Page 12 of To Run with the Wild Hunt

She knew my soul, down to its darkest depths.

I opened my eyes, turning my face towards her. "Alexis Sharpe," I said, tasting the words for the first time. "Welcome to the Ruined Palace."

She regarded me with a level gaze that gave nothing away, though I could scent the brightness of adrenaline on the air. Her hand was on Keilain's shoulder, the black hound watching me with the casual focus of a guardian. I watched her fingers tighten on his wiry fur, my chest hurting from the force of my heartbeat. Would she hate me for what I was? What I couldn't help being?

"You're less frightening when you're not wearing a skull," she said, lifting her chin and looking at me through her lowered lashes. A small smile twitched at the corner of her full mouth. "And when you're sitting down."

"I was sitting when you first met me," I replied, smirking as the hackles on Keilain's back lifted. I wasn't the only one who was jealous of Lexi.

"You were mounted." Lexi started walking again, strolling towards my throne with a casual saunter, her hips swinging. "That's different."

I had to drag my attention away from her body, not wanting to frighten her with my physical desire. She was mortal, and mortals inflicted sexual cruelties on each other with vicious frequency. The mare may always refuse the stallion if she so chooses – will crack his skull open with her hooves if he insists – but humans didn't have the same defenses. I didn't want her to fear what my desire meant, not comprehending that she merely needed to withhold her invitation if she had no interest in mating me.

What if Sarcaryn intended that she never—

No. He's not more powerful than Faery itself. He can only influence. If I feel this way, even if it was his doing… Faery brought us together. Surely there's a chance.

Don't ruin this, Nuada. Control yourself.

"If you prefer me seated in my throne instead of mounted on a horse, I suppose I can remain in such an attitude for the moment," I said, slouching lower in the throne, my legs splayed and my arms resting on the stone of the throne. I rested my head on the knuckles of my silver hand, watching her approach. "Is there aught else you desire from me?"

Such as my cock—

—Stop. Don't even think it. Don't frighten her.

Surely an impossible task for one such as I, but I could at least make an attempt to be non-threatening. Perhaps I would appear as a contented hound lying in the sun instead of a hungry wolf licking his chops.

"Answers, if you're willing to give them." Lexi hopped up onto a chunk of stone that had fallen from the ceiling, the ancient painting of warring monsters still visible in places.

Keilain took a seat at her feet, placing himself between me and her. I'd asked him to do it, and believed his protection and her sense of safety important, but I still disliked having the hound between us. If anything, Lexi belonged between the two of us, a god at her right hand and a hound at her left. I only hoped it could end that way.

"I suppose it depends on the questions," I replied, trying to keep my eyes on her face instead of caressing her curves.

"How long have I been here?" she asked, without further preamble.

"Less than a day."

"Why's my hair blonde, then?"

I breathed a laugh. "My power healed you, including your hair. It's a wild power, and answers to my soul, and thus to yours. You are as you believe yourself to be."

"Oh." A soft sound. She touched her hair, then bared her shoulder, revealing one of the bite-mark woad tattoos. "And this?"

It was difficult not to pay attention to the fact that she was dressed in my clothing. I made an effort, nonetheless.

"A natural effect of my healing. It will fade over the years, just as if they were natural scars." My lips curled up into a smirk. "Else I suspect I would be blue from head to toe."

She laughed, a sharp bright sound that made my breath catch in my throat. How long had it been since I had been the source of any laughter? Of happiness of any kind, aside from the fierce joy of blooding the kill?

"Is this one an actual tattoo, then?" she asked, tapping her throat.

My enjoyment of the moment died, my skin going cold. Of all the names I bore, none were so cruel or full of horror as the Dullahan. Yet I couldn't hide who I was from her forever. If we were ever to find balance, it would need to be with our eyes open to the truth of the other. There can be no eternal balance built on lies.

"I am more than merely immortal, unlike the hound at your feet," I said with care, tension making my thighs bunch and shoulders tighten. "I am one of the Deathless. Even beheading cannot kill one such as I." I drew in a breath when she didn't blanch, trying not to dig my claws against the stone. "For a god to die, he must be first slain, and then forgotten utterly. As long as even one person remembers me, I will go on. I suspect that even if one scrap of paper were to survive bearing my name, I would endure."

"That mark hasn't faded," she said, her voice soft.

"I doubt it ever will," I replied, watching her.

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