She melts in my arms, and I relish the feel of her soft curves. Back on the cot now, I pull her on top of me, sinking my fingers into her hair. I will not let her give up. Not on me, and not on herself.
“Roarke,” she whispers as our lips part. “Why must you make me want what I can never have?”
“You can have me. Youwillhave me.” Carefully cupping her cheek, I brush a tear from the corner of her eye. “I have something for you.”
Pulling the bag of iron shavings from my pocket, I press them into her hand. Aurelia shudders. Of course. She is Fae. Can she even wield the dagger? “What is this?” she asks.
“Iron. You can use this against the Prince.”
She turns the bag over in her hand as she wriggles off me to sit on the edge of the cot. I miss the feel of her, but our mate bond has already started to form, and hints of her emotions wind their way into my heart. A small spark of hope has taken hold within her.
“How?”
“It will poison him if you can get him to ingest it. But if it comes into contact with his skin, it will weaken him.” I nestle her between my thighs and nuzzle the soft skin behind her ear. “I will question every single person in the realm until I find out the Prince’s true name.”
“What if no one knows?” Aurelia shudders against me.
“Then I will return tonight and we will find a way out of this castle together.”
Chapter Eight
Aurelia
Roarke leaves me at the first light of dawn. He held me for hours, and I actually slept. Comforted. Protected. My eyes are so swollen it is hard to blink, and I have no tears left to cry.
“Take care to hide the bag of shavings, darling,” Roarke says as he presses the small bag into my hand once more. I feel sick, knowing he’s leaving me, but he cannot stay. If he does, the Fae will find a way to own him too.
My fingers are clumsy, trembling, and Roarke covers them his own, stilling my attempts.
“Remember. This is the Fae’s only weakness. Use it if there is no other choice. But hold on for me, Aurelia. I will come for you tomorrow night.”
I tuck the bag under the thin mattress before Roarke gathers me in his arms.
“I have loved you since the moment I first saw you,” he says. “You are my mate, and when you are free, I will do much more…than this.” His hand slides into my tangled locks, and he angles my head so he can claim my lips.
His kiss makes my knees weak—or perhaps that is the dehydration—but when his tongue teases my lips, I let him in. Something inside me warms, like a flame ignited for the very first time.
“Roarke, please,” I moan when I can breathe again.
“Please what?” His erection presses to my stomach, and if I were not trapped under a Fae spell, I would beg him to claim me. To not let the Prince be the one to take my virginity. Because for all Roarke’s promises, I know he will fail. The Prince will claim me, and I will be forced to let him.
The tears I thought I could no longer cry start up again, and I wriggle out of his arms. “Please go. If you stay any longer, they will find you. I sealed my own fate trying to save my father. I cannot damn you as well.”
“You will not damn me, darling. You are my salvation. Use the iron. If for no other purpose than to make that bastard suffer.” Roarke strides for the window, and as he lunges for a long piece of cord I did not notice hanging just to the side of the sil, he glances back at me. “Give me two minutes, Aurelia. Then watch for me and believe. Everything I have told you is the truth. I love you. And I will free you.”
And then he pushes off, and the man I should have been free to love is gone.
I cannot help myself. I go to the window.
There is a soft thud, then a sound I do not recognize.
When I see the majestic creature arcing through the sky, I almost forget my curse and stick my head out the window. But before I can do more than lean in, my throat closes, and I take a quick step back. He…Roarke…really is a dragon.
* * *
When I lie back downand try to steal another hour or two of sleep, nausea churns in my stomach. I tore into one of the bales of straw, scattering it about the room while I screamed obscenities at the Prince, the King, and even my father. At one point, I even attempted to take some of the straw and separate the fibers as I would with wool. But every time, the straw broke into pieces, leaving me with nothing but bleeding fingers and fear.
I stare at the beam in the center of the room. It runs from the floor all the way to the ceiling. The width of my hand on each side, it will bite into my back until I cannot stand the pain any longer. Skimming my fingers over the welts on my wrists, then my swollen cheek, I shudder. What marks will I bear tomorrow? The next day? And the next?
