Page 6 of Tempting the Fae Lord
It’s not how I imagined. Not that I spend a lot of time imagining this experience, except that I do, and I thought it would be more… physical. Intimate. More vulnerable or perhaps tender. Instead, it’s rather detached and matter-of-fact.
Even so, my chest heats watching. My heartbeat quickens. A breath lodges in my throat.
I want to take Chester’s place. To feel what he’s feeling. To be the sole focus of the Gatekeeper’s attention. To finally know what it’s like to feed him with my blood.
I think of the grumpy man in the village—whatever his name is—and wonder why this act that I yearn for is so repulsive to him.
How could he hate the Gatekeeper when the man is obviously careful and protective of those who serve him?
How could anyone hate a man like that? A man—a vampire—who looks after his flock with such devotion.
My earliest memory is of the Gatekeeper rescuing me from the jaws of a hungry wolf. I was younger than Amaris, maybe four or five years old, all bundled up for play in the snow. A woman whose face I can’t recall was supposed to be looking after me. I’ve been told her name was Hannah, but I don’t really remember her. I do remember tumbling through a sea of snow drifts in search of red berries.
How pretty they would look against the glittery white snow. How I could squish them and make a riot of red streaks, draw clumsy pictures with mittened hands.
Birds tweedled their warnings, but I paid no heed, trudging along toward the forest, intent on my plan with the kind of tenacity only small children possess.Berries on snow, berries on snow, berries on snow.
I reached my goal, plucked handfuls of berries, and squashed them between my thumb and forefinger. But the result wasn’t as good as I’d imagined. The insides of the berries were a watery brown, paling in comparison to the vibrant red of the outer skin. They could barely stain the snow at all.
My pictures were a failure, but I wouldn’t be deterred. Onto the next bush and the next, farther into the forest wherever curiosity led. And curiosity I’ve always had in abundance.
Until I was slammed sideways and the weight of a thousand stones crushed my neck.
I couldn’t fight. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe.
Panic sizzled my veins.
With sticky hands, I grabbed fistfuls of thick fur to no avail. I’d never known such fear. Such pain. Though my throat was crushed, my mind cried out to the Gatekeeper for help.
And as the world faded to black, he came.
The wolf bellowed a pained yowl. The pressure around my neck let up. I gasped for air, dragging it into my lungs greedily.
A new, softer pressure replaced the wolf’s as I was held to the Gatekeeper’s cool chest. I dug my face into his shirt, tears and snot making a mess of him, but he only clutched me tighter.
My memory becomes cloudy here. Maybe I was unconscious, maybe delirious, maybe too young to retain it all; I don’t know.
But when I woke, chaos swirled around me. I was inside, and a crowd had formed of which I was the center. As my panic faded, theirs multiplied.
How far into the woods?
A wolf?
Is he bitten?
They ripped off my scarf, then my clothes. Hands and eyes inspected every inch of my skin. Eulayla was there, tending me.
Unharmed.
Not a scratch.
How is that possible?
I had a death grip on the hand in mine. The Gatekeeper’s hand. When I squeezed, he squeezed back. We locked eyes. His dark gaze soothed me.
“Naughty,” he mouthed and subtly shook his head at me, but he didn’t look angry. He looked relieved.
I never saw Hannah again.
