He rises, and his hand traces across my arm, to the point of my finger, then moments pass. “Ah,” he says after a bit. “To the flatter ground. Yes. Easily. Hold on.”
A beat passes, and I’m in his arms again. Then, he leaps blind, gliding us both to the ledge as though he can see. Setting me down safely on the plateau, he tight-ropes the edge, balancing. “Why did you want to be here? Does it make you feel safer to have more stable ground to enjoy after you throw me off?”
“Stop that,” I hiss.
He plants his feet firm. “My apologies.”
I close the distance between us and take his hand.
As his shoulders go rigid and his fingers hesitantly thread with mine, I inch closer, let myself trace the shape of his jaw.
“Danielle…” he breathes. “No. That name troubles you, doesn’t it? What should I call you?”
“Anything. You have already called me by a dozen endearments. What would you name me?”
He utters a curse, running the tip of his nose up my bridge. “Mine.”
“Yours, then,” I say, ignoring the way his nearness is getting under my skin. I knowlove. The kind you can see, anyway. I’ve been told countless times to lookin loveduring photoshoots. I have never before actually been interested in someone. I have spent most of my life pretending I’m not violently uncomfortable.
Maybe the fae have something about them. Something hypnotic.
Maybe pretending this time will be more than easy.
I kiss his jaw, let my lips graze his ear. “You’ll protect me?”
“Yes.” The word leaves him raw.
“And you’ll take care of me?”
“Always.” He sinks his free hand into my nightgown, gripping the fabric. “I will give you anything you want at any time you want. Simply say the word.”
“And, in exchange, I just have to love you?”
He laughs; the sound is nothing short ofderanged. “Oh, Mine.” He kisses my temple. “You need only exist. My expectations are practically hopes, and they are not the price you must pay for my devotion. Meet them or don’t, I have chosen to cherish you.”
What a…confusing thing to say.
I rest my cheek against his chest.
His heart thunders in my ear.
He gently clutches his fingers in my hair and tugs my head off him. “Hey, now,” he murmurs, “you don’t need to listen to that. It’s overeager at the moment.”
“Because of me?” Because of a human woman you stole from a pub two days ago? A human woman who had not showered consistently for two weeks when you met her? A human woman whom, as far as I know, you haven’t evenseen?
“Revel in it,” he says.
I would. Really. If it weren’t so mindboggling.
All my life, I’ve beenpretty.
All my life, it’s been clear that I’m not supposed to take up space. Now that I’ve gotten older, my mother started worrying about how long she’d be able to keep mepretty, so she arranged to have me sold off. It was the perfect plan.
If I were sold, my prettiness could shrivel. It wouldn’t matter. I’d take up less space in her house, and more in her bank account. Which is what she’s always wanted.
This man doesn’t know what I look like.
This man doesn’t know that I’mpretty.
