Page 102 of Bride of the Fae Prince

My body goes taut. That is . . . not what I was expecting. “Ash?”

“Stella,” he growls in response, tightening his grip on me. Edvear is gone, but I’m acutely aware of the fact that he can return at any moment.

I close my eyes, an ache building in my chest. Slowly, I let myself soften against him, and reach up one tentative hand to brush the long strands of dark hair out of his face. “What happened?”

“I’m a fool,” he groans into my neck.

“What happened?” I ask again.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

My brow furrows. I stroke his hair behind his ear. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to worry you.”

I give a dry little chuckle. “Too late.”

“And maybe if I don’t tell you, it won’t be real.”

My hand slows, my heart hammering.

“And because I’m just so glad that you’re still alive. I’m so glad, but I amso angry, and I’m afraid of what I’ll do—how I’ll retaliate. I’m a fool, Stella. A fool for bringing you into this. A fool for thinking I can outmaneuver that snake. Everywhere I go, death follows me.” His fingernails dig into my side, though not enough to be painful, and he pulls me closer, his breath hot against my skin as he groans again. “Everything I love dies. AndStella, I love—” He cuts himself off abruptly, then finishes. “I love more than I should. IknowI shouldn’t care about anyone—anything! So why can’t I help it? Why can’t I just be heartless?Why can’t I just be more like my wretched father? He wants a monster. And I want tobea monster. But I just . . .can’t.”

Alarm builds inside me until I’m breathing hard and tensing back up in his arms. I’m too afraid to ask what happened, too terrified to know what he lost.

One of Ash’s hands slides up to tangle in my hair, his mouth pressing short, desperate kisses against my throat, my jaw. “I need to send you away,” he growls softly in my ear. “I need to get you out of here. I’ll just kill him. I don’t care about the throne. I’ll kill him, I’ll give up my right to rule, and I’ll let the Courts destroy themselves. And then I’ll come and find you—after the world has burned itself to the ground. It’ll be just the two of us then, and there will be nothing left that can hurt you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. His voice, his words, are the sound of heartbreak. Hopelessness. Futility. All this time,thiswas beneath the strength, the cunning, the confidence, and intimidation.

Heartbreak.

The memory of Rahk’s voice is in my ear:“He killed Ash’s mother.”

And now Ash is afraid to lose me.

I work my hands free of his embrace, plant them against his chest, and push. He only resists for a moment, then lifts his head to look at me with such desperate, mournful eyes. I rest my palm on the side of his cheek, and he leans into it, tilting his face so he can press his mouth to my wrist in a short kiss.

“Ash,” I say softly. “Don’t be afraid.”

He snorts—a dark, sardonic thing. Then his blue eyes flash, arresting me with sudden force. “Why, my darling, shouldn’t I be afraid?”

“Because,” I say slowly, “neither of us is dead. And because we can face your father together.” I finish by giving his nose a littlebopwith my finger. “You’re smart. I’m . . . less so, but not whollyuseless, I think. We’re the perfect team. We’ll think of a way to handle whatever situation comes up.”

He stares at me as though I’ve sprouted three new heads. So I just smile.

Then, before I know what’s happening, the back of my head hits one of the settee pillows, and Ash’s hands are planted on either side of me. I gasp, staring up at him as unexpected intensity fills his face. He brings his mouth to mine until there’s only an inch separating our lips. “Ask me to kiss you.”

My eyes widen, my heartrate skipping and tripping ahead of itself as another gasp lodges in my throat. “What?”

He lifts one hand, trails the rounded edge of his knuckle down my temple, my cheek, making it harder and harder to breathe. “I won’t kiss you. Not until you ask. Soaskme, Stella. Beg me.Please.”

My gaze falls to his lips, so full and warm. I really have married my own destruction, haven’t I? It would be so easy to say yes, to lift my own mouth just a fraction higher . . .

Instead, I manage: “Are you . . . begging me . . . to beg you?”

He lets out a long sigh and leans his forehead against mine, our noses brushing. “You are justdeterminedto be the death of me, aren’t you?”

I cannot help my little giggle. “Torture is my specialty.”

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