Before She Wakes: Forbidden Fairy Tales (20 page)

“My kinsmen have an excuse for their behavior,” says Dayne, his cool tone belying the heat in his expression. “You don't.”

Jamie's gaze darts to the floor, where he let his ax fall to take me in his arms. But I reach for his arm. “No.”

“Rowan—”

I steel myself against his pleading so I'll be able to say what I must. “I don't feel the way you do. You're my brother, and I love you.” I back away from him, toward Dayne. “But I want you to leave.”

“I don't believe you,” says Jamie, ice in his voice.

I straighten and fold my hands together between us. “Whether you do or don't, I've made my decision.”

“Get out,” snaps Dayne.

Jamie shoots him a look of pure hatred. I'm afraid of the hurt and desperation in his eyes, but after bending slowly to retrieve his ax, he turns toward the door and stalks out.

I stare after him for a long moment, working to control the shock and surge of emotion, until finally I feel the flesh of my face and neck burning.

Dayne's countenance is so smoky and dark that it is hard to imagine what he's thinking. His arms are folded, and the bunching of shoulder and chest muscles reminds me how powerful he is. My heart races, and I struggle to find my voice. But he doesn't speak, so I
must
.

“I apologize. Jamie's behavior was wrong and…unexpected.”

Dayne lifts a dark eyebrow. “You were disgusted by it? It didn't appear so to me.”

My already hot skin saves me from displaying the shame I feel. “I was surprised. And I…” On an impulse, I raise my chin to better meet the challenge in his gaze. Instinct is warning me I can't win a game of cat and mouse with this man. “I was confused. We grew up together, and I've always thought of him as my brother. I didn't know that he felt differently.”

“And now that you do?”

I drop my hands to my sides and take a slow breath, knowing how important my answer is. “Now that I do, I understand why he was so violently opposed to this marriage. And I regret that I've hurt him so deeply.”

I know I haven't answered the question he's really asking, but he seems to accept it anyway. He strides to the window beside the bed, and I find my eyes following the crimson wings as he moves. Their texture makes them appear to glisten, and I wonder whether they're as fragile as they look. I wonder whether they're capable of flight. My da says that the biological mechanics are all wrong. That the winged transgenics were a failed experiment. But they proved more resilient than most of humanity. And though his wings may serve no practical purpose, it's impossible not to appreciate their delicate-veined beauty.

“Has the conflict been resolved?” I ask, a tremor in my voice.

“No,” he replies. “But my father will try to distract them until the danger passes. There would have been games after the wedding. Contests of strength. He's trying to interest them in those.”

“I don't understand what happened. Have I done something wrong?”

He turns from the window. “Yes. But it wasn't your fault. It was an oversight of my father's, when he arranged the ceremony with
your
father.”

I lift my eyebrows, waiting for the rest of it.

“You should never have appeared in public at this time of your cycle. A Tuatha woman wouldn't do such a thing unless she wanted attention from potential mates.”

I stare at him, keenly aware my color is rising again. My betrothed, whom I've just met, is talking about my fertility—and he seems to know more about it than I do.

“But how could they know such a thing?”

“We can smell it.”

We.
I swallow and drop my gaze. “Smell?”

“Transgenics are more sensitive to the hormones. It's a little more complicated than smell. But it will pass by tomorrow, and they'll come around. Until then, we can't afford to provoke them further.”

“No wedding, you mean.”

“No wedding,” he agrees. Voices are rising outside, and he turns again to the window. There's a burst of male laughter, and he returns his attention to me.

“But the wedding was more for your sake, and your family's,” he continues. “Also an excuse for my father to reinforce his ties with his supporters. The agreement itself is what matters. And the physical bond. That will make it easier for me to protect you. Right now, the others only view me as a potential.”

The close way he watches me, like he can see everything I'm thinking, is beginning to fray my nerves. I turn and take a couple steps away from him, but then freeze when I realize I'm moving toward the bed.

