Page 40 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

The bed is warm and comfortable, which cannot be said for most of the other furniture in this castle. I want to surrender to it and sleep again, but when I look down, Dante is blinking up at me.

“They need us to get ready?” he asks. His purple curls are all in disarray, but they look soft, and having buried my face in them mere hours ago, I know they feel that way, too.

“Even with magic, they require some time to make our clothes for tonight,” I reply.

Dante nods. He watches me warily, and I do not know what he expects of me. I do not know what came over him earlier today. Soulbond or not, I know I would find him attractive. His smile is everything, and aside from that, the feel of his soft, warm body pressed up against mine—

“Lark?” he asks.

I have been staring for too long. I do not know how to express this to him, or even if I should. He cannot stay here with me. He does not wish to.

I move before I can do something sensible, like climb out of bed and get ready, and Dante gasps in surprise when I loom over him, one knee planted on either side of his hips. My own hair—as messy as it is now from sleep—falls around us in a dark curtain, shielding both of our faces from view.

He stares up at me. I shucked my glamour earlier, distressed as I was by the sight of my beloved plants all left to rot. Dante has seen me without my glamour before, in brief moments, but never as close as this.

Does he like what he sees? The thought seizes my heart and squeezes hard. Do my sharp teeth frighten him? Are my eyes too harsh and cold?

“Lark,” he murmurs. His lips part softly, pink and inviting, but I cannot bridge that gap without his permission, even as my entire body trembles with desperate need.

Only once would never be enough. Try as I might to set myself apart, I am much like other high fae. Greedy. Selfish. I do not believe I would ever force Dante to remain here, but one taste might change that.

His breaths come faster. “Lark, please—”

My heart skips a beat.

“Don’t.”

Ice sinks in my stomach. I swallow bile, and it is not his fault, not at all. I can only blame myself.

“Apologies.” I move off him and sit on the edge of the bed. “I did not mean—I am sorry.”

Dante says nothing, and I think, after his earlier reaction and my behaviour just now, he will not move until I do. I cross to the wardrobe and take out the first robe I see. It smells better than I anticipated, until I remember that Zomo said my rooms were refreshed, and I am not certain whether I am appreciative or not that no one was allowed into the greenhouse.

“Take something from in here to wear if you wish,” I say. “I will use the bathroom first.”

I dare not look at him, and I sweep off into the bathroom the second the words are out of my mouth, closing the door firmly behind me. Everything is fresh and clean in here, too, and I plant my hands on either side of the sink and stare into the mirror.

Distance would be best, but with Grant’s ruse, it will be impossible at the ball tonight. Dante will not wish to be left alone here when there is a chance Ophelia could be there, and as Zomo will no doubt have spread the news that I brought a pet along with me, he will be expected.

I run the tap—one of countless human inventions we have taken and use magic to power—and splash cold water on my face. A lifetime in this place… Already, the walls are closing in.

I clean up and shrug on the robe, and when I slip out of the bathroom again, Dante is sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing the same trousers and T-shirt he was wearing earlier today. He watches silently as I pull a pair of loose trousers from the wardrobe and put them on under the robe.

“Uh, I wasn’t sure anything in there would fit me,” he says, and when I look over, his cheeks are stained red and his jaw is set.

“There are robes I am certain would suffice,” I reply. “They will wish to take your measurements anyway. It is the only reason they are here.”

The colour leaves his face in a rush, but he nods despite his pale complexion. “I—Yeah, okay. I’ll be out in a minute?”

I want to comfort him, but I sense my touch would be unwelcome. My presence feels unwelcome. “Very well. I will ensure the food is safe for us both, so you can eat and drink as well.”

“Thanks.”

I leave him in the bedroom, although it pains me to do so, and when I walk out into the sitting room, the two fae stand to attention. Grant raises his eyebrows at the sight. He is lounging on the sofa and looks no more rumpled than he did earlier today.

“They wouldn’t tell me their names,” Grant says with a sigh. He rolls his head back to look at them. “I asked nicely.”

Both fae are of similar height and build, but one stands slightly in front of the other, as though to protect him. My magic flickers out, tasting, testing, and I immediately sense what the problem is.