The corner of my mouth lifts. “Deal.”
“Again, not my choice. King Malaxor killed my father, and my mother tried to kill him. To save our lives, she made an Oath to betroth me to his son.”
“And you still married him? Love him even?” I question, doing all that I can to keep my emotions in check.
“That’s three questions you owe me now. And yes to both. Kiernan is not his father.”
“I respect your truth, as I hope you can understand my doubt. What do you want to know?”
“How did you end up the Alpha of Heartwood?”
I blow out a long breath and feel tension rise to my face. Damn her for going straight for what I’ve buried the deepest. But I continue. An Equitae never breaks a deal.
“When King Malaxor wiped out my Herd, I lost everything: my mate, my child, my entire reason for living. For years I stayed in my Horse Form, resentment and vengeance fuelling a violence that knew no bounds. I’m not proud of who I became—killing other stallions to steal their mares, endless days of brutality and survival.” I glance at her, surprised not to find judgment or disgust, but compassion.
“Then I met a young, cocky little shit who persuaded me to spare his life. Though I fought it, he became my balance, tempering that violence into control and direction. We started recruiting the strongest warriors, helping protect the remaining herds as best we could. Ultimately, we would’ve lost that battle years ago if we hadn’t found Heartwood and built a place that wasn’t just survival but living.”
“Domanikk? You’re close?”
“Like no other. We saved each other. And that’s your three questions.”
I haven’t spoken that memory aloud in years; it’s too painful to remember and a weakness I can’t afford to admit.
We reach the Meadow, where Viveen works her recruits diligently while a few other warriors spar or hone their Enchantra.
The reprieve of having Alaya here, of King Malaxor holding off an all-out attack, has meant the difference between total annihilation and a sliver of hope for survival. Our warriors are stronger, their Enchantra powers strengthened and controlled. Viveen’s tireless work with the newly mature has given us the makings of an army Heartwood has never seen.
I am hopeful, but that growing guilt—the more she’s here, the more I know her—threatens to dull that small victory, built on the back of her captivity.
She stops and sits on the grass overlooking the Meadow, which both bewilders and charms me. So easy and relaxed in her company, I join her.
“Do you miss your life at the castle?” I ask, sighing deeply at the smell of her hair so close, her scent wafting towards me in the light breeze from the Meadow.
“It wasn’t a life,” she replies bitterly. “I was kept isolated, suppressed by duty and shunned by the other Fae, until I hardly knew who the real me was.” Her voice is low, small, less.
A burning desire to comfort her—to wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her to my chest—surges. I lean into her, my arm brushing against hers.
“I’m sorry you were treated that way. Though you found a little joy?”
“Yes,” she replies, red rising to her cheeks.
She smiles then, and I fight an unwelcome stab of jealousy, so acute I press a hand to my chest as if I expect to find a dagger’s hilt below my touch. I feel the throbbing as my erection grows, aching with ardent lust.
This isn’t working as I expected.
WhatdidI expect? That her words alone would tame this obsessive need, where even Domanikk’s hands and dick had seemingly failed?
“Why am I so dangerous to you, Reth? Why must it cost me my life?”
Her question catches me off guard, delivered quietly but roaring in my ears as that coiled beast awakens—not slowly, but bursting free, sharp claws tearing.
I realise my mistake in talking to her alone. My control cracks like a fist to a mirror, that dark need overwhelming meas I reach out and grab her by the throat, pinning her onto the grass. My mind isn’t my own, belonging entirely to that writhing obsession as my hand palms her cheek and my lips finally meet hers—violently, possessively.
I’m not careful or kind as my thumb parts her tightened lips so my tongue can finally taste her, that sweetness making my insides clench with satisfaction.
She thrashes below me, but it only heightens my craving to devour her, to take what I believe in that moment is mine. When my hand grips her waist, I feel her body relax. I finally shatter when she presses back into me, her tongue finding mine and caressing me, a moan escaping as she opens her mouth around me.
Our needs are entwined. This kiss becomes our beginning, both of us surrendering to the truth—that dark desire for the pain of lust, to what I’ve known since I first stared into those violet eyes and saw my own need for vengeance reflected.
