Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(61)

“I was told to stay away from the castle—your guests are dangerous.”

“They are.”

“I think I’ve had enough of danger for one night.”

Stone jostled her, tossing her up higher against his chest. He was like a furnace and she couldn’t understand how. The water chilled her skin and made her bones ache. Why didn’t it affect him in the same way?

“I’m not putting you anywhere they might find you.”

“Who are they?”

“That’s not for you to know.”

Sorcha shook her head. “I might be freezing, but that hasn’t changed my curiosity. I thought this isle was only visible every seven years.”

“It is.”

“Then who are these people who suddenly arrived? Are they shipwrecked, like me?”

“No.”

“Do they live on a different part of the isle?”

“No.”

“Are they selkies or merrows come to visit?”

“Stop asking questions,” he said.

“No,” she said, repeating his favorite word. “Why are you shirtless?”

“I’m not foolish enough to attempt swimming in armor. Silence. These visitors can hear very well and they would be too interested in a human girl. Keep your mouth shut, and trust me to take care of you.”

Strangely enough, she did.

Sorcha tucked her hands underneath her chin to conserve what little heat she had left. She had survived many winters, but never had she been this cold. The biting rain washed away the salt water on her skin slicking her body with freezing drops. The wind howled and shoved at their bodies although his steps were sure and steady.

She owed this man her life. Sorcha wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Tricking him into coming back to the mainland seemed wrong. He didn’t deserve that mistreatment.

If she was being truthful with herself, it was unlikely she ever would have tricked him. Stone was an intelligent man beneath all that brawn. A noble Fae who had taken up the throne in this forgotten place.

They didn’t disturb any other faeries along their journey to the castle. Most had sought shelter from the raging storm, others remained in the castle to wait out the rain. Storms always seemed to keep everyone from their labor, even the faeries.

He rounded the stone castle walls to the place where she’d seen him training with Bran.

Teeth chattering, she bit out, “Is Bran really the raven who has been following me?”

“So it would seem.”

“Why would he waste his time following a human?”

“I’ve asked him the same question.”

The door slammed shut behind them, sudden silence and darkness making her heart pound again. “And what was his response?”

“I do not control the Unseelie Fae. No one can.”

The darkness made it seem almost as if she were underwater again. Shadows made shapes vaguely familiar, but difficult to piece together. She recognized a room when lightning struck again, spearing light across the room.

Broken statues littered the floor. The haunting faces stared at her with vacant eyes.

Sorcha shivered and tucked her face against the crystals of his neck. Their jagged edges dug into her cheek but she did not care. The pain anchored her, driving away the fear with knife-sharp points and cold, smooth plains.

His hands clenched on her shoulder and legs. “Not far now.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe on this isle,” she whispered, her breath whistling through the circular wound on his throat. “Everything is dangerous and one must decide whether to live in fear, or courage.”

“We all know you’ve chosen courage, little human. Foolishly so.”

“I’m not as fragile as you think.”

He didn’t respond, suggesting he disagreed with her. Sorcha was thankful he didn’t argue his point. She couldn’t debate him right now, not when her body was shivering so violently she worried she might jolt right out of his arms.

They rounded one last, shadowed corner and reached a dead-end. A carving on the wall caught her attention. A warrior held her sword aloft, driving back creatures of the night which Sorcha could only imagine were the Unseelie. Their twisted and warped forms disappeared into the smooth marble.

Her face was beautiful and hard. Her armor carved so meticulously that Sorcha could see individual links of chain mail. The sword itself appeared so realistic that she might pluck it from the woman’s hand and swing it herself.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But I don’t see a doorway. Did you take a wrong turn?”

“Humans. You look at things so superficially.”

Stone jostled her forward, forcing her to grasp onto his neck with a gasp. Their gazes locked for a moment as their noses touched. She felt the warm fan of his breath grazing her mouth. Electric blue eyes burned her flesh and seared her to the bone.

“Look.” A crystal brushed against her mouth. “You need to remember this.”

She wasn’t certain she’d ever forget the cold slide of stone warmed by the heat of his body.

Sorcha ripped herself from his captivating gaze and glanced over her shoulder. He pressed his thumb into the grooved pommel of the sword. She heard a soft click, the rasp of sliding stone, and then he pushed.