The thought of being imprisoned in this world with him is both a thrill and a torment.
“Come here.” He sits down some distance from the door, his back to the wall. “We have to warm you up.”
“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.
“You’re human. Can’t withstand the cold as well as we fae do.”
“You’re shivering, too,” I point out. “Looks like the fae can’t do everything perfectly, after all.”
“Well, everyone knows that in situations such as these,” he informs me, “sharing body heat is our best bet.”
“Sharing body heat.”Alas, my body is all in. The thought of pressing myself to him is like a drug. I should refuse. What am I doing, getting so familiar with him?
But he’s right,rational thought pipes in.You’ve been wet and cold for a while. You could die. And so could he. This is a necessity. Treat it as one.
With a sigh, I sit down beside him and he wraps an arm around me. “Okay.”
But I’m not okay. As my mind slows, sensations become more acute. His scent teases me, waking up my body even more. The sound of his breathing calms me down.
Outlined against the partly-blocked door’s glow, his own faint shimmer muted, he’s a shadow. His profile is cut out in black, his dark hair wet and clinging to the strong column of his neck, the tip of a pointed ear peeking out. His chest is so hard under his wet leathers, and somehow my hand has found its way to it, resting over the thudding of his heart.
He looks so… impossibly beautiful. If I weren’t touching him, I might have thought he wasn’t real. I’d think I was holding a dream or a story, and not a real man.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
APPLES ARE RED
ADELINE
I come awake with a start, and instantly groan at the crick in my neck.Ow…
Light is spilling through the open door, gilding four pillars at the center of the cabin and a marble table with a bench. Someone is sitting there, cutting what looks like a round fruit into pieces.
Roane.
He glances up and gives me a slow once-over that has my face heating. “You’re looking better.”
Really?I’m dressed in what’s basically my underwear—my petticoat and long underpants. Sometime in the night, I managed to kick off my shoes, and my stockings have holes at the ankles. My clothes dried overnight, but I realize that the fabric I’d tied around my chest has slipped and my petticoat isn’t hiding my breasts very well.
With a hiss, I pull the fabric belt back up, securing it in place.
One corner of his mouth twitches up. “Hungry?”
“No. I’m mostly thirsty.”
“This should take care of both. It’s water-apples.”
Slinking closer, I slide onto the bench beside him. “They are… white?”
He nods, skillfully parting the apple into slices. “Water-apples are always white. Well-known fact.”
“Is it? Apples are red. Or green. Sometimes yellow. I’ve never heard of water-apples in my life.” I frown. “Then again, I have never traveled before now. Where did you say you grew up?”
“I…Fuck.” Shaking his head, his expression dark, he gets up, abandoning apples and knife, and he strides out of the cabin.
What did I say?
After a moment, I follow him outside. Below the hill spreads this bookish world, so different in the light of day, a landscape made up of dashes of pale color as if painted on a canvas.
