Page 9 of Wizard of Most Wicked Ways

He folded his arms. “Not always.”

“Yes, always,” she countered, stepping toward him. “I come and go as I please. I fly and go and attend without any tickets or receipts.”

“You hide your face from my family.”

She faltered, but only for a second. “Because Ichooseto.”

“And you can’t harvest almonds in the winter, no matter how much you want to,” Owein countered.

“Rules of nature do not apply.”

“You can’t steal bread in the market.”

“Ican.” She stepped closer. “I justchoose not to.” She looked him over, almost like she was seeing him after a long time away. Softer, she repeated, “I always do what I want. It’s about time I just did what I wanted.”

“Fallon—”

With one hand she grabbed his collar, startling him, and with her lips she silenced whatever he’d been about to say. Owein couldn’t remember the words half-formed on his tongue; the moment her soft, warm lips touched his, thought fled him entirely. His heart thudded against his chest, and his arms lost their strength. The sheaf of papers fell from his hands.

It was a brief kiss; she released him only a moment after seizing him. Owein’s blood whistled through his veins as she gave him a smug look, like she’d just won a game he hadn’t known they were playing. A blush darkened her cheeks, but if she knew it, she acted as though she didn’t. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she said, “See? Always.”

She stepped away from him, toward the heart of the copse, but Owein grasped her wrist. Thought still hadn’t returned to him. Which was probably why he pulled her back and crushed her mouth back to his, kissing her with a primal urgency that shocked him.

If he’d surprised her, she didn’t show it. Her hands swept possessively into his hair, pulling him closer. She smelled like the island, like the ocean and iris andgreen, like the woods at dawn and clouds just after a storm. Gradually, Owein released her wrist and traced the length of her soft cheek, the skin so perfect and unblemished.

He didn’t know who pulled away first. Maybe Fallon—maybe she could read him the way Beth did and knew it was his first, and that he was uneasy, and that he feared this yearning inside him as much as he craved it. They broke apart, but Fallon didn’t move; their bodies were near flush together when she grinned and said, “I’ll make a Druid of you yet, Owein Mansel.”

That broke the spell.

Her voice cut through his delirium, the mention of Druids returning his thoughts to their conversation about rules and England and the aristocracy—

Owein stepped back, knees stiff. “I’m sorry.” The syllables dribbled over his lips. “Fallon, I’m so sorry—”

Dark brows drawing together, Fallon asked, “For what?”

But Owein shook his head. Wiped a hand down his face and took another step back. His heart thudded too hard in his chest, each beat driving him toward Fallon, while in the quiet spaces between, he heard the echo ofCora. Fallon might as well have heard it, too, for the way her countenance fell.

She knew, but he said it anyway, erecting it like a wardship wall between them. “I’m betrothed, Fallon.”

Fallon shook her head. “That doesn’t matter.”

He put another step between them. “But she does, Fallon. I’m so sorry. I—” He didn’t know what else to say. He was so seldom caught off guard like this. He didn’t know how to handle it.

So with another muttered apology, he turned away and left the copse.

Fallon didn’t follow him. For better or for worse, she didn’t follow. But when Owein took refuge in Beth’s home, heart still thumping, he saw her across the green, bounding away in her dog’s body.

Sometimes Owein wondered if Beth knew Fallon was different, if she could sense her in a way she couldn’t with Aster and Ash. Beth’s clairvoyancy worked on people, not on animals, so by all means, she would be able to read things about Fallon. But if she knew Fallon was more than just another, less-constant, pet, she never said anything about it, and Owein didn’t bring it up. Fallon’s secrets were Fallon’s. And his secrets were his. And now he had an entirely new one weighing on his chest.

He let out a long breath at the thought as he slumped down into a plush chair near the front window, glancing out at the fat clouds rolling over the bay, brimming with shadows—another storm on its way. He could hear the deep timbre of Baptiste’s voice upstairs; he’d probably head back to Whimbrel House within the hour to start dinner. Owein focused on taking deep breaths to bring his heart rate down, as though doing so would mask him from the clairvoyant one room over.

He shouldn’t have done it. Kissed Fallon. She shouldn’t have kissed him. He’d been drawn to her since before he’d turned human again, but he’d never explored anything with her for the very reason he’d given: Cora. He’d signed his name to a contract. But it’d been four years ago, and Cora and England and that contract seemed so very far away, like a vivid dream he’d once had, and every passing day, he forgot another detail of it. He had her in letters, and he cherished those letters, but Fallon ...

Knees on his elbows, Owein dropped his head into his hands, shutting his eyes and closing himself off from the world. Unfortunately, when he did this, his mind painted the hurt expression on Fallon’s face on the back of his eyelids.

He’d always felt a kinship with her, from the very moment he met her in the woods outside Cyprus Hall. Therewassomething refreshing about her disregarding the rules of society, however much Owein argued otherwise. Her nonchalance was contagious. No drama, no politics, noetiquette. Simply Fallon. She was a bird—literally—without a cage.

Cora ... she was very much caged.

---