamed of that. I never had been, and I never would be. Especially not from the comments from a rude, presumptive stranger. No matter how shockingly overwhelming he was.
“Of course, wife. I was merely observing.”
Wife?Wife? I was speechless. That term was horribly outdated, only used in historical texts and romance novels. It was practically scrubbed from the modern tongue. Nobody was referred to aswife. Mate, sure. Partner, absolutely. Butwife? Never. Not in hundreds of years. Whowasthis guy?
Luckily, Tandor saved me. My favorite employee and closest friend. I made a mental note to give him a raise later.
