Page 2 of Bound By Dance and Desire

I followed his gaze. “Please,” I began, then stopped, words dissipating.

As I stared, my gaze locked and my heartbeat sped as if in preparation for attack. My glamour flickered, dissipated. Dimly aware of Constin tensing at my side and shifting closer, I honed in on her.

Human. Female.

Delectable.

Mesmerizing, dancing on a busy street corner with the grace of a Fae, oblivious of the traffic around her—though that must be a crafted facade, for there was an open duffel bag at her feet.

I grit my teeth against the desire to snatch her up, protect and punish her for putting herself at risk, and focused.

Toned limbs, strength evident in the perceived effortlessness of her movements. She'd confined long black hair in a simple tail at her nape, smooth bistre skin bared by a neutral camisole and shorts.

A dancer’s uniform that did nothing to hide the lush roundness of her breasts, or the curve of hips. My fingers flexed involuntarily, aching to clench around that flesh.

Her dancing should have been provocative. There was innocence in her movements, as if she wasn't yet awake to the true potential of her body. The potential for pleasure, for joy. Though that could also be a crafted façade.

It was. When she glanced at me, her gaze contained familiar, long-enduring pain—and no innocence. The need to destroy whatever had caused those shadows to lurk behind her eyes stirred my inner beast, the dark part of my core all Fae males courted, and skirted, carefully. None of us liked to be at the mercy of our own natures.

She glanced at me again, a hesitant, lingering look. I hadn’t willed her to do so, had not extended even a tendril of persuasion in her direction. . .but a flash of light in her eyes, and with that flash. . .

. . . staring at me. A House warrior? Green is House Casakraine. . .just stay on your side of the street, pretty boy. You look like the kind of trouble I promised myself I'd avoid.

I shuddered, my blood on fire, my entire body straining against an onslaught of vicious hunger multiplying by the second.

By the Dark, I recognized this; viscerally, instinctively.

Fate hovered like phantom wings on my shoulders, offering me a choice in an eternity that was a mere three seconds.

Move forward, or turn back.

But her pain, wed to her grace, and the still gentle curve of her mouth as she smiled at a passerby then lost herself in the dance. . .I would never forgive myself if I walked away. Would always wonder what I had given up.

No. She was mine.

A lock clicked into place. . .I could have fought. I did not. Attempting to fight would leave me broken.

My mind reached for her again, intent on yanking her to me, clamping mental jaws around the dainty morsel of that mortal consciousness. I felt complete.

Known.

Centered.

The feeling evaporated. I wanted it again, would give anything to have it. If it meant keeping the mortal, so be it. She wouldn’t be difficult to claim and contain.

I stepped forward, every instinct priming for a hunt.

“Lord?” Con’s sharp inquiry.

For the first time in my life, I offered my throat. Silently, willing the girl to take it because there was no path forward in which I did not take her in return. Though no stranger to lust, physical or emotional, it had never gripped me so completely.

The moment I accepted the first mental lock, it had been irrevocable.

I began to chuckle. “Perfect. The most perfect irony. Amortal.”

“Andreien.” Constin hissed my name.

I struggled for sanity from new instincts, beads of sweat at my temples, and took a moment to modulate my voice. Any loss of control now would only put us both at risk—and my guard, who would die to defend me. . .and her, once they understood. I hoped she was worthy of them.

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