“In two days' time we should be well beyond the danger,” he continues, “and we can try again.” I see him shift in my view's periphery. Hear the slight rustle of wings. “If it's important to you.”

I nod, but questions are winging through my mind like a startled flock of sparrows. “What will happen until then?”

“Your family can't protect you. It's safest for you to stay in the castle.”

“With you?” I glance up.

For the first time, his gaze moves over my body. It happens quickly, like it's gotten away from him.

“If we don't share a bed, it will get out. Even loyal servants chatter. I'm not going to give in to antiquated expectations about propriety at the risk of starting a conflict with my father's allies.”

It matters little to me that the wedding night will come without the wedding. I never liked the idea of being paraded before his whole clan, with all their sophistication and finery. They have access to education and modern goods that have not been part of life here since before I was born. And if what he says is true, I'm likely to be carrying his child much sooner than I imagined. It's a deeper bond than can come from any ceremony.

All I hope to accomplish through this marriage is already within reach. My greatest fears have been not of Dayne, not even that he might hurt me with his powerful body, but that I might sacrifice—leave my family and home, and the hope of a marriage that might bring me true happiness—in vain.

I'm trembling as I look around the chamber, seeing it with new eyes, wondering for the first time whether it's his. I imagine how his dark skin would contrast with the fleecy bedding. My knees begin to feel loose and unsteady, and I force the images from my mind.

There's a shy knock at the door, and Dayne calls, “Come in.”

A child with burgundy-colored beetle wings that seem too heavy for her lithe, nearly naked frame enters and places a tray on a table. She casts me one curious glance as she retreats.

“Thank you, Siobhan,” he says softly.

She closes the door behind her, and he walks over and lifts a bottle from the tray, pouring about an inch of an amber-colored liquid into a glass. He holds it out to me, and I join him, taking the glass. Our fingers brush lightly, and the heat of his skin travels right to my belly. He pours himself a glass, and he lifts it to touch mine.

“Alliances,” he says, then downs the liquid in one swallow.

I try to do the same, but it burns like fire, so I only manage about half of it. I'd suspect him of poisoning me if I hadn't seen him drink it too.

“What you said earlier,” I say, my eyes watering from the effort not to cough, “it seemed to suggest that married Tuatha are not affected by…hormonal signals.”

He nods. “The ones without mates have the least control.”

“But you have no mate. Why aren't you affected?” It occurs to me how naïve this is. He probably does have a lover. Why wouldn't he? I'm nothing to him but a political agreement.

“I have no need to fight for what I've already claimed,” he replies. He sets his glass on the table. “And I never said I wasn't affected.”

This time when his eyes move over me, it's much slower. I feel every inch of flesh that's exposed by the translucent panels of lace. I feel the rise and curve of my breasts above the scalloped neckline, and how my nipples have become sensitive to even the light constriction of the lace as I breathe.

I swallow the rest of the amber-colored liquid and set the glass on the table.

“Did you want this marriage?” I ask him.

I can see the blunt question has surprised him, but he answers, “I know what's expected of me. My father and I have ambitions. I imagine the same is true for you.”

“I have no ambitions beyond protecting my people in an uncertain time.” I panic when I realize I've said this out loud. My brain feels a little sluggish. But then there's no point in being romantic about a business arrangement.

Despite my sluggish brain, I note the change in his expression. The deepening of interest. “I insisted that you not be forced,” he says, watching me in that close way I don't know if I will ever get used to. “I couldn't live with a cringing, passionless…” My heart gives a heavy thump as his eyes travel once more down my body. “I'm pleased to hear that my stipulation was followed. But I expected a woman who agreed to wed into my family would do so out of ambition. Or sexual curiosity.”

My mouth goes dry and I glance at my empty glass. Dayne lifts the bottle again, seeming to read my mind. My heart pounds with such force I can't even open my mouth to refuse as he hands me the refilled glass.

Sipping first, just enough to wet my lips, I reply, “I was the one who did the forcing. It broke my father's and stepmother's hearts.”

“Apparently your brother's too.”

I meet his gaze over the rim of my glass. “He's not truly my brother,” I remind him.

Dayne pauses a moment, studying me, before he replies, “So I observed.”

I've only drunk half the liquid in my glass, but I set it on the table. Then I walk to the window, feeling heavy and unsteady. The final scene that passed with Jamie plays again in my mind. The unexpected heat of it, and the delicious textures and sensations. I remember feeling everything, yet without being truly carried away by it—until the moment I heard Dayne's voice.

I close my eyes as if it will help to clear these thoughts, which are doing nothing but amplifying the confusion I feel. When I open them again, my gaze falls on the grounds below. The grass lawn is empty.

“They all seem to have—”

Suddenly there's a sharp knock on the door.

Dayne moves to open it.

I can't see past him into the corridor, but I recognize the voice of his father.

“Come down with your bride,” he says. “They insist on an opportunity to offer themselves.”

I raise my hand to my chest to contain the sudden jumping of my heart.

“You know what will happen if I do that,” replies Dayne. “I can't protect her against—”

“I know what will happen if you
don't
. I won't have fighting here. Not today, and not for this. They need to hear from
her
that she's chosen you.”

My betrothed shakes his head, emphatic. “I need more time.”

“Dayne,” I interrupt.

He turns.

I step away from the window and move to the foot of the bed. “Tell your father we'll come down shortly.”

He blinks at me, and his nostrils flare. He turns to the door and does as I've asked, then closes it soundly.

When he faces me again, everything's changed.

I see now what effort the restrained, gentlemanly demeanor has cost him. The light in his eyes is predatory. Energy trips along those complicated muscular structures in his arms, abdomen, and chest. Even his wingtips vibrate.

He surges forward, and a cry of fear escapes my lips. In a single heartbeat, my plaits are knotted in one of his big hands while the other glides up my abdomen, over my ribs, and across my breasts. His fingers hook into my bodice and he says, “This has to happen.”

I'm trembling too hard for speech.

“It won't always be like this.” The promise is not much comfort, spoken as it is in that low, growling tone.

I raise my hand to cover the fingers gripping my bodice. I feel one hard fingernail against my nipple, and hot, liquid sensation spills down into my belly. My voice quakes as I plead, “Don't tear it. Don't make me go down there exposed.”
Don't make me go down there looking like I've been subdued and ravaged by the lord of the manor
.

The fierce hunger in his gaze dilutes minutely, absorbing a drop of compassion. He tugs my bodice down, decisively but carefully, preserving the hooks in the back while popping my nipples free from their lavender binding.

His thumb finds one nub, rolling it in a hard circle that sends pleasure arcing through me and draws a breathless cry from my lips.

“You were made for this,” he hisses as his thumb circles again. “I knew it the moment I saw you.” He bends closer, pressing his face into my neck. “I could feel your eyes moving over my skin.”

His lips are warm and soft against my throat, and I whimper from the utter helplessness of my own desire.

Then I feel his teeth against my flesh and jump. His hand comes to the back of my neck, holding me in place.

He moves in a line along my neck, then down my chest, sucking and biting, and I know that he's marking me for the benefit of all those stirred-up males. I don't care what the reason is; I only know I don't want it to stop. The flesh between my legs throbs, heavy with drenched heat. I've never known anyone's touch but my own, and for the first time I'm
desperate
to feel something inside me.

Planting a final purple mark above my left nipple, he releases me from the embrace. Taking my shoulders firmly in his hands, he turns me and presses me onto the bed. I prop my torso up on my forearms and glance back. His wings are extended, high and erect behind him. He rips open his close-fitting pants, and my breath stops when I see what he's released. I have a willowy frame, and the length and thickness of his cock…

I don't get time to contemplate the possibilities, because he's gripping the skirt of my gown, shoving it up past my thighs and over my hips.