I attempt to listen to her thoughts, but it’s like hitting a wall of ice. Is she blocking me on purpose? If so, how long will it be before she lets me back in? The sudden loss of intimacy is jarring. What if I never hear her thoughts again? What if she never hears mine?
What a cruel twist of fate it would be to dangle the promise of companionship between us both only for it to be ripped away without explanation.
“It’s been a long day, darling human,” I murmur into her ear. “It’s time for bed.”
She glances toward the bathroom. “All right. I-I’ll go get changed.” She slips from my arms, rushes into the bathroom, and closes the door.
Though I long for a bath, I’m eager to hold Helena in my arms beneath the bedcovers, so I strip my leather pants off and don a pair of soft trousers, so as not to offend her delicate senses. Normally, I sleep naked, but I don’t want to frighten her needlessly, so I’ve been wearing trousers, fucking trousers, to bed each night.
After using my winter magic to rid myself of any remaining carnage from the battle, as well as to clean my teeth, I stand inthe center of the room, waiting for Helena to emerge from the bathroom.
She steps out wearing the robe and slippers I gave her on our first night together. Her hair spills over her shoulders in a cascade of darkness. Unseelie hair, pitch black. Not that those with mostly Seelie blood cannot have dark hair, but more often than not, such blackness marks a stronger strain of dark fae in the blood.
I remember my plan to ask her more questions about her past tonight, but I start to second-guess myself. Her expression remains distant, a sad, weary look lingering in her eyes. Fucking fires, I don’t like it.
I want to see her furious again. I want her to scream that she hates me just before kissing me.
But as I watch her move slowly toward the bed, I know she won’t be amenable to kissing me again anytime soon, not while she’s so actively mourning her people, her old life, and the freedom that was stolen from her.
Her gaze flicks over my bare chest, just for a moment, and color blooms across her cheeks. She quickly looks away and slips past me, climbing into the bed. By the time I move to follow, she has already stacked several pillows between us.
The distance unsettles me, too much space, both physical and otherwise, and I can’t stop the growl that tears from my chest, a feral sound that reverberates through the vast room. She gasps softly, then hurriedly pulls the covers up and turns onto her side, going utterly still.
I remain standing there, staring down at her, weighing my next move. I want to grab her. Shake her. But I don’t. Gods, her despondency affects me more than I would care to admit.
With an inward sigh, I climb beneath the covers and lean back against the padded headboard, my gaze still fixed on Helena. Agitation coils through me. I had sound reasons forwhat I did today, for honoring Tribute Day as my people have always done, for the nineteen human males I killed.
And yet none of that quiets the unease in my chest.
I’m about to growl again when her thoughts suddenly reach me.
I don’t want to leave Braemar. Mama always warned that something terrible would happen if I left the protective stone walls of the city. I’m starting to think she was right. No good will come from me leaving. If only I could stay.
My dear friends. Isabel. Mr. Sinclair. Oh, please let them be all right.
Gods, I hope no more humans from Braemar try to attack the fae.
Please let the killing stop.
As I keep listening to her private thoughts, my chest becomes tight, and each breath is painful and heavy. I long to comfort her, but I don’t dare make a move to touch her.
Not yet.
I sense she needs a little more time to sort her thoughts out, perhaps to calm herself down a bit, and I don’t want to interrupt.
And I’m not proud to admit it, but I want to hear as many of her secret thoughts as possible before she blocks me again.
But the next thoughts that cross her mind are so shocking, I don’t know how to react.
Please don’t let King Theron find out about my visions.
Please help me keep blocking him from my mind.
Oh, I really hope we don’t visit the fae priestess he mentioned. Hopefully something will happen to prevent the visit. What if the priestess somehow senses my visions and informs King Theron? That might not go very well for me.
Visions? What visions? I try to sift through her thoughts more deeply, but I’m unable to sense any firm details. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her what visions she’s worried about, butat the last moment, I press my lips together, deciding on silence. Yes, perhaps it’s better to stay quiet; I might learn more if she doesn’t realize I can hear her.
As she finally drifts to sleep, one idea keeps repeating in her mind:
