Fae. Other.Dangerous.
“My father will—” My voice shakes.
“Your father will dowhat, exactly?” He rises from the chair. “Send soldiers? Search parties?”
He doesn’t come straight toward me. Instead, he moves to the side and I have to turn my head to keep him in sight.
“But they will look for me?—”
“Let them.” He gives a careless shrug of one shoulder.
He’s still moving, circling around the edge of the space. I twist, trying to track him, but he passes behind me, and for onehorrible moment I can’t see him at all. Just the empty tent and the furs and the strange silver walls.
Where is he?
I spin around on my knees, heart pounding, the hair on the back on my neck rising, as every instinct screams that there’s a predator at my back … and then he’s there, on my other side now, still walking that slow circle. His eyes haven’t left me.
“He won’t find you. No one will.”
I try to keep him in sight, but he keeps moving in and out of the shadows. When he appears in front of me again, he stops, head tilting as he looks down at me. I try to stand, scramble to get my feet under me, but my legs won’t cooperate. I’m shaking too hard, my muscles refusing to obey.
“You can’t keep me here!” The words come out thin and desperate. “I’m theking’sdaughter.”
“Haven’t we had this conversation before?” He arches an eyebrow, then lowers himself to a crouch, bringing his eyes level with mine. “You’re in my camp.” His voice is soft. “Your title means nothing here,Moirthalen.”
He’s so close I can see the flecks of darker gold in his eyes, and the faint lines of the marks that trace up his neck.
He’s between me and the exit, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to move. And he’s watching me the way a cat watches a mouse it’s already caught. Curious what I’ll do, but not concerned.
I lunge for the exit, my body moving before my mind catches up, shoving past him so I can throw myself toward the pale shimmer of the opening. My bare feet slip on the furs, and I go down hard on one knee, pain jolting up my leg, but I scramble forward, aiming for the gap I can see in the wall.
He hits me from behind, and the impact drives the air from my lungs. I slam face-first into the furs, his weight crushing meflat, his body covering mine. Before I can draw breath to scream, his hand fists into my hair and wrenches my head back. My neck arches, my spine bowing, and a cry tears out of me.
“That,” he whispers against my ear, his chest pressed to my back, “was stupid.”
I thrash beneath him, bucking, trying to throw him off. He’s so much heavier than I am, so much stronger, and every move presses me harder into the furs. His knee drives against the base of my spine, and when I try to reach back and claw at him, he catches my wrist and twists my arm behind my back. Pain shoots through me.
“Stop! Please?—”
“Please?” the word drips with mockery. His breath is hot against my ear, his body a wall of muscle and heat pressed along the length of mine. “You want me to show you mercy?”
“You told me to leave. You said you were done with me.”
His laugh vibrates up my spine. “I changed my mind.”
I try to buck again, and he shifts his weight, pressing me flatter. The thin fabric of my nightgown is nothing between us. I can feel every line of his body, every inch of him holding me in place, and the intimacy of it is almost worse than the threatened violence.
He releases my hair, and I suck in a desperate breath … then his hand wraps around my throat from behind, and the air stalls in my lungs.
He’s gripping so tight, I can feel my pulse slamming against his palm. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but lie there while his hand tightens around my throat.
Cold spreads from where his fingers touch me. It flows over my skin, wrapping around my neck, a thin line of ice that keeps moving until it’s circled around and met itself.
I try to scream, to beg, but his hand presses harder, while thecold ice tightens like a noose being drawn closed. I claw at the furs beneath me, my nails tearing through the material, while my legs kick uselessly. My lungs are burning, screaming for air, and the cold intensifies … and then it stops.
The pressure eases. The cold fades, and his hand lifts from my throat. I drag in a gasping, ragged breath, tears spilling down my cheeks. His weight leaves my back, and I roll onto my side, coughing, my hands flying to my neck. My fingers find metal—a thin band circling my throat. I run my fingertips around it, searching for a clasp. But there’s nothing. It’s a smooth, seamless band.
A collar.
