It had been in an updo the first time he’d seen her, with only a few strands left loose to frame her face. Pretty but unremarkable. The first thing he’d noticed was her height; when he’d danced with her, she had fit perfectly within the circle of his arms. He’d liked the way she’d felt pressed against him almost as much as he had liked the air of nervous energy surrounding her, as if she were generating her own storm. Sometimes he swore he could feel the static of it in her skin when he touched her. The jolt, the flinch, the surprised desire in her eyes—it was like being struck by lightning every time, and he fucking loved it.
Her face had been so somber that day, although she had tried to look cheerful.What are you so worried about, darling?he had thought, as he tracked her progress across the floor. She looked like she thought she was being hunted, which had made himwantto hunt her. Especially when her scarlet dress had looked so magnificent against her pale skin, hugging her generous backside and dipping low enough to show the tops of her breasts.This one will scare too easily, he had thought, feeling the small flinch of her back as they waltzed.What a shame. I think she likes me.
He liked her, too. She was clever and interesting, beneath all that shyness; and her mobile face made her prettier the longer he looked at her. And the longer he looked at her, he remembered with a dark smile, the more she blushed and hunched her shoulders, as if that could keep him from noticing how hard her nipples had gotten for him. She had even gone off with him with a little coaxing, like a half-tame bird to an outstretched hand. Sweet but shy. He had tried to get her to come with him down to the cellars, thinking a little wine in the dark might loosen her up, but then she had gotten cagey—almost scared—shying away even from the thought of a kiss, let alone what he really wanted.
Every note he’d sent her after the wedding had gone unanswered, though, much to his irritation (and Ben’s delighted schadenfreude). She had gone on with her life. He’d stalked her a little, using the same databases he used for work, fascinated by this little window into a life so different from his. A life of harmless existence and humble joys. Staid and unexciting. One picture he turned up showed her volunteering at a library, another showed her helping at a signing with a blonde woman he assumed was her aunt. She published poetry online full of wistful, girlish longings, which had made him wonder if anyone had ever made her come apart in their hands.
It bothered him immensely that he would never find out.
But then Noelle disappeared, and her sweetly anxious sister had arrived in her stead, still solemn and skittish. Still quick to blush. Taunting her quickly became his new favorite hobby and her reactions elevated it to a near artform, giving him the same breathless sense of anticipation he usually only felt while hunting, or eviscerating an opponent in court. The rush of dealing with a worthy adversary. Someone who raised his blood.
A sparrow.
Hissparrow.
His thoughts drifted to the other night, when she finally had become his. The way her body had looked in that nightshirt by candlelight, and how her luscious thighs had cradled the hard planes of his hips as he drove into her, with the thrum of her heartbeat keeping the tempo. She must have been so sheltered, poor thing. There had been moments when she could barely look at him. Whatever she had been saving herself for, he suspected it hadn’t been this.
She had struggled through the pain to give him what he wanted, calling himDaddylike it was tearing her apart.You don’t need poetry, he had thought.Not if you can beg a man like that.He had half-fallen in love with her then, drowning in her sweetness as if she were a poisoned well. But then her fingers had touched the scratches on his neck while he was still buried in the warm satiny sheath of her cunt—and she had panicked.
Cal, pacing the room, paused in front of her closet. He looked at the clothes unseeingly, absently straightening the hangers. That had been unfortunate. He hadn’t planned on telling her about sparrows yet. Not before he convinced her to choose.
Even the mine hadn’t meant to play out the way it did. At first, he had only wanted to scare her a little. Rael had helped him, but he’d hit her too fucking hard—he’d decked his friend for that, which had made Rael storm out of the cave, swearing. And then, he had remembered his father’s threats. That Ben was the future Master of Ravensgate, and the girl was the sister of his wife, and therefore belonged to him if he wanted her. And Ben had wanted her. Months without a wife had made him angry and restless.Ben played for keeps; once caught, a sparrow remained his forever.
He made sure of it.
And Cal had thought,Not if I mark her first.
But her fear had excited him, and he was already angry and frustrated. She wouldn’t stop fucking running and she was going to get herself killed.
So he had pushed, and pushed, andpushed.
He’d almost told her the truth outside the Japanese restaurant. Knowing what was coming for her, he had almost been moved to let her go. To let her fly free. From the very beginning, she had been hurtling towards this—towardshim—all along. But he had almost let her go.
Almost.
Not this time.
At Odessa’s instruction, Thomas had laid a dress out on the bed. Cal moved it to the vanity and threw open the tapestry doors connecting their rooms, striding into his bedroom for a match so he could light the fire in her grate. It guttered weakly in the draft until he tossed in one of the journal entries Noelle had ripped from the green book. Then it flared to life, emitting the stink of burned leather as the flames greedily consumed the vellum, charring the edges to black.
Cal drew back from the fire and pulled the vanity chair from its recess, setting it down in the middle of the room, in full view of the bed and fireplace. Then he went back into his room and returned with some of his older neckties.
She was starting to rouse as he settled her into the chair and drew her arms behind her back. Her breasts lifted with the movement, the dark circles of her nipples visible through the sheer fabric. They were hard. Not for him—not yet. But soon they would be. Soon she’d be back underneath him—exactly where she belongs. His cock stirred as he watched her frown and shift, the discomfort of her new position making her squirm against her restraints.
A good man might have felt guilt over what he was about to do. He certainly would not have taken any sort of pleasure from the sight of her bound and helpless. But Cal, watching the flutter of the pulse in her still-bruised throat, as her eyes blinked and began to unglaze, felt fairly certain that he would enjoy every moment that was to come. Like steps in a waltz, everything she had done had carried her this far, to this room: to this very moment, in fact.
Now it was up to her to save them both.
Cal ran his fingers over her jaw. “Wake up, darling,” he said, looking down at her worried, upturned face. “Daddy wants a word with you.”
???????
Nadine stirred, feeling as if her brain were made out of lead. She woke up not all at once, but in layers, thoughts peeled back like an onion. The first one she had was that the light seemed strange, and that nothing in her room at her aunt’s house was where it should be. Then she thought:Oh, god, I’m still in that fucking house, aren’t I? But it smells different—nice. Like . . . trees. And camping. Maybe I’m somewhere else.
And then her eyes opened and she realized where she was—and why—but when she tried to bolt upright, pain rocked up her arm and she nearly fell forward with a scream as whatever she was lying against became unbalanced, tipping her forward as if she were flying in freefall.
All at once, she was shoved back with a loud wooden clatter that had her head snapping back, so she was looking upwards at the ceiling, where a gold wind rose had been painted, the spokes radiating outwards from the central lighting fixture as if it were pierced by blades.
Her eyes cut in front of her and then she saw his face—that beautiful fucking monster with eyes like bloodied bronze—and she could swear everything in her body jammed up at once.
