Page 44 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

She smiled up at him, unable to help herself.

The air between them seemed to fill with that hum, almost the way magic felt beneath her skin.

Chapter 19

Blackthorn

After they ate their lunch, Blackthorn continued to coach his eager student.

Her magic was stronger now, less tentative, but also nowhere near as natural to her as his was to him. She was finding her own way to communicate with her subjects, and it was a privilege to watch her.

She seemed to be having fun, too. Even when she failed, there was a big smile on her face.

It pained him to know she had never done this before, never had the chance to exercise her skills. This wasn’t just a gifted swimmer never finding a path to the water. Her magic went beyond the physical.

To refuse it was to refuse herself.

And she was such a quick study.

As he paced the courtyard trying to think of another exercise, she was coaxing tiny lavender blossoms from the moss that slicked over the stones, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

Half-hypnotized, he went to her.

“Hi,” she murmured, tilting her chin so that her eyes met his at last.

He gazed down at his funny little mortal.

She had been so businesslike with him, yet she wanted to collaborate with a snarl of ivy.

And now she was smiling up at him, making him feel like he had given her the moon and stars.

He wanted to give them to her, wanted to give her everything.

Except your heart…

And yet. And yet…

When she gazed up at him with those lively green eyes, he felt he could rip the desperate thing, still beating, from his chest, and place it at her feet.

The breeze picked up slightly, carrying her honeyed scent to him.

He cupped her face in one hand, marveling at the silky softness of her skin. He bent slowly enough to notice the little things, drinking in the way she leaned slightly, almost imperceptibly, into his touch, the pulse at her throat picking up, the warmth and color rising in her cheeks.

But before his lips could brush hers, she gasped, looking up over their heads, where the sky was blushing pinker than her cheeks.

“The King’s curfew,” she moaned, pulling back and dashing off to grab their basket. “We have to go. We haven’t even picked anything to show my parents. And the competition is tomorrow.”

Blast the man king and his awful rules.

“Do not worry, love,” he told her gently. “We’ll find something on the way home. And Echo can carry us quickly.”

He whistled for his companion, and a moment later the cat picked its way out of the woods, transforming as it went so that it was the crisp sound of hoofbeats not the silence of paws that greeted them when Echo stepped into the courtyard.

The horse stamped his foot and tossed his bedraggled mane, as if dissatisfied that he had to look like a man’s horse, with none of his usual haunting beauty.

Farrow offered him a bit of apple from her lunch before climbing onto his back.

Blackthorn swung up behind her, relishing the feel of her wrapped in his arms as he slid his fingers into Echo’s mane and urged him on. She shivered in his arms, and he felt the pleasure in his own chest, warming his cold heart.

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