Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(81)

Then I juggled it as I turned back to him and closed the door. He was standing where he was before and he was still watching me. He continued to watch me, his eyes flicking to the box twice as I moved to the bed, set the box on it and opened the top.

Then I reached in and whispered, “While we were there, I bought you something.”

Carefully, I grasped the beautiful, large, dragon fashioned out of delicate spun glass in brilliant colors of gold (neck and feet), vermillion (head and body), violet and a deep sapphire blue that had gold flecks in it (both colors making up the wings) with the tips of its talons, horns, wings, tail and its eyes all painted a glossy onyx and I shifted to face him.

Frey had turned his body toward me as I walked through the room but now he did not move, he did not speak and his eyes did not leave the delicate piece held out in my hands for him to see.

When he continued to stare at it, face expressionless, body unmoving, I rushed to explain, “I, uh… saw it as we rode into Fyngaard, um… when we came back. It was in the window of one of the shops. I thought it was beautiful and wanted to go back and check it out but, uh… when you, um… explained you are who you are and you can, uh… do what you can do, well…” His eyes came to mine and I stopped talking when I saw not one thing in them, nothing, not happiness, not confusion, not an indication he was humoring his idiot wife, nothing so I whispered, “So, I guess I thought, you being you, you needed to have this.”

I thought more than that. It was a dragon, it was beautiful, it was majestic, even in its delicacy it depicted the fierce power of the beasts, beasts he controlled. And I thought he needed to own it because, in its beauty and fierce power, it personified him.

But it was more. When I left, I wanted him to have something of me, something exquisite, something beautiful, something to remember the times we shared which already, even though I’d been with him a short time, were both of those. Definitely.

And now I was seeing this idea was totally lame.

“It’s… I’m sorry Frey,” I whispered. “Thinking about it now, it’s pretty stupid. You hunt and ride horses and sail ships. A delicate, glass dragon –”

He cut me off to order tersely, “Lay it in its box.”

I blinked at his tone and at the harsh look now on his face.

It wasn’t totally lame. He hated it.

He actually hated it.

God.

“Right.” I was still whispering but it had to be said, my heart hurt. I mean, Frey could be severe and even callous but most of the time he was gentle. It was a gift. Even if he hated it, I was surprised he wasn’t even trying to be gentle.

I laid it in its box but I no sooner had it resting in its bed of vermillion silk then Frey was at my side, flipping the lid to it.

Eek. He totally hated it.

I watched as he took the box off the bed, moved it to the dresser and set it on it, so deep in my dejection; I didn’t notice the care he took. Then I watched in vague confusion that coated my disappointment as he walked to the door and not only turned the skeleton key in the lock but also shoved one of the wooden bolts home.

Then I watched in sharper confusion, some surprise and still with disappointment as he stalked to me.

Okay, um… was he pissed?

It was just a present. A lame one, sure, but that was nothing to be angry about.

Was it?

“Frey,” I said quietly, lifting a hand as if to fend him off and stepping back only to hit bed.

I no sooner hit the bed when Frey’s body hit mine.

Then we were down on the bed with him on top of me and his fingers in my gown, pulling it up.

Ho boy.

Maybe I read him wrong.

“If needs be,” he growled, “you’ll go to the Gales with wet hair.”

Ho boy!

He lifted his h*ps to move his weight from me, yanked the dress up to my waist then he arched his back and yanked the dress off, forcing my arms up with it.

Ho boy!

“Frey,” I whispered as one of his hands trailed down my side then in and swiftly up to slide over my breast, up my neck to cup my jaw.

And now his eyes weren’t blank. They were fiery and that fire was in no way bad.

Okay, I read him wrong. He definitely liked it.

“No one,” he was still growling, his chest rumbling with it, a rumble so deep, it shook mine and there was a fierce expression on his face, a face that dipped to within an inch of mine, “no one, since my grandmother died when I was aged thirteen, has bought me a present. Not one gods damned person has, since her death, given one single thing to me.”

Oh my God.

That couldn’t be true. Please God, don’t let that be true.

“Honey,” I breathed, wrapping an arm around him as my other hand came up to hold him tight at his neck and I thought we really needed to stop having (fabulous) sex and start to talk, or, more to the point, he needed to stop listening to me jabbering on about everything under the sun when we weren’t ha**ng s*x and I needed to start drawing things out of my husband.

“And never have I received anything so exquisite,” he went on, “save the wedding kiss you bestowed on me.”

Oh my God.

He said that, I didn’t miss it, he actually said that.

Shit, he was going to make me cry again.

“Frey,” I whispered, fighting back the tears.