Page 22 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

“If you’re thinking of staying,” Hrafn said, “be warned, I’m told I’m violent in my sleep. Not even my familiar would dare share a bed with me.”

“You’re violent when you’re awake.” Malcolm chuckled, then he studied her, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I’m having trouble reading you.”

“I’m not full of secrets. Ask what you want to know.”

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” he said, and the question sent Hrafn reeling for a moment. Were the symptoms of her loneliness so blatant, or had the bond given her away? “I won’t be much company. I’m dead on my feet. I’ll be out like a light the second my head hits a pillow. You could beat me all you like while you dream, and I don’t think I’d notice till morning.”

Hrafn chewed at her cheek, uncertain. She loved exploring new places while she was awake, but when night fell, she preferred a bed she knew. Everything about this place was strange to her except for him.

Her body called to his. It knew him, knew there would be comfort just in his nearness.

She was hungry for the acceptance and kindness that had been denied her since her clan dissolved and the world changed, both things Malcolm’s gentle touches promised to be a balm for. For too long she’d been stuck standing vigil over that damned cage. The attack of birds and the cruel guards had exacerbated her baser needs.

It would be so nice to be taken care of by him, a balm for her loneliness.

As though he understood her thoughts, Malcolm crossed to the bed and reached for her, catching one of her loose braids and running it through his fingers, promising more tenderness. That careful touch was more effective than any soothing words he could have said. Yesterday, he’d been unflinching in the face of hurled spears and knives at his throat. Today he’d stood beside her when she needed him most.

That morning at Reedlet, the moment she’d realized the cage had failed and the monster was free, she’d been almost as relieved as she was mortified. She could move on now. There was no prison left to watch over. She’d failed the task set before her, but it was finally over. The world was open to her once more. Malcolm was a complication as much as he was a balm, an obstacle that could keep her in place, but she was done being held still.

He made her curious. He made herwant. But her mate belonged here in this world, and she didn’t. He was the jailer to her new prison in more ways than one.

“It’s best if you don’t stay,” she whispered.

He made no attempts to change her mind, but frown lines edged his mouth. In farewell, he brushed a hand one last time through her hair before he pulled away.

The moment the door closed behind him, and the lock slid home—and then another lock and another lock and another lock—the loneliness ate at her. In his absence, the room grew larger and hollower. Just listening to his heavy breathing would have been better than the sound of embers crackling and the nothingness behind it. Hrafn regretted letting him go.

Chapter 7

Malcolm

The following morning, Malcolm left his room, curious why Cook hadn’t had anything brought up for him yet after he rang for breakfast. He knocked at Hrafn’s door shortly after. She didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t a surprise that she was still asleep considering the evening they’d had.

Solis wanted to slip under the crack in the door and check on her.

“Let her have her peace,” Malcolm said. “You can wake her when we have something to offer her.”

The blooming bond encouraged gift-giving. Solis thrilled at the idea of nourishing their mate, elongating his shadow so that it shot down the stairs ahead of him.

When he entered the great hall, his senses put him on alert. None of the tables were set. The sound of servants scuttling about was absent. He didn’t employ idling lay-abouts. The staff should have risen hours ago to prepare for him and his—well, he couldn’t call Hrafn a guest.

A crash brought him running out into the adjacent corridor. His gaze snapped side to side, in search of the source.

Someone or something had knocked over an altar made to honor the Divine Night with a symbol of a moon at its face and a bowl for incense at the base.

But no one was there.

Fairy mischief?Solis wondered.

Instincts at full alert, Malcolm lowered into a fighting crouch. Solis rose off the wall next to him, floating ghost-like at his side. He felt naked without his sword.

“Go and have a look,” he whispered.

Solis glided ahead of him.

When his soul didn’t sound the alarm, he peeked around the corner.

Hands grasped him from behind, their touch blisteringly hot. A murderous shout rent the air. The grip that held him was strong. They pulled him down off his feet. He landed on his knees before his attacker.

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