Page 54 of Song of the Dark Wood

“Who the fuck is Cade?” Conor asked. He licked his lips, and she knew he was tasting the lie.

“My best friend. He’s—he’s a demon,” she mumbled.

Conor froze. His silence made her more nervous, and everything spilled out of her mouth at once.

“I wasn’t trying to hide him. I met Cade when I was young. He’s how I was found out as a spirit singer, and he’s just always been around. I know he’s evil. I get it, but he’s different. You would have met him already, except he couldn’t cross into the keep?—”

“Of course he couldn’t,” Conor said. “The boundary magic is meant to keep evil things out. Which is what he is, Rowan. You’ll stop talking to him immediately.”

An indignant laugh bubbled out of her. “You may have dominion over my death, but you certainly don’t hold any over my life.”

“Don’t I?”

Conor’s eyes blazed, and the way he looked at her sent a warmth pooling low in her belly. His hand cupped her cheek, and he forced her to hold his gaze. He paused, as if waiting for her to pull back or to knock his hand away. It was a game of chicken she had no intention of losing.

“I bet I could get you to do anything I wanted right now, and I wouldn’t need to use compulsion like that vile beast in the Dark Wood,” Conor murmured.

He tipped her head back, and his lips drew over the curve of her jaw, sending a wave of shivers through her body. She should have pulled away, but instead, she tilted her chin up to give him better access.

“Mm, yes, I bet you’d be such a good lass for me, wouldn’t you?” he murmured against her skin.

She swallowed hard. Conor drew back suddenly and lifted her so she straddled his lap.

She stared at him, stunned. “What are you?—”

His fingers tangled in her hair, drawing her head back, and he brushed a line of kisses up the column of her neck. She gasped. The contrast between the pleasure that spun through her and the pain she’d felt earlier was staggering. Her heart beat wildly, trying to escape the cage of her ribs.

“Say it. Say you want it,” Conor whispered. His breath danced over her lips, his words containing a desperation she couldn’t fully grasp.

She was confused by his request for permission. Her whole life, she’d been taught that Conor had a right to her. She was his. But still, he wanted her consent. Control was a heady rush, but with it came responsibility for her actions.

Rowan knew what awaited her in Ballybrine if she didn’t succeed in seducing Conor. Even more compelling was the relentless tug of attraction she felt whenever he was close. She wanted him to kiss her. Once again, she felt as though she’d lost her mind, perhaps for good this time.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Conor cupped her face and roughly brought her lips to his. There was nothing tentative or gentle about it. He showed Rowan exactly what it was to be devoured, and she was surprised to find that she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted him to raze her completely—burn through her like wildfire until nothing of what she was before existed. She was done being meek and obedient. She wanted to be something else entirely.

A growl rumbled up from his chest. He tugged on her hair—the bite of the pain perfectly complimenting the wild pleasure of kissing him.

His kiss was greedy and ravenous. His hands shook as he pressed Rowan’s body against his, and she didn’t know if it was nerves or restraint that he struggled with.

It was so very different from how Finn kissed her. Finn was soft and gentle, but Conor kissed her like he wanted to take everything from her and replace it with something new and better.

She slid her hands up his chest, enjoying the soft velvet of his tunic and the ridges of the firm muscle beneath. He went stiff at the touch before yanking her closer. One of his hands came to her lower back, and he pushed her hips down, giving her friction that sent chills through her body. She bit down on his lip, and he growled again, forcing her to roll her hips against him. His other hand went to the back of her head. She parted her lips, and he welcomed the invitation to take more from her.

He tasted like whiskey and cider, and she savored the bittersweetness. She let him open her up. After years of being bound, closed, starved for touch, she felt so completely overwhelmed by him. The momentum of what they’d started felt right. It felt unstoppable, inevitable, glorious. She wanted to drown in it.

Her hands threaded through his hair, and she tugged him closer. He groaned into her mouth, and it occurred to her that he felt the same way. He was devouring her, yes, but she was also devouring him. They exchanged the role of predator and prey in a precarious dance.

Conor pulled away suddenly, practically tossing her back on the bed. He crossed the room in great strides to put space between them.

She blinked at him, her mind too foggy with lust and fatigue to comprehend the sudden shift in his demeanor. He stared at her for a long moment before tearing out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind him.

Rowan giggled, her hand flying to her lips to stifle the sound. Her whole body still tingled with the pleasure of the kiss. Herlaugh turned into something high-pitched and hysterical in her throat.

She knew the look on Conor’s face before he stormed out of the room. The Wolf of the Dark Wood—the god of death—was afraid ofher.

The Mother’s words came back to her. “You’re a weapon, Rowan. The moment that he’s taking from you, he’s vulnerable. That is when you strike. That is when a victim becomes a warrior.”

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