Page 63 of Song of the Dark Wood

On cue, the Dark Wood rustled, branches groaning as a gust of wind kicked up dried leaves from the forest floor and ruffled her hair.

Conor was spared from having to ask her to stay, but he couldn’t seem too eager. She was growing more confident around him, and he wasn’t sure it was a good thing.

“Well, lass, I’m not sure that’s the best idea, but I wouldn’t want you to get caught in a storm and ruin what I’m sure is a very lovely—though seasonally inappropriate—dress.”

She grinned as she took his arm and walked into the keep.

Charlie brought her cider, and Conor gave her his robe. It was as if they’d done it hundreds of times before. Somehowthey’d fallen into a pattern that was far too comfortable for Conor’s liking.

“I’m afraid I’m very busy tonight, so you’ll be on your own, but help yourself to the library or whatever else you need,” Conor said.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Just plenty to do.”

“Grand. I’ll take care of myself,” Rowan said. She snuggled into the chair with her cider.

Conor left the room and waited. A while later, Rowan wandered from the sitting room to the library. Instead of tending to the many problems he should have been managing, like hunting down the monsters in his forest, he spied on her in the library until she meandered off to bed.

As she slept, he sat in his study, sipping whiskey and cursing himself for letting her stay. Her scent hung everywhere in the keep, and it enticed him to go find her in her bed. He could practically feel the softness of her skin under his hands, the way she’d gasp when he nuzzled her neck. He imagined the surprise on her face when he kissed her awake.

He forced himself to think of anything else, but it was too late. All the blood in his body was already heading south.

“Mother slay me,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face as he settled in for another long night.

Conor feltthe same thrill he did when hunting in the Dark Wood as he stalked Rowan around the mansion. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. She bounced between the Dark Garden with Charlie and the library, where she spent hours lying in front of the fire reading books. She favored the romances. Occasionallyher cheeks pinked and her eyes darted around the room as if she’d been caught doing something terribly naughty before she settled back in, riveted to what must have been the most scandalous part.

Conor had never read a romance, but he made note of each one she read so he could go back and read them later. The romance books in the library were the product of past Maidens’ requests to Charlie, who could track down just about anything. Conor wanted to ask Rowan why she liked them, in part so he could watch her blush, but also because he hated to know how someone who’d been raised as she had held onto the hope of romance.

She flitted about the keep as if she owned the place, her tinkling laughter bouncing off the walls, her sweet scent haunting every room she visited like a magical memory.

After a full day of thinking about it, he decided to confront her.

Conor found her in the library. She stood on the first rung of the rolling ladder, reaching for a book on the shelf just out of reach. She looked more herself than she ever had in a simple green dress. Her hair hung loose in curls down her back, and all he could think about was wrapping them around his fist and tugging her head back and?—

He shut down the train of thought before that side of him could take over.

“Good evening, Rowan,” he said.

She jumped at his voice. Her hand flew to her heart. Suddenly all his good intentions of asking her about her literature preferences disappeared.

“Goddess above, you scared me,” she huffed, stepping down from the ladder. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to startle someone while they’re on a ladder?” she scolded. “I could have—” She stopped speaking when she saw his face.

He said nothing as he crossed the room. Rowan retreated until she bumped against the bookshelves behind her.

So she had some sense after all—though not enough to run.

Conor bent down and claimed her lips. He had no idea how she’d react. He hadn’t so much as gone near her since their first kiss. He hadn’t even seen her in days, actively avoiding everywhere she went in the mansion as if she was the thing to be feared and not the other way around.

But now he claimed her once again, and she did nothing to stop him. Instead, she drew him in like a siren luring a sailor into the depths. He would gladly drown in the feeling of her. She let out a soft whimper, and he drew away.

He stepped back, burned by her intensity, by the surprise and desire in her eyes. She reached for him, and he knew it was a challenge. She wanted to see that he couldn’t resist, and he hated himself for having centuries more experience and still being unable to control himself.

Conor scrubbed a hand down his face. “I hate kissing you.”

Rowan cringed and blushed. “Am I that bad?”

“Oh no, lass,” he chuckled. “Quite the opposite, actually. Your passion is terribly compelling. You kiss with your whole self.”

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