Page 30 of Song of the Dark Wood

Both he and Rowan gasped when she wove her hand through his elbow, though he suspected they were breathless for different reasons. She was afraid, but he was fighting for control. He caught her watching him out of the corner of her eye. It was a novelty, since most people feared him too much to even be curious.

They stepped out into the chilly night. Rowan pulled her cloak tighter around her.

“You should wear something more substantial next week,” Conor said.

She laughed. “I don’t think the elders would approve.”

“Doesn’t it only matter what I approve?” Conor asked, even while knowing it didn’t.

The ceremony of it all wasn’t ever for the gods. It was for the people. For their compliance and homage—for their complacency to sacrifice beautiful young women to a monster in the forest.

“All respect, Conor, but they wouldn’t believe me even if I suggested it was your idea. Men assume that their peers all want the same thing,” she said.

“Don’t they?” Conor challenged.

Her face was inscrutable. “I actually don’t think they do.”

Conor went utterly still. She said she was chaste, but that didn’t mean that her heart didn’t belong to someone else. The thought burned through him like a fever. He went momentarily blind with jealousy, but he could say nothing. It didn’t break any rules for her to want someone else, only for her to give in to her desire.

“Be careful of those who would lead you to believe otherwise. It’s a true monster that would lavish you with pretty words so you don’t look at his genuine desire,” Conor said.

Rowan flushed, and her face fell.

It was unnecessarily mean of him to jab at her when she was already scared and overwhelmed, but a primal part of him wanted her entire attention.

Still, she’d been raised to believe she was nothing but a sacrifice, and it was cruel of him to dash whatever small hopes she held onto.

He bent low, breathing in her scent—a delicious blend of lavender, vanilla, and spun sugar. The closer he got to her skin, the stronger it was. He was drawn to her on instinct—a moth to flame.

But Conor knew her for what she was—something dangerously beautiful. It would be foolish of him to get sucked in by her big, innocent green eyes and forget the way he could doom her—the way she could do the same to him.

Her breath went shallow, and she held stock-still as he kissed the inside of her wrist. His lips brushed over her pulse, making it kick into a frenzy.

It was a mistake. Conor knew immediately when he licked his lips because he tasted spun sugar and vanilla. She was temptation itself. The truth was, he’d been fighting the impulse to devour her from the moment he met her. Her essence sang to him—a torturous, intoxicating song. The urge to take had neverbeen so potent with any of the other Red Maidens. He almost groaned. It took all of his self-control to pull back.

Perhaps he’d become accustomed to it, or it would lose its power over time like it had with Orla. After the first year, the moments he even remembered who she was were few. It could happen with Rowan, though that felt unlikely.

“Safe journey, Rowan,” he whispered. “Stay on the main trail. Don’t get lured from it. Nothing can touch you if you stay on the main trail.”

“I know the rules,” she said curtly.

“So did Orla.”

Conor could tell from the suspicion in her eyes that she blamed him for Orla. He blamed himself. It was best for Rowan to maintain a healthy fear of him, for both of their sakes.

“I’ll be happy to answer more of your questions next week,” Conor assured her.

“What about the blight?” Rowan asked.

“I’m working on it,” Conor said. “You can take that back to your elders.”

She eyed him with scrutiny before she turned to walk back down the path. She looked back over her shoulder once before tipping her chin up to the brightening sky. Then she took off down the path. The urge to follow her was almost unbearable.

Conor wished he’d explained to Rowan that he hadn’t hurt a Red Maiden in nearly ten years. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that even though their blood was on his hands, he hadn’t killed Orla or her predecessor, Evelyn. He also didn’t have it in him to admit he was afraid that he was beginning a cycle that would end with Rowan meeting a similar fate.

It was better to keep his distance—to stay the monster. The mystery and fear that surrounded him protected everyone else as much as it did him. It was even more dangerous for him to forget his own viciousness. He might not have been what Rowanthought he was, but he was a beast all the same. He’d done horrible things, and he’d likely have to do more. It was better that he remain monstrous for as long as possible.

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