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“I, too, have been at the mercy of men, more times than I wish to recount. My mother would tell you the best way to answer them is to remain steadfast, quiet, and continue doing the right thing.” Macha’s eyes flashed brilliant green. “I am not a woman, but sword and shield. I will carve my own path, or I will force others to create it for me.”
They tell you time and time again you are a pool of still water. Yet, we both know underneath the surface a tempest rages. I will enjoy seeing your claws grow.”
“You love your sisters?” “More than I can say.” “In that, we see eye to eye.” He released his hold upon Concepta’s hand to trail his fingers through her golden curls, dragging a thumb across her lips.
Ew. But also, okay.
Sorcha lifted one leg and placed it before the other. She was unsteady, weak, and drained, but determined. Each movement splintered through her body in needles of icy pain. “My body will not stop me,” she whispered.
Sorcha gasped as she met his gaze. Ice froze her veins and fear made her teeth chatter. And yet, warmth bloomed deep in her belly. His eyes were beautiful, expressive, and filled with so much pain.
He wanted her, she realized. He wasn’t playing a game; his emotion was too raw and hungry.
“Everything is dangerous, and one must decide whether to live in fear, or courage.”
He sat himself in the darkness and counted every freckle on her face. It was the first time in years he had calmed down without crushing marble, shattering pottery, or snapping wooden frames.
In that moment, she gutted him. No one had looked at him like a person in such a long time, without pity or fear. She just opened her eyes and smiled at him. As if he was finally where he belonged.
“Children suck the lives out of their mothers. They drain them until they are little more than husks. But they are good for the soul.”
“Who am I to judge others for the choices they make? If a soul is born to be wild, it will only grow angry with a leash wrapped around its neck. If a soul prefers order, then it will shrivel with too many choices. Neither is wrong.” “You do not see darkness as evil?” “Nothing is evil. The very idea was created by those who won wars and wished to paint their poor choices as the right thing. No one goes into war or battle thinking they are evil.”
“An honor?” The Queen tsked. “Oh dearie, the Unseelie do not like lies. You may want to run, for my children are hungry and your fear tastes sweeter than wine.”
“I notice everything you do. You haunt my steps and my dreams. You’ve bewitched me, Sorcha, and I want my soul back.”
“Why? Do you fear I might order you to kill someone for me? To steal?” “I fear that you would ask me to lay the world at your feet.” He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes searing through her calm resolve. “And it would be all too easy to do.”
“I think controlling the future with an iron grasp only limits the possibilities of tolerance and positive change.”
She liked being pressed against his chest far too much. He was safe, and broad, and so much more than any man she had ever met before.
“Why does your whole body taste like sunshine?” he asked. “It’s intoxicating.” “Does my whole body? I wasn’t aware you had tasted every inch.”
“I claim you as mine, rightful king of the Seelie Fae.” Sorcha sank her teeth into his skin, biting through flesh until the harsh edge of stone cracked her lips. Blood smeared his shoulder. Marking him for all eternity.
She had never felt like this before. He willingly gave her full control over the situation, and she wanted to devour him. She wanted to mark him for all eternity. To shred him until all he could do was whisper her name.
“Practicing is one thing. It’s easy to make the movements look graceful when there is no blade striking at your throat. Real battle is gritty, messy, brutal. I’m sorry you had to see it.” “Mo chroí,” she whispered. “You called me your heart.”
