Page 9 of A Beastly Court

“What was that?” he asked, a copper eyebrow lifting.

Though I knew I could trust Ossian with anything, my foraging bag and its contents were my business alone. And still stinging from his refusal to hunt down Alec and demand a response right this second, they would remain my little secrets for longer still. Besides, he never told me what he kept in those pouches on his belt.

“Something that didn’t work against the bear,” I said, readjusting the bag so it rested against the small of my back. “For whatever reason,” I muttered.

Ossian stepped closer, making my pulse jump and almost making me forget I was miffed at him, and ran the back of one finger up along the strap nestled between my breasts. By the Green Mother, it was nearly impossible to resist him when he stood so close, his jewel-like eyes half-lidded with desire, his full lips slightly parted, the golden aura emanating from his skin turning the edges of my thoughts deliciously hazy like I was on the verge of the most delectable sleep.

His finger paused along the strap at the collar of my dress where my necklaces poked free of my cowl. A little gasp escaped me as his finger diverted from the strap and across my skin to lightly tap the amazonite pendant.

“You know you can leave that bag and the rest of these chintzy pieces in your room,” he commented. “They rather ruin the look of those rubies I gave you.”

The bag and the tangle of necklaces gave my outfit a touch of frumpery even I was aware of, but I was reluctant to let them go. Instinct told me never to take them off or let them out of my sight.

“My grandmother gave…” The protest died in my throat.

“You mean the grandmother who disowned you for loving me? You want to wear her necklace? And what of the other?”

I couldn’t remember how or why the Celtic shield had come into my life, nor its meaning, but instinct…

“I think we have more pressing things to discuss than my fashion choices,” I said, stepping away.

“Like how you still have a considerable block on your magic?” he pressed. “One that might be exacerbated by your inability to let go of the past as represented by that hideous bag and those chains around your neck? The old Meadow could’ve taken down that bear with the magic in her pinky finger.”

“Are we seriously doing this?” I fired back. The effect of that ever-present golden haze warming my thoughts to him was gone in the face of his arrogance. “I just survived a bear mauling, which may or may not have been initiated by your second-in-command, though it was certainly encouraged by him, and now you’re belittling me over something so trivial as to which necklaces I choose to wear? And this from the male who calls me ‘love?’ Is that how they love in Elfame? With degradation?”

I shoved away from his reaching hands and headed for side door, which I knew to be unlocked and definitely open since Ossian had just burst through it moments before.

“Meadow—”

I whirled on him, tears blurring my vision. “I gave up my world for you. My family, my magic, everything! I’m sorry it wasn’t enough!”

With that frightening speed of his, Ossian closed the distance between us and seized my upper arms. Then he wrenched me close, one hand gripping my neck and his thumb under my chin forcing me to look up into his jewel-green eyes. Barely restrained power boiled in their depths. “You are enough, Meadow,” he said forcefully. “More than enough. You are a star in a sky of eternal darkness. Your family were fools not to see it, not to nurture it, but I am not like them. You are mine, Meadow Ní Violet, