Page 51 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

“We need to get her away from here. Promise that you’ll help me.” Her words come rushed, pitching her tone. “Promise me, Declan. Promise that you won’t let her wander into the woods.”

I frown, my hand leaving her hair. “What do you mean, the woods?”

“Just promise me.” Her eyes widen further, her hands reaching for mine. When our fingers touch, hers are ice cold.

“I promise.” My eyes rake over the lines of her face. Lines I can map out in my sleep. I try to puzzle together the hidden clues in her reaction. The emotions behind each twitch of her lips. “I’ve missed you so much. You had me worried.” I run my knuckles over her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed, leaning into me until she withdraws.

“Declan, I’m not the girl you knew back home. I can’t be that girl for you anymore.” Tears wet her lashes when she looks at me. “I’m sorry.”

“You will always be my Bryn.” My voice cracks.

“But I’m not.”

Footsteps from inside the house close in on us, heavy and approaching quickly. “We’re leaving,” Prince Eamon says, reaching the front door. I’m not ready to go, and my chest tightens as I look at Bryn, uncertain whether this is a goodbye or if she is to come with us. I remove a piece of paper from my pocket and stuff it into her palm. Its other half is still on my desk.

“Your Highness, is Bryndis…” I speak my words carefully.

“She stays!” is all he says, marching down the steps. I have to keep up. There’s no time for goodbyes. No time for a last embrace. I give her an apologetic look over my shoulder, one that I hope conveys my promise to find a way out, a way back to me. My heart rips in two as Prince Eamon uses his magic to usher us back to the castle.

TWENTY-SIX

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

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Shadows cover the floor-to-ceiling windows like they did before Declan arrived with the prince. Not so much as a golden spear of light escapes the shield of onyx. It’s the only version of this home that reflects who Odhran is, dark and solitary. Deep down, he shares my affinity for privacy, finding his truest contentment in stillness and the absence of light. The floor is cool under my bare feet, my hips rolling as I walk, silk gliding over my legs. Every movement brings forth a gentle caress. I forget how my dress reveals too much as I head straight for Odhran, my fingers flexing restlessly at my sides.

He stands at his liquor cabinet, lined with glasses and endless bottles that put my father’s collection to shame. The stained-glass doors, meticulously crafted to mimic the appearance of creeping vines, are wide open.

Glass clinks as he knocks the items together on the lower shelf. When he steps back, a full crystal decanter glistens in his grip. My nose scrunches at the sight, practically tasting it on my tongue. Its sickening sweetness makes my stomach turn.

My strides grow longer, faster, spurred on by the recollection of his words. I will touch whatever I desire, as long as the lady enjoys it as much as I will. I don’t reach him before his lips press against the transparent rim of the decanter.

Yanking it from his grip, I turn it upside down with my outstretched arm raised at my side. Liquid splashes against my legs and pools at my feet. Odhran’s eye twitches, the action so slight I almost miss it, as he stares at the mess I’m creating. As he stares at his liquid gold poured out and worthless.

“That is the last time you will use me to inflate your oversized ego,” I tell him, practically hissing the words. I put an end to more than one life in the woods last night. The girl who sidesteps her own needs in favour of everyone else’s died beside the emaciated faerie. The version of myself whose heart still beats doesn’t give a fuck anymore. I will say what I need to say, and damn the rest.

My face heats with agitation. “You’re not a child. Stop acting like one.” The empty decanter makes a sharp clink when I slam it on the countertop. His eyes don’t leave me for a second. Dark and intense, they roam from my lips down my neck, settling on my silk night dress. I pull back my shoulders, standing my ground, despite feeling naked under his stare.

“What are you going to do, Slìbhìn? Run? Kill me? You’ve tried both those things, and yet, here we are.” His voice is a dangerous rumble as he takes a step toward me, closing the distance between us. His body is a hand’s breadth away from mine. With the slightest breath, my chest touches his ribs.

I clear my throat, refusing to move so much as a hair’s width away. I won’t give in. “Fuck you, Odhran.” My eyes narrow when his lips curve into a smirk, as if my words satisfy something deep inside of him.

“Does anyone know how fierce you truly are?”

I’m standing flush with him one second and flat against a wall the next. My breath catches in my throat, sounding awfully close to a gasp.

“Ask me what drink I crave more than any other.” His cuspids lengthen into sharp points as his tongue slides over their tips. Blood. Faeries, especially those of the Unseelie Court, crave the taste of blood. It’s what fuels their magic, what prevents their deterioration. They draw strength from it. Find gratification in it. I know this from the teachings in my mother’s book, the one he left on my bed. Aed encouraged me to catch up on my reading before leaving my room. If not for blood, he will become what I killed in the forest.

“You won’t hurt me.” His posture changes as he pins me to the wall. His demeanour shifts from arrogant to tense in half a heartbeat. My nerve endings fire all at once as I become painfully aware of every inch of his body pressing against mine. His chest rises and falls beneath my palms, his heart beating faster, in rhythm with my own.

“What makes you so sure of that?” he breathes against my neck. I don’t move away from him. Instead, I angle my jaw, exposing my throat. Proving my point.

“I’ve been around you for a while now.” I swallow, my words a breathy whisper. “I’ve given you every reason, every opportunity.” As quickly as he pressed himself against me, he retreats. Those strong hands push through his unruly hair. Tanned skin against silver hair. Every aspect of Odhran is a contradiction. Every facet is in stark contrast to everything I’ve ever known to be true. Playing into his hands is a risk, but I’m right. He has no intention of hurting me.

“If you try to see something good in me, you’ll be sorely disappointed.” He steps away, turning on his heel to remove a second decanter from his cabinet.