“A pagan wedding for an earthly bride.”
Nadine stiffened when the hand shot out of the dark to grab her.No, she thought, when the feel of cool leaves was replaced by a muted patchwork of fabric and heated flesh.
“Dost thou think upon him? The Caledon Cullraven come most lately? Wouldst thou grant him entry into thy chambers and betwixt thy legs?”
It washim—younger and clean-shaven, closer to Cal’s age than the man in the portrait.
No, she thought again, but there was less power behind it this time, and when he slid inside her, her body did not meet him with the resistance that she wanted. “Methinks thou wouldst,” he said softly. “But dwell on this: a docile creature such as thee provides scant diversion for a huntsman in his season.”
(Raise his blood. Keep him excited.)
“You’re not real,” she ground out. “This is just . . . a dream.”
“He will take thee,” Caledon whispered mockingly. “And thou wilt welcome him gladly, as good wives are wont to do, or thou wilt pay the price of cowards who clip their wings as they turn from glory—like thy sister: the raven with a rabbit heart.” She felt him lean closer. “What manner of heart beats beneath thy own breast, wife? Art thou hunter or hunted?”
Wife?“Where is Noelle?” she cried out, fingers digging into his bare shoulders. “Where is she?”
“Seek the emerald tome,” he responded, burying himself inside her with a pressure that made her gasp. “Pore thyself upon my written word and let it pierce thee like mine arrow. Only there shalt thou learn to soar.” His embrace was that of a spider’s as his skin, furnace-hot, threatened to engulf her completely in its heat. “Your sister is beyond the reach of the ravens, but thou hast tumbled headlong into their nest and I shall make thee forget thy own name.”
Her eyes flew open in recognition. “C-Cal?”
“Yes, little sparrow. I’m here.” He rolled his hips, causing such exquisite agony that her voice caught like splinters of glass. His lips brushed her throat with the casual ardency of a long-familiar lover. “You look so pretty when you fight. But soon you won’t want to fight me, Nadine. Soon—very soon—you’ll be giving me whatever I want.”
And then he sank his teeth right into her neck.
Nadine’s eyes flew open. Her throat was tingling where Cal had bitten it in the dream. In sleep, she’d kicked all the sheets off and caused her shirtdress to ride up her bare thighs. When she shifted her legs, she could feel the cold kiss of her own arousal.
What time is it?She looked at her phone. Early. Too early to be waking up to strange, twisted wet dreams in which she was being fucked by her sister’s husband’s brother.
Her eyes went to the picture of Caledon Cullraven and the stag. The sweater had fallen off again. Nadine slid out of bed and recovered the painting. No wonder she’d had nightmares with that thing looking at her all evening.
It was a shame, really. Apart from that creepy painting, the bridal suite was like something out of a storybook. The bed was the softest thing she’d ever lain on, and looked like a piece of art with those richly carved posts. And when one sat at the window looking out onto Passer Woods from above, it felt a little like being suspended in midair.
Like a sparrow?
She shifted uneasily. Now why hadthatthought come to her?
Her eyes scanned the room, flicking over the contents. Vanity table, padded chair, closet. Her gaze rested for a beat on the thick white tapestry with the gold stitching, but there was nothing sinister about that. This one just showed a maiden and a unicorn and neither of them were being killed, which, given this family’s predilections for violence, showed rather remarkable restraint.
Nice tapestry, she thought nonsensically.Good tapestry.
Her eyes flicked to the stag painting.
Bad painting. Go away.
Breathing out an amused laugh, she padded over to her duffel bag, tripping over the boards in her bare feet. She swore softly, doing a little skip and a hop, as the wood creaked beneath her feet. There were different depths to the sounds, some sort and sharp, others, like a deep groan. Nadine yanked the drapes closed and changed her underwear before pulling on a pair of jeans. As she balled up her nightdress and lobbed it casually on the bed, she thought,I could get used to all this.
The space, the luxury, the great sense of silence. The lure of it was addictive.But at what cost?she asked herself, as she clasped her bra and slid her arms into a button-down shirt.Everyone in this house is so fucking weird, they’ve forgotten how to be human.
She sighed, and turned, and saw Cal standing in the doorway.
Watching her.
In his navy slacks and white shirt, with his hair in loose waves, he looked so much like his Victorian ancestor that for a moment, she was bolted to the floor, stunned with horror.
(Dost thou think upon him?)
She snapped into movement, clutching her shirt closed. “What are you doing in here? Getout.”
