Fairydale

by Veronica Lancet

that only wanted to belong. Somehow, with one—no doubt inconsequential for him—meeting, this man triggered that restlessness I've always kept just beneath the surface. Whereas before I've merely been alive, he makes me want to live.

"The tea," he repeats in the same unyielding tone, his nostrils flaring. "Have you made it for someone else?"

"The tea." This time his voice has an exasperated quality to it. "Have you ever made it for another man?" he asks just as his hold on me tightens, pulling me closer.

"Have you, or have you not made this for another man?" A sliver of fear washes through me, but I push it down. Slowly, I shake my head, the word no on my lips the softest whisper. "Good," he purrs, leaning in and brushing his lips against my ear. "You are not to ever make it for someone else."

When I finally manage to blink away the painful light, my eyes meet his. His mouth curves upwards in a smug expression, his lips moving slowly as he's miming a word. "Soon," I spell out the word. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"You need corruption and sin, Darcy darlin'. You need someone to worship your innocence and despoil it at the same time."

I am after something else," he pauses, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "And what is that?" "Your soul. Your very essence and everything that makes you, you. Will you give me that? Lizzie mine? Will you surrender everything that you are to me?"

"But remember one thing, Darcy darlin'. There is no such thing as universal truth. Every story has different sides, and it's up to you to assemble them together to get the final picture."

"My shy little maiden," he coos gently. "This is what you do to me, Darcy," he drawls as he holds me to him, his hardness fitted against my belly. "You make the blood in my veins boil with a need to possess you. To be the only man to ever touch your skin—to sear myself on your flesh."

"I want you to be mine, darlin'. I want to taste and worship every inch of you, drive you so fucking mad with passion, you will never think of anyone else but me. Only ever me. That's what I need, sweetheart," he growls, almost as if frustrated with himself. "I want to keep you to myself, tuck you away from the world and protect you from all the dangers out there, all the perversities and all the fucked up shit that goes on in this fucked up world. I only want that for you," he breathes harshly. "I only want you to be mine, Darcy darlin'. Now, tomorrow and to the end of time."

Katrina had told me Lydia Hale was the daughter of the original owners—the Creeds. Dear God, but does that mean that...the Hales are my descendants? If Lydia was my daughter in a past life, then that would make me Caleb's great-great-grandmother.

"Your heart," he tells me, and I can feel him smile against me. "You have the purest soul, darlin'. I've never met someone more kind-hearted than you. I mean, who would save a damn cat from a fire instead of saving herself?" he chuckles. I freeze. How... how does he know about that? I haven't told him about it. In fact, he's never even met Mr. Meow. So how would he know about that incident unless he was there?

How could Abel have known about the necklace, or about Amon's identity? For him to accuse Amon of being a demon means he must have had a source from the coven. But who?