The Will and the Wilds(46)

One truth I could never tell is that I haven’t given much thought to Tennith since Caisgard. Shame trickles beneath my skin.

“Enna?” he asks.

“Uh, yes,” I manage. I twist my fingers around the basket’s handle.

Maekallus lifts a hand, perhaps to prod Tennith. I grab the Will Stone and silently urge him away. He backs off as though pushed and glares at me.

I clear my throat. “My grandmother is expecting me.”

“I can accompany you, if you’d like.”

“Ah, no. No, thank you.”

“The wildwood is dangerous—”

Maekallus adds, “Very dangerous, Enna. Another mortal suitor could jump out at any moment.”

“—but of course you know that. Gods, I sound like my father.”

I clamor for the best response I can manage. “I like your father.”

“Have you kissed him, too?” Maekallus asks.

Tennith smiles, but it fades. “I just . . . I don’t want you to think ill of me.”

I squeeze the Will Stone, then relax my fingers. “Oh, Tennith, I could never think ill of you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

Maekallus snorts.

Tennith shifts his weight to his back foot. “What I mean is . . . I never approached you—”

Maekallus barks a laugh, but there’s a sharpness to it that seems to echo against my ribs. “This is intriguing.”

“—but I noticed you. Of course I did, though you didn’t go to school with the other girls—”

I feel like my very bones are curling in on themselves. “Tennith—”

“No, no.” Maekallus folds his arms. “Let him continue. Please.”

“Now you’re being polite?” I hiss.

“What?” Tennith asks.

I clear my throat. “I, uh—”

But he goes on. “I won’t press you, but I wish to know why you approached me then, on that night. Or why you’d prefer to forget about it.”

“I haven’t forgotten about it.” My words are growing sharp, and my feet are freezing, for blood continues to rush into my face and neck. I squeeze the Will Stone. “Tennith, please, later.” Harder. “Go home.”

My fingers tingle.

“I will,” he concedes. So easily. “Goodbye, Enna,” and he turns back the way he came. I stand in mortified inaction until I can’t see or hear him anymore.

“Your lover?” Maekallus asks. His shoulders tense; I’m not sure why. My soul should have cured his pains entirely.

“No.”

He glowers at me. “But he wants to be.”

“Spare me, Maekallus.” I’m worn through, like I’ve run the length of the wildwood and back. That emptiness inside me gapes, refusing to be forgotten. “Tennith and I have no relationship to speak of.”

One red eyebrow lifts. “He was speaking a great deal on it.”

“Does it matter?” Venom laces my voice, though I didn’t mean the words to sound so hard. “I’ve no ties to him, nor to anyone.”

He turns, and in two steps he’s standing before me, amber eyes ablaze, horn foreboding, and I curse the way my body thrills at his closeness. He is a mysting, Enna!

“Don’t you?” he murmurs.

His hand slides beneath my hair, against the side of my neck, as though he’s going to kiss me. I push a hand against his chest to shove him away—I can’t lose more of my soul so soon, especially not for some game—

His horn dips from sight. His breath brushes my ear. His lips graze the side of my neck.

I’m frozen, shivers bursting from his touch and zipping through me in every direction. My hand stays pressed against his chest, but it’s lost its strength. My heart quickens, beating a new pattern. Heat and chills do battle across my skin as Maekallus’s mouth works down the length of my neck. What sensibility I have left tells me this is wrong, he’s from the realm of monsters and I am human, but I lean into him, shocked at the sound that escapes my throat.

And then his teeth nip the valley between my neck and shoulder and I forget my own name.

For a moment—only a moment—I lose myself to him, closing my eyes against the sensation of his lips. I drop the basket and let my hand snake up to his shoulder and curl around the tail of hair spilling over it. A shaky breath escapes me; I can’t get it back.

Maekallus dips lower, easing back the collar of my dress. His horn presses against my skull, reminding me of what he is.

Maekallus. A mysting. What am I doing?

I dig in the nails of the hand pressed against his chest and push him away, stumbling back into a tree. His eyes smolder with something I can’t name.

I turn the question I’ve been asking myself on him. “What are you doing?” It’s barely more than a whisper. I touch the side of my neck. I feel like a log before a weak woodcutter—half-split and waiting for a second swing. My body is alive in a way it very much shouldn’t be, missing pieces of soul aside. “Because of Tennith? A kiss above all things should mean nothing to you.”

His countenance darkens. “Enna—”

I gasp—the Will Stone has gone ice cold against my wrist. I drop my hand from my neck and clasp it.

Maekallus reaches out and wraps his hand around my fist. Bumps ripple across his skin as the chill travels up his arm.