Page 48 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

The concern in his voice had her raising her head, her cheek rubbing against the wool of his trousers.

He exhaled soft and slow. “You seemed overwhelmed. I was worried you might—”

“I wasn’t going to swoon,” she huffed, her brows pinching together. “That piece of my soul I gave to Ezra—the bond tugged on that old wound when I met you. It was too much for me then, but it hasn’t been an issue since.”

He skated his knuckles along the top of her cheek. “Why is that, I wonder?”

She knew why, but she shouldn’t answer such a dangerous question. The words were there, hanging on her tongue, wanting to be spilled.

“Why?” he asked again, his voice low and coaxing.

“I threw a spear at you that day, and you didn’t move. Weren’t frightened at all.” She licked her lips and worked her throat. “I felt the pull of the bond stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before. Then I put a knife to your throat, and you didn’t flinch. I cut you and you didn’t even put me down, like . . . like you’d rather bleed out then let me go.”

He hummed fondly in his throat. “I remember.”

“That was it for me. That was all I needed to know about my mate. I won’t be overwhelmed again,” she confessed, sitting back on her heels. Her knees grew tired pressed to the floor. When she met his eyes, she could see the gears turning in his mind.

I won’t be overwhelmed because I love you.She wanted to tell him that, but such words were not only dangerous, they were unfair. Those were the words of a woman who was staying. Not the words of a mate who was leaving. She hadn’t earned the right to speak them.

“I don’t entirely understand. When you bloodied my nose,” he said, voice husky, “was it because I’d stolen you, or—”

“I invited you to play. I spread my wings for you . . . but then you put me back.”

At her words, Solis thickened and darkened into his wraith-like form that matched Malcolm’s completely. Malcolm glared at his soul.

“What’s he saying?” she asked and her mouth quirked. Seeing her mate argue with himself was a common occurrence and always amusing.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “He’s saying ‘I told you so,’ loudly and repeatedly.”

Words ceased between them, but the quiet was comfortable.

Hrafn spotted a wrinkle in the crease of his pants. She busied herself with rubbing it out. He straightened under her touch. “I take it he didn’t want to put me back even though I’d fainted like a green fledgling?”

“No onewanted to put you back,” Malcolm said. His hands went to the arms of his chair, and his fingers dug into the fabric.

Flattening her hand over his thigh, she blinked at him. His heat warmed her palm and Solis shifted his weight. Tail flicking side to side, he paced like an agitated lion.

“Then why did you put me back?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer her immediately. His head was tipped toward his soul like he was listening.

“You wouldn’t know,” he explained, “you’d been guarding that cage all that time, but the mating game you started, it was outlawed just over a century ago.”

Hrafn’s shoulders slumped. “Outlawed?” The reminder that the world had changed and left her behind made her feel hollow inside. She truly didn’t belong in such a place. Not anymore. Perhaps she didn’t belong anywhere at all, but she wanted a chance to try and find somewhere. Some sliver of space that she could call home for just a while. Some place that didn’t feel like such a prison.

Malcolm’s hand went to her neck. Gripping it lightly with his fingers, he pulled her back to him until her chest pressed to his knees and his eyes captured hers. “That wasn’t an admonishment. I wanted to play too,” he stressed. “But I want to be chosen first, and I missed your signal.”

How had he missed it? She’d spread her wings so wide for him.

The pad of his thumb trailed down the column of her throat, and his gaze followed the path. “The subtleties, the gestures, the hints the Vanir would use to invite their mate to play,” he said, “they were lost to time like they were lost on me. Fae lords abused the tradition as an excuse to take whomever they pleased.”

She squinted at him. “Even if they didn’t want to mate?”

“Even if they were human,” Malcolm said.

“Groselings?” She shook her head, disgusted. “That’s not the game. A groseling couldn’t fight a fae or even break free of one. Where’s the fun in that?”

“I don’t understand the appeal in taking someone so young or so helpless.” Malcolm seemed genuinely baffled. “I’d much rather steal a woman capable of breaking my nose.” His gaze flickered over to Solis again.

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