Page 48 of Tempting the Fae Lord
I point to a brown leather settee. “Sit. I need to know everything you told her and exactly how you got through the gate. Don’t leave anything out.”
Gale drops onto the cushion unhappily but doesn’t protest.
The story that follows is shocking.
I pace as he tells it, his voice wavering with nerves. He memorized my words, cut his own palm, and tried to recite them. When that failed, he made up his own.
And the gate…opened.
I don’t get the sense that he’s outright lying, but—“What are you not telling me?”
He gulps and twists his hands. “It’s weird.”
“All right.”
“It’s really weird, and you might be mad.”
What Gale doesn’t know is that even when he deserves it, I can never truly be mad at him. My anger finds no place to sink its teeth into Gale. He’s too precious for such a rotten emotion.
However, the fact that he’s worried about the possibility is concerning. “Just tell me and get it over with for both of us.”
He takes a deep breath. “At first, I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even think about it. It just happened.”
“It?”
His cheeks redden. “The first time. When you left, I…” He wets his lips, settling his gaze somewhere over my left shoulder instead of my eyes. “I licked your blood from the bars. I ate it off the snow like a crazed vulture. I couldn’t stop myself. The urge came over me, and I couldn’t resist. I don’t know why I did it.”
Shock drops my jaw. I hadn’t known. Oh stars, I hadn’t known. I close my mouth and think. Poor Gale. Not his fault. My fault.
“Afterward,” he says, “I felt—it’s hard to describe—I felt weightless and giddy and like I was floating all at once.”
“Euphoric. You felt euphoric.” My fault.
“Yes.”
“And so, what happened the next time you watched me cross?”
“I knew what to expect. I knew you would leave blood behind, and that I’d want to consume it, but that I had to save it.”
“Save it?”
“For the gate. I collected it in a little phial and used it when I needed to cross.”
Clever little thing. Clever, naughty, little thing, Gale. I cross my arms. “So itwasmy blood that opened the gate?”
“Actually, no. It didn’t open until I offered it my own, and, erm, argued and begged a little.”
“Hmm.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m not.” Well, I am a bit. At myself. But it’s too late now. What’s done is done.
“I’m sorry.” He sounds miserable. Like he let me down, although he could never.
I join him on the settee, sitting heavily at his side, guilt clawing at my ribcage. I rest my hand on his knee. “It’s my fault. I’ve given you my blood on too many occasions. Always in such small doses. I thought. Well, I thought it would be fine. But it wasn’t fine. I’ve enthralled you, at least a little.”
He leans his shoulder against mine. “Sonja said that. She called me your thrall.”
