Page 27 of How To Please A Princely Fae

This smile is much preferable to the annoyance and sadness that’s hung heavy over her since waking.

Before I can stop myself, I reach out and touch the corner of her mouth, wanting to memorize the lines of it. I may not have old memories, but this? Willow grinning up at me, happiness shining through her skin? This is something I do not want to forget.

Willow steps back, away from my touch, her smile faltering before melting off her face completely.

Dismay rocks me, and my hand hangs between us before I manage to retract it.

It's the furthest she's been from me since we first arrived in the tent, and I find myself missing the warmth of her body immediately. Immeasurably.

Still, I resist the urge to pull her against me. She doesn’t want to be close to me, or she would be. I told her she was mine, I tried to show her how much she should want to be with me, and still, she’s afraid… as if she’s been ill-treated in the past.

I’ll kill whoever dared put that fear in her heart.

Her gaze turns cautious, her pretty green eyes narrowed. Bright red cheeks under her eyes, a token of the cold air whipping around us.

Her glorious fire-red hair is wild, curls unruly and spirited, much the same as Willow the witch herself.

"What's wrong?” The question lingers between us, a sign of how unable I am to help myself when it comes to her.

I know I shouldn’t push, so when she takes a moment to consider her answer, I stay silent.

"What was that all about?" she asks. Her hands fly to her hips as though the sharp crack of her elbow will stave me off, as if anything could. I take a step closer, trying her— and she doesn't move away.

Victory emboldens me, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

And only succeeding in inhaling her intoxicating scent.

"They said we need to keep you safe. I decided that your town square was no longer safe," I say slowly, because isn't it obvious?

Can’t she see how real the danger is for her? How close she could come to being ripped from her home and my arms, where she belongs?

Mine.

She stamps her foot, another curl escaping the crown of braids on her head. My wings snap shut behind me, my instinct crying out to conserve energy in case I must pursue this female. In case she runs.

Heat rolls through me at the idea, appealing to me more than it would be honorable to admit.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She shifts her weight from foot to foot and my instinct insists she contemplates running; a doe chased by a monster.

"I wouldn't go any further," I rasp out.

She freezes, her eyes wide. I lunge towards her before I have time to think it through, only knowing that all my senses are saying I need to grab her before she decides to run.

“I told you not to do that.” It comes out a violent snarl and she goes stiff in my grip. My fingers find her chin and I tilt her face up so that I can look into her eyes.

“Why?" she squeaks out.

"Because if you run,” I tell her, keeping my voice as easy as possible, "I will have to chase you."

I watch the pale column of her throat as she swallows.

"All right," she says breathlessly.

When her eyes flash, though, belying her words, I can't help the guttural growl that instinctively comes out of me in response. The scent of her fear shifts and my growl turns to a groan as it melts into something closer to the spicy scent of desire, overwhelming.

My fingers tighten on the soft curve of her hips and I want nothing more than to feel her tightness around me as I enter her.

"And," she draws the word out, her voice gone husky with desire. "What happens when you catch me?"

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