I did not tell her about the cage. Or the trip to Russia. Or the way I know how Castor’s hand feels around my neck, my ankle, my hair…
I, being human, lied.
And told her I was doingfineand this wasjust a lot to take in.
My only realnormal, once-human friend thinks the man who kidnapped me isn’tbad.
While he carries me down the dark halls lit only by the slashes of moonlight pouring in every tall window we pass, I trace the features of his face. Each beautiful angle.
I’m used to being around men.
I’m used to being told where to put my hands and how to look for the camera during couple shoots.
I never get a choice in anything.
It just seems fitting that the universe would also choose the man I’m to spend the rest of my life with.
However, I must say, it’s refreshing to know that such a man can carry me more than I’ve ever been carried before yet touch me less than many others have tried.
When silver light skates across Castor’s pale skin, turning it from shadow to white, I sigh and skim a fingertip over his long ear, catching long strands of hair where they escape beneath his blindfold.
He goes still, stopping in the hallway between two open windows, between the casting of light. Darkness holds us sweetly in its embrace. Slight, he dips his chin toward me. “Yes, Mine?”
My heart skips a beat. “Are you…okay?”
One corner of his mouth softens. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry you. I’m wallowing in my own inadequacies.”
Inadequacies?
Boy,where?
He’s a strong, handsome, wealthy man. Who can cook. Who has apalace.
If he were any moreadequate, maybe he’d give me my own bedroom.
Carefully, he lowers my body against his until my feet meet the cold floor. “If I may…I know it’s a touch late, but I would like to remedy my poor introductions.” Keeping us close, he frames my cheek in his hand, runs his thumb along the curve of my bone, and grips my jaw, holding it firmly toward him. “You are my soulmate. I have brought you here to love you. Once you have adjusted, we will make a list of the people whose limbs you’d like me to break.” His fingers delve into my hair, nails scraping against my scalp. “I will make art out of their bodies and let their eternal torment hang on the walls in a gallery just for you—should you desire it, should it heal something within you or bring you peace to know they are unable to harm anyone ever again.”
My stomach dips. Swallowing, I grip his sleeve.
His voice steadies, going gentle as his fingers comb, stroking through my hair over and over. “I beg of you, my feather, feel safe with me. Monster I may be, but I am yours. Your servant. Your slave. Touch me and tame me. Torture me and tell me to plead for more. Allow me the honor of pleasing you, however you deem. Just…please.” His voice cracks, breaking from him in a whisper, “Find enough use of me that you might want me for longer than a season of rights.”
In the darkness between the light, the way a spot on Castor’s blindfold dampens is almost imperceptible.
Yet, at the sight, every last one of my muscles loosens.
This is…fine.
I guess.
Does it really matter if I didn’t choose him?
I’ve dealt with anger issues before.
I can deal with them for the rest of my life.
The toxic, violent, possessive faeries need soulmates, too, I suppose.
The sooner I accept it, the better.
