Page 32 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“You could come with me, then,” she said, knowing the words were hollow. “We are Vanir. We aren’t meant to stay in one place forever.”

“I . . .” His mouth fell open. He made a sound that nearly resembled words, then he closed it again. “This is my father’s estate. My father’s people. My duty is to them now.”

“I know,” she whispered. “It’s impossible.”

“Don’t say that—just stop saying words. Stop thinking. Just be with me. Feel with me—”

“When the monster is gone, I have to leave.” Her voice firmed. “I need you to understand that. I need you not to get in the way.”

“I said stop,” he grumbled. “Gods.” He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the strands along the base of his antlers. His eyes went red-rimmed. “You’re not even willing to try. You might be happy with me here. I’m your mate. We could complete the bond and find our peace together.”

Hrafn rolled away from him, staring at the ceiling. The room seemed colder now, the growing dark outside the window oppressive because it was a thief, stealing their time away. As the sun dipped lower, that dreaded last goodbye inched closer.

“I know exactly how it would be,” she said. “I’ve experienced it before with my clan. We watched the cage together that first century. But as the second neared, one by one my kin left to see the world. To explore. To adventure. To feed the need in their god-blood.”

“They abandoned you here. I never would—”

“Shh. They all left until only myself and my father remained.”

“Your father,” he groaned like he’d already lost.

“My dearest friend. My beloved father and commander. We fought in wars together. Two and a half centuries we guarded that damn cage, protecting it from curious animals and wandering mortals, watching the world change around us. And then the bickering started.”

Malcolm rolled onto his back. His silence as he stared broodily up at the ceiling was loud, but he didn’t interrupt her. He honored her by listening.

“There were times when I thought there was no one in the world I could ever love so much while also hating themso much.” Her laugh was breathy and bitter. “There were moments I wanted to stab him, I was so tired of him, and we’d never had reason to be at odds before then. We’d never been so cramped, so unhappy.”

“You’ll need to travel sometimes to keep from feeling caged in,” Malcolm said. “I would understand—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “We thought of that too. We needed space. Needed a chance to explore, so we’d take turns, we said. But that was the beginning of the end.” She let her hand drop from his lips to glide down his body, stopping at the place above his heart. The thrum of the bond beat in sync with that strong, steady organ. “We took turns, and each time it got harder and harder to come back. Each time we were a little later, then even later the next . . . Then there was a moment when I thought my father might never return.”

Malcolm made an aggressive sound low in his throat. “Please tell me he came back.”

“He did.” A tear broke from the corner of her eye and slid down toward her ear, soaking in her hair. She brushed her cheek clean hastily. “He looked better. Happier. Stronger. He wanted me to come with him. Begged me to. He told me that our time here was over, but . . .”

“Honor,” Malcolm finished for her.

“Honor,” she agreed. “I sent him off with my blessing. As long as one of the Vanir remained, our honor would be intact, I thought.”

“Your honor certainly is,” Malcolm said.

She turned her head to peer at him in the growing night. Shadows fell over his face, darkening one of his eyes, and hollowing his cheek. It gave him a haunted expression that she was certain would cling to her memory for ages to come. Hrafn curled her body back in toward his heat, twisting in the sheets. “I was angry with him at first, but I’m not anymore. He deserved to be happy. And now so do I.”

Malcolm reached for her. Finding her cheek in the dark, he cupped it. “You deserve that,” he said, and his voice was gravel. “I just wish that thing that brought you such happiness wasme.”

“I’m glad my father left for himself. I hope he’s out there now traveling and seeing the world. Or he’s died honorably with a sword in his hand. That would be wonderful too. And I’m glad I stayed.” Hrafn lowered her brow to Malcolm’s in that ancient gesture of fae intimacy. “Because it brought me to you. I will cherish this time with you always.”

That was apparently more than Malcolm could take. He pulled away from her. Sitting up, his feet hit the rug with an echoing thud. He sat there for a moment, head bowed, white hair hiding his face.

He stood, not looking at her, and paced to the door.

“Malcolm,” she said cautiously, “I do hope you’re not going to bother with locks tonight.”

“No locks,” he said gruffly. All the warmth that had been in his voice, his touch, his gaze, it was gone now. A new darkness entered the room. It gathered from under the door, growing into the shadow she recognized. “For now, you’re still a prisoner here, Hrafn of the Vanir. Locks can’t keep you, but my soul can.”

* * *

Hrafn tried to sleep that night, alone in a lord’s bed with no company. She’d made a shift of sorts for herself out of one of Malcolm’s shirts, tearing it in places without remorse.

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