Road To Winter (Fae's Captive #2)(19)

No easy life for my mate. I should have guessed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Plenty of people had less than I did. And I was lucky enough to get into college.”

“Lucky? I don’t think so. You worked hard, even when it wasn’t easy for you.” I push a little further. “And your father?”

“He was never around. Left when I was little. But my mother always had boyfriends.” She tangles her fingers together and squeezes. “And I had a stepfather for a short while.”

Just the way she says the word ‘stepfather’ has me bristling. Something is wrong there. “Your stepfather, was he kind?” I keep my tone light despite the vengeance pulsing through me.

“He’s dead.” Her head tilts even lower. “What about you? I’m sure you’ve had hard times in all your years.”

A deflection, but one I have to let go for now. She’s opening up to me bit by bit. But her question takes me off guard. How can I answer? Should I describe the terrors of war, the fae I’ve killed, the many lives that have been lost under my command? Should I tell her of the weeks when my soldiers and I starved on the fields of battle after Shathinor’s forces destroyed our provisions and burned the surrounding farmlands to ash?

Like her, I choose to deflect. “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy.” I cup her face with one hand. “And that includes us. I know it’s a lot. When I step back and try to think about it from your point of view, it’s overwhelming. A new world full of strangers with one of them claiming to be your eternal mate. But you are strong. You’ve shown me that time and again since I met you.”

“I think you’ve got me wrong.” Her cheeks pink. “I’m just a student looking for a way back home.”

I don’t say that I’m her home. It’s in my heart, though, and one day she will know it’s true. “We should get going. The forest will start to clear from here on out, then we’ll pass over the Misty River and into the Red Plains.”

“Two more weeks until the border, right?” She wipes a stray strand of hair off her brow.

“Two more weeks,” I agree.

We make our way back to the camp in a comfortable silence, though my thoughts push ahead, imagining the day we enter my lands. Two more weeks before the winds of winter soothe me, fuel me, and give Taylor a taste of the power lying dormant inside her mate.





8





Taylor





The Red Plains are aptly named. Stark and forbidding, the landscape stretches out before us, the ground bloodred and covered with twists of brambles and something akin to sage. This morning we emerged from the trees and rode until we found a narrow lane.

“We’ll stick to the road from here on out.” Gareth peers into the distance where I can almost see dark jagged peaks.

“I feel so … exposed.” Beth pulls her ratty shawl around her shoulders. “And the merchants gawk at us when they pass.”

“It’s safer on the road. More traffic here. If we wandered out into the plain, we’d be far too obvious, not to mention, the land is full of pitfalls, sinking red sands, and a number of other dangers.” Leander pulls my hair from my nape and blows cool air across my skin.

I almost moan with relief. How does he know what I need before I do? The sun has grown hotter, the sanctuary of the trees now a dense green wall at our backs. Here, there is no respite, no fairy lights flitting around, no lazy streams. Ahead, a dark river cuts a slash against the encroaching crimson, and a ramshackle town—almost like something out of the Old West—sits on the opposite bank.

“What’s that?”

“Blood Run,” Gareth offers. “The only town in the Red Plains. Full of schemers, travelers, and outlaws.”

“So it’s Mos Eisley from Star Wars.” I smile at my faint geek knowledge, well aware that no one else will get my reference to the spaceport where Luke and Obiwan meet Han Solo for the first time.

“Sounds like my kind of town,” Beth says after giving me a blank look. “Too bad it’s ugly.”

“Inside and out,” Gareth agrees.

“Are we stopping there?” I stretch, and Leander grips my waist.

“For supplies, but not for the night. It’s not safe. We’re better protected on the road where we can see what’s coming.” He slides his palms upward, as if committing my shape to memory.

“I was really hoping for a bed.” Beth frowns. “I haven’t slept in a bed since …” She pauses and stares into the middle distance. “I guess it depends on if a pile of empty grain sacks counts as a mattress.”

She’s had such a hard life. The bite marks on her body only tell one part of her harrowing story. I want to know more, but she deflects every time I ask about her life as a changeling slave. I do the same when she asks about my past, so I can’t blame her for it. Some parts of a person’s history are better left alone, though they’re never forgotten.

“Your master was Granthos?” Gareth asks.

“Yes,” she says tightly.

He grunts in response but doesn’t say anything else about it.

Beth shoots me a questioning glance, then shrugs and turns back toward the town. “I hope they have bread.”