“What in the hells was that?” she managed to ask, gathering herself enough to stand.
He shot her a glare. “Why can’t I leave without feeling like my insides are being shredded?”
“You felt it too?”
The man stalked forward and Orelia was too terrified to move. He yanked her toward him by her collar and stuck his dagger under herjaw. “Did you fucking bind yourself to me, witch? Is that why I can’t leave?”
This close, he smelled like the earth at night. Like dark forests and woodsmoke, and something deliciously masculine that jarred her senses.
She trembled, trying not to prick herself on the cold bit of steel at her throat. “I-I don’t know . . .”
“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s your gods-damned spell!”
“It’s not actually my spell. I-I got it from someone.”
He pulled her so close their noses were near touching. The man was almost a head taller than her five feet and six inches. She’d never felt so small as he glared down at her. “Who?” he growled, nostrils flaring. When Orelia didn’t respond right away, he shook her. “Tell me who!”
“A wizard!”
He released her and stepped back, sheathing his blade in the process. “Take me to them. Now.”
“But I don’t—”
“Now, witch. Before I lose my temper.”
Orelia couldn’t get her legs to work. Her focus had fallen to the belt around his waist housing daggers and knives of all sizes.
When he saw her staring, the fae snapped his fingers in her face. “Let’s go.”
As they headed into town, she noticed the strange heaviness continued to cling to him, pressing down on her from every direction. She didn’t know if it was harder to breathe because ofhim, orbecause of the heart hammering in her chest as she tried to keep his pace. Despite her leading, he seemed intent on pushing her to hurry.
When they made it to the wildflower field, Orelia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye a few times. She hadn’t seen him around, and there hadn’t been any recent gossip of a fae in town. And he definitely wasn’t a spring fisherman looking for work. She’d never seen someone who carried himself the way he did. He kept his focus straight ahead, and his strides and posture were perfectly attuned. A man completely sure of himself. In a peculiar way, she was jealous of the mysterious stranger. She certainly didn’t have a presence like he had, and Orelia found herself curious as to what people thought when they looked at her.
Get a hold of yourself, she thought.This man is going to kill you if that spell did something to him.
Remembering Millie’s wounds, she pondered if he was the one who had harmed her, though nothing obviously indicated an ability to wield light. He had pointy ears belonging to all fae, but no face tattoos, and the sides of his head weren’t shaved like she’d read was customary for fae tribes.
Despite his imposing presence, she had to know if he was the one who’d hurt Millie. “Are you a Lysa Fae?” she asked as they crossed the bridge.
His boots thunked across each wooden plank, strides lengthening as he ignored her question.
Orelia struggled to keep up. “I only ask because I know someone who encountered one a couple months back, and we don’t really get fae around here.”
She waited for his answer, but he never gave one, and the rest of the walk to the apothecary was silent.
They stepped into Morton’s shop, Orelia fearing for the wizard with his nose buried in a book. When he looked up over the rim of his glasses, his mouth fell open in apparent awe.
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen a fae,” he said.
She wasn’t sure how he already knew, but her fear subsided somewhat.
The man made it to the counter in three giant strides. He turned and pinned his eyes on hers, saying gruffly, “Tell him what you did.”
Her palms began sweating.
“What happened?” Morton asked.
“I uhh . . .accidentally hit him with the spell.”
