For the life of me, I have no response.
“I see the spell that was placed on you by the druid, Aelia—that is only a glamour, an illusion. You could pluck it away in an instant if you wished.” He searches my face. “And I know you can push past the blood magic on this torque. You have enough fire burning within you to raze our whole world if you willed it.” His hand presses against my throat, squeezing harder.
I feel the tip of his sharp thumbnail prick the skin on the side of my neck.
A small gasp of pain fills my throat, but his tightening fingers won’t let it escape.
“Let me see you, fire child.”
I can only shake my head as I begin to choke in his grip.
My pulse gallops faster, and pain throbs in my temples. Splotches of color dance across my vision. I can’t react. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
Shock freezes my limbs. I should kick him in the nuts. I know how to defend myself. This isn’t the first time I’ve been pinned. But his eyes are all I see, and some traitorous part of me finds familiarity there. It wants full surrender.
Where are the flames I used to burn down the cottage? That I used to almost kill that vampire?
The power won’t come.
He presses closer, leaning in, the tip of his nose sliding over my cheek as he draws a breath. “Choose me,” he whispers. “I will show you the truth of your birthright.” When I stay frozen, he releases a disappointed sigh. “Well, I hate to mar the canvas, but a flower must be allowed to blossom. And it seems you need a little nudge.” He pulls back so he can meet my gaze again. “Forgive me for having to do this to you, my love. But I can’t bear to see you so trapped. You should be allowed to shine. To be free. Don’t you agree?”
I nod frantically.
His grip on my neck loosens.
I gasp, trying to find air, shifting my weight, about to run. At last, my arms lift in defense, ready to strike, to scratch and fight back.
But before I can do anything, his sharp thumbnail digs into the side of my neck.
In a slow, steady move, he slices into my artery.
Searing pain rakes across my skin. I gasp, staring in confusion as crimson sprays his pale features. Red freckles appear on his cheeks, his forehead. My blood? What just . . . what?
He keeps his fingers at my neck, sliding them over the wound like he’s slowing the bleeding a bit. “Come now, little doe, heal yourself. Open your spirit, release the fire.” His familiar silver eyes fill with anticipation.
Warm blood washes over my chest and my breasts, soaking my dress in seconds. I reach up with shaking hands and try to touch my neck. My head pounds with my crashing heartbeat, and my muscles throb, my own skin weighing a hundred pounds as everything blurs.
I open my mouth. But I can’t speak, I can’t . . .
A loud buzz fills my ears. My lungs tighten and stutter. Warmth seeps over my palm as I cover the gash, trying to hold myself together.
His fingers move to brush across my knuckles.
He steps back, a dark cloud moving over his features. “Where are you, Daughter of Fire? Why do you not heal?”
I fall to my knees. I stare at the oily ground, at my blood dripping onto the asphalt, smearing the reflection of the neon lights.
Faelan’s words the other night at the Halloween party echo in my head like a curse: the dark prince won’t be able to control you now . . .
There’s a loud click somewhere to my right. “Oh my gods.” A small screech of anger as a door slams. “What the fuck, Kieran? This is so unfair. You can’t just feed from her. Daddy will be enraged!”
Kieran bows to the approaching white blur. “Druid Aelia, I wasn’t feeding. Forgive me for rushing the process, but your people have her bound too tight. She needed to be nudged.”
“I bound her because she’s deadly, idiot. Shit! Look at the mess you’re making.” Someone grabs my arm and shakes me. “Heal yourself, dummy! My spell was totally lame. It only works because you bought in. So snap out of it!”
I fall limp on the ground, light dancing in front of my eyes. My cheek presses onto cool asphalt. Everything hurts. The air weighs too much.
Frantic voices blend with the buzz of the streetlamp. Somewhere in my head I understand that I’m pouring my life out in an alley that smells like an old lady’s feet. I know that in only minutes I’m about to stop existing. About to die. Forever.
And I can’t fight it. It’s not a fist or a nightmare. It’s not . . .
My heart slows to a crawl, the waning beat becoming a whooshing thud, the only sound, until I hear nothing at all. I see nothing. The pain is gone, and I just want to sleep.
I wonder if I’ll meet the real Sage now. I wonder if that other baby, the human one, is mad that I stole her life.
It was sort of a shitty life.
It won’t be mourned. And neither will I . . .
I watch the flames snapping in the hearth, wishing for a sign, but the golden fire remains silent.
Even now, after I’ve obeyed, Mother still shuns me. Three moons have passed since my Bonding to the King of Ravens, and my punishment is complete, my captivity in this bitterly cold place now etched into the annals. I would have thought the goddess would be pleased with my submission—it’s so unlike me. But, instead, I feel farther from her than ever before.
Perhaps it’s the dark energy in this place. The Morrígan’s powers are thick in the king’s shield house, a vast keep perched on the icy edge of Mount Na Ndeor, many leagues from the misty green trees of Caledonia.
And now I belong to the King of Ravens.
He has yet to claim my body since that first time during the Bonding ceremony—a quick joining in the clover to seal the Bond—but he is slowly trying to wear down my soul with each silver glance and attempt at a gift. Since the winter fox, he’s brought me many things: doves for my greenhouse, a black steed he calls Spark, and two nights ago ruby beads for the winter pixies to weave into my hair. His steady energy seems always close, a patient and watchful shadow. And his attentive manners are disarming when they surface.
He still frightens me, with his large form, his firm hands—a warrior’s hands—but he seems more familiar now. I don’t tense as much when he comes close, now that I know he won’t push me.
He says I’ll come to him in the night when I’m ready, that he’ll allow me my stubborn ways and eventually I will succumb. “Only a matter of time,” he says every night when we part outside my bedroom door. His battle-roughened fingers brush the line of my jaw. He kisses my cheek, whispering into my ear, “And we have an eternity.”
Last night, after his gift, I was weakened enough that I nearly gave in. He presented me with a white owl fledgling, and I was overcome by the beauty and innocence of the bird. I took the cage from him and almost turned my head, letting my lips brush his.