Page 128 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
He twisted her arms behind her back. “Have you lost your mind?” he screamed. “Do you know what I could do to you?”
An angry welt on his cheek beaded with blood, and his face flushed with rage. Panic gripped Bristol’s muscles, her knees going weak. She’d meant to be convincing when she attacked him, but didn’t want to die in the process. He jerked her closer, his hips pressed to hers.
“I’m sorry,” she said, true fear gripping her. “I was frightened. I didn’t mean to—” She shuddered. “I’m very sorry.”
His breaths calmed, and the rage in his eyes receded. “That’s better,” he said, appeased by her groveling. “I forget sometimes that your kind are unaccustomed to our ways, like leaping from one place to another.” He freed her wrists, and she slipped her hands into her pockets, shaking her fingers free of his hair.
“Is that what that was? A leap?” she asked.
“It’s known by many names. Wolfleap, nightjump. A dark-adieu is my preferred term. A quick movement over a short distance. Only the most powerful fae, like myself, are capable of it.”
“I couldn’t breathe.”
“Only for a short time,” he chided. “You lived, didn’t you? Now, give me your hand.”
“My hand?” She didn’t have to feign fear. “Are you planning to leap again?” she asked.
“No, I’m planning to dance. As I said, we’re done when I say we’re done.”
The pompous brute. This dance hadn’t gone quite the way she’d planned. She considered setting his coat on fire as a distraction for escape, but she couldn’t reveal her abilities and there was still more she needed to do. The deal wasn’t done yet. She pulled her hands from her pockets, and he drew her into his arms, with only the music of the trickling fountain to dance by.
“There,” he whispered. “Much better.” His finger stroked her bare shoulder where the fabric had torn away. “It appears I’ve damaged your lovely dress, but I like it better this way.”
Powerful fae or not, he was back to his game-playing self, trying to use her as he sought out information. “I’ll be sure to tell my seamstress,” she replied. “But we’re not doing anything for old times’ sake, Mick. So get it out of your head.”
He laughed, his eyes still undressing her. “For now. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me more about Cael and the palace gossip.”
This was something he was more passionate about than his lecherous thoughts for her—and she would happily spoon feed it to him. But she couldn’t seem too eager.
“It’s not important. And I’m not sure I should be telling you—”
“Shall we take another leap?”
“No!” she answered quickly. “But I already told you, Tyghan adamantly denied the gossip.”
“But?”
She frowned like she was still reluctant to share sensitive news. “But my seamstress said it’s been a dark secret at the palace for years. It seems no one wants to admit they have a dreamwalker in their bloodline—something about nasty betrayals. But the gossip is pretty damning. Even Cael’s nursemaid from when he was a child admitted to the palace chef that he was a dreamwalker.”
“Courts love their gossip. How do you even know it was Cael you saw in your dream?”
“Dreams. He came to me more than once. And of course, I can’t be certain it was him, but when I saw his portrait hanging in the palace, I gasped. Except for the filthy, ragged clothing he wore in my dream, he and the man in the portrait were identical.”
“Ragged clothes?”
Bristol guessed that whatever state of repair Cael’s clothes were in after being abducted, they weren’t pristine and that Mick hadn’t provided him with fresh ones during his captivity. “They were dirty and torn. His face was filthy too, so I could be wrong. The gossip could be wrong. But the dreams were real enough to me, so I have to stay and search for my father, at least for a while longer. There you have it, that’s the reason I’m still here.”
“What did Cael say to you in this so-called dream?”
“Only that my father was still alive. But he said it like he was surprised too. Maybe he discovered my father on one of his dreamwalks?” And then in an offhand remark, she added, “I know. The High Witch chastised me for listening to gossip too. She said my dream was only wishful thinking and nothing more. Still, there’s been hushed rumors circulating around the palace that he’s been visiting others . . .”
Kormick didn’t respond, but his fingers dug at her waist, and she knew by his silence that she had made the sale, that he’d be going home with a Keats painting and scarf he hadn’t planned on buying. The deal was done.Others. What others?His focus was splintered, already consumed with what Cael might be telling them. His grip became a vise around her as they continued the pretense of their dance, and a new concern jolted her—that he wouldn’t leave her behind. Her mind reeled, trying to think of an escape.
But then something else caught her attention.
A mouse.
It skirted the edge of the terrace, then stopped, sitting up on its hind legs. The white fur of its belly gleamed in the moonlight, and its shiny black eyes shifted from Bristol to the sky. She followed its gaze and saw a hawk gliding high above her, cutting through the light of the moon.Hollis. Rose.They were signaling her. Maybe—
