Page 8 of Mated to the Mad Marquess

Ezra took flight and came to perch on her shoulder, the left one where her jerkin was extra padded to protect against his talons. The village was busy. Seeing the humans meandering about, she was once again reminded of how different she was. The women here wore long layered skirts over short boots. They kept their hair pinned up and covered by a bonnet. The men dressed in stiff collared shirts and buckskin breeches. Humans didn’t have horns or tails or wings to help differentiate them.

There’s just one thing I don’t understand,Ezra said, failing to let the earlier matter drop.If the fae lord wanted you enough to steal you away, why’d he put you back?

“I don’t know,” Hrafn groused, but she had a few guesses. She’d fainted like a soft little fledgling instead of a fae nearly nine hundred years old. Clearly her mate hadn’t wanted someone sodelicate. She frowned, her short, choppy strides turning into a trudge.

She couldn’t help fainting. The moment her mate had touched her she’d felt the pull between them strengthen into something so consuming she could hardly breathe.

“It’s your fault,” she grunted at her familiar.

Mine?He snapped back.

“Yours. I put a crack in my soul when I bargained away a piece of it to you. I felt the pain of that crack when he touched me yesterday.” But it didn’t matter, she reminded herself. She didn’t want to be taken by some spoiled lord’s son anyway. The man who didn’t even have the decency to let her attempt an escape on her own for honor’s sake. And he botched her first language—a point she could partially forgive since most of the population had forgotten Olden in place of Common.

Clearly, he either didn’t understand Vanir mating habits, or he intentionally ignored the rules. That was unforgivable. How rude of him to arouse her and then insult her so.

“Sidhek,” she cursed again under her breath, her chest swelling on a beleaguered breath at the embarrassment of it all. No matter how accustomed she was to Common, curses and prayers always sounded best to her ears in Olden.

Stars above, but it had been too long since she’d had a lover, and it had felt good to play games like the old fae used to, even if those games had ended disastrously and with his blood on her blade . . .

You’re fixating again, Ezra droned.

“I cut his throat, and he didn’t even flinch,” Hrafn admitted admiringly. “Didn’t even look away from me like . . . like . . .” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

As they moved farther into the village, rows of makeshift vendor stalls lined either side of the main road.

Ezra flapped his wings in warning.They look dangerous. All of them.

Hrafn’s hackles rose, but she calmed herself with a slow, deep inhale.You think everyone looks dangerous.

And I’m always right.

During the war you were always right, but there isn’t a war anymore. Hasn’t been for centuries.

Ezra’s feathers bristled.Look over there. I don’t like the way that human stares at me.

Hrafn hefted the top of her pack higher up her back, checked her satchel was secure at her hip, then moved toward the woman at the nearest stall who’d drawn her eye. There weren’t many humans gathered yet to form an intimidating crowd, and Hrafn found something soothing in the mortal’s clothing choices. Her ebony hair was pulled back with a brightly colored scarf, her skin sable. The pattern of the scarf was intricate and familiar, a pattern she hadn’t seen since she’d visited the Manna people outside of the Faelands during her travels before the war—before duty held her here.

I think she likes you,Hrafn soothed.

What’s that human doing with her teeth?Ezra gave an agitated flap of his wings.

She’s smiling at you.

Nefarious,Ezra said.

Humans aren’t like animals. It isn’t a threat. You’ve seen me smile before, haven’t you? Perhaps she just likes birds.Hrafn hefted him closer to the human’s stall, struggling to remember the last time she’d had a cause to smile . . .

But birds are idiots,Ezra droned.

“What a beautiful hawk,” the woman cooed, and Ezra’s chest noticeably puffed with pride. “Is he friendly?”

“He’s not,” Hrafn warned, and the woman lowered the hand she’d been about to extend.

I’m a friendly demon, Ezra insisted, shuffling along her shoulder eagerly, talons pricking at the leather there.

Only to me,Hrafn said.

Was I supposed to be friendly to anyone else?

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