Heart of the Fae (The Otherworld #1)(77)

The faerie’s spine stiffened, and she disappeared into Sorcha’s bedroom.

“Now that’s taken care of.” She stepped farther away from the carving and the groaning stone slid back into place. “Let's deal with the last bit.”

She slid her fingers around the sword pommel, wiggling and gripping until she felt it give away. The tiny nub of stone slid into her hand with little complaint.

“And you're coming with me.” Sorcha stuck it between her breasts for safe keeping.

Then she turned, pressed her spine against the carving, and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long. He came barreling around the corner like a bull, sides heaving and crystals casting violet light onto the floors and walls.

He pointed a finger and shouted, “You defy me?”

“I do.”

Stone walked towards her, each step a deliberate movement filled with aggression and power. She likened the movement to the first night she’d seen him. Intimidation was his purpose, and the first night she had been frightened.

She refused to be this time. Sorcha tilted her head back and met his gaze with a set jaw. “I’m not letting you get to her.”

“She is mine to punish. An Unseelie living under my roof has no right to live.”

“She is no one’s but her own. You have no right to punish her for begging my help. If you want to punish someone, then punish me.”

He hesitated. “You?”

“I walked into that portal without anyone telling me to. If you require someone to scream and shout your anger at, then it should be me!”

“You didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I knew precisely what I was doing! I was raised with stories of the Fae. I left offerings and sacrifices to your people since I was a child. Unseelie lands are legend, and I assure you, I know all its dangers. I did not eat nor drink. I spoke to as few people as possible—”

“You spoke to unknown Fae?” he interrupted.

“I spoke to those who were necessary, and Bran helped me back. What more do you want, Stone?”

Angry breaths expelled from his body in short huffs. “You should have asked for my help.”

“Which you couldn’t have provided! You are stuck here with the rest of them.”

“I would have given you a weapon to take with you!” he shouted

Sorcha matched his tone and screamed back, “I wouldn’t have used it! I heal people, I don’t attack them, Stone!”

“My name is not Stone!”

The walls creaked as his thunderous shout struck the stones. The carvings behind her quaked, and the floor shook with the force of his rage. He turned from her, his shoulders shaking with anger.

And fear, she realized as the light of his crystals dimmed. He had been frightened for her and waiting for her to return had only caused the fear to fester.

Sorcha’s own anger dimmed.

“Then what would you have me call you?” she whispered quietly as she stepped forward. “Master? King? Lord? There is nothing else for me to say.”

“I would have you call me by name, if it were possible.”

“And why isn’t it possible?” Daring to reach forward, she placed her hand against his back. Though fabric covered his skin, the dips of crystal gashes were easy to find. She slid her fingers into the wounded valley to hold him in place. “You already know my given name.”

“A human in possession of a Tuatha dé Danann’s name is far too powerful.”

“Why? Do you fear I might order you to kill someone for me? To steal?”

“I fear that you would ask me to lay the world at your feet.” He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes searing through her calm resolve. “And it would be all too easy to do.”

He walked away from her, each footstep measured as if he were trying not to run. Her hand slid from his back, out of the grooves of crystals that bit at her fingers.

She did not stop him, nor was she certain that she could. The sheer force of his power frightened her. But it was the blunt terror of his words that held her in place.

Would she ask for the world?

Sorcha didn’t know.

It was some time before she walked back into her bedroom. Sorcha’s mind whirled with the possibilities of what he had meant, what that meant for their relationship. Was that a declaration of intent?

Did he feel something for her? Did she feel something for him?

She wasn’t certain. She knew that his eyes haunted her dreams, that his tortured body was intriguing rather than fearsome. Did she want him? The violent reaction of her body to his suggested she might.

How would that even work? He was so much larger than her, surely he would crush her if she even attempted to have relations with him. And a part of her questioned whether she wanted him or the protection he could provide.

Would that make her a whore like her sisters? Was payment the requirement that divided easy women and business women?

Sorcha feared she would never know. And did it matter? Her sisters gave pleasure and reassurance to those who might not have it in any other way. If they derived pleasure from their job, then they should continue it. She would not judge them.

She pulled the small stone from between her breasts, staring down at the carved marble gemstone. Her mind stilled, thoughts narrowing down to one question which loomed above all others.