Page 33 of Wench

She jerks against the root holding her ankle. ‘You think that if you starve me long enough, I’ll crawl back to your table, begging for scraps?’

‘I think,’ he says, closing the last few steps between them, ‘that your ignorance is louder than your hunger.’

Her breath catches as he crouches before her, one hand braced on his knee. The forest light pools around him, the kind that seems to come from no sun at all. Green and gold pulses faintly from the bark beneath his other palm. His eyes catch it, reflecting a colour that isn’t quite real.

‘Tell me, mortal, what exactly do you think happens when you eat our food?’

Her heart thuds. ‘You make us yours, binding us to your whims.’

‘And yet here you are, bound without ever taking a bite.’

The air between them tightens. Marian’s throat works, but the words don’t come.

Lox rises again, his shadow falling over her. He raises both his hands and Marian shrinks instinctively, waiting for a blow that never comes. The roots that pinned her quiver as if startled; bark sighs before loosening its grip. The branch around her shoulders retreats, brushing her arm in what feels almost like an apology, before it slips away entirely.

Marian drags in a shaky breath, curling her freed fingers toward her chest. But when she glances up, the look on Lox’s face stills her tongue. Fury – sharp, cold, and precise – burns through the composure he wears like armour.

‘You’ve made your point,’ she bites out. ‘I won’t trespass again.’

Lox’s voice cuts through her attempt to flee. ‘Who did that to you?’

She blinks, thrown. ‘What?’

He steps closer, gaze fixed on her reaction, the way her shoulders have folded at the smallest motion of his hands.

‘Who made you cower like that?’ His tone is quiet, but it shakes the ground more than any shout.

Marian’s jaw tightens as she staggers to her feet. ‘You think yourself a saint because this forest obeys you?’ She reaches for the fallen basket, clutching it like a shield. ‘You’ve no right to demand answers from me. You haven’t earned any of them.’ The basket slams against her hip as she strides past him, voice rising. ‘The audacity to kidnap me, keep me captive, and now you want to play at sympathy?’

‘Mare.’

She keeps walking, pace quickening, her words carrying through the trees. ‘If I’m such a burden, then let your blessed Sherwood keep me! I’ll find my own food, my own way, and you can?—’

A hand closes over her mouth.

She jerks, the basket tumbling from her grip. Before she can draw breath to scream, Lox pulls her back against him, hard. His arm locks across her middle, her spine pressed to his chest. The warmth of him swallows her struggle.

‘Hush,’ he whispers against her ear.

His breath ghosts along her neck, the sound low enough to be mistaken for a growl. Marian stills, every nerve drawn taut. Fury flickers in her gut, knowing that the tremor running through her isn’t from fear.

She glares up at him, muffled protests dying against his palm. His grip is rough and warm. The pulse in his wrist beats against her cheek, unhurried and infuriatingly calm while her heart claws to escape her ribs.

Lox’s mouth brushes the shell of her ear. ‘Sherwood wasn’t caging you, Mare,’ he says quietly. ‘It was keeping you safe. You attract things far more dangerous than enchanted food.’

‘You’re lying,’ she grits out between his fingers.

‘If I were, you’d have been free to run,’ he whispers. ‘Sherwood wouldn’t have bothered stopping you. It only holds what it means to protect.’

‘I don’t want its protection.’ Marian tries to twist free, but the motion only makes him drags her closer. The scent of rain and sap clings to him.

‘Then you’ll have its teeth instead.’

Every inch of her tells her that she should fight him, that she wants to fight him, but her pulse betrays her, skittering wild beneath his touch.

‘Let. Go.’

Lox’s chest moves against her spine in a slow, measured breath. ‘If I do, you’ll bring it down on both of us.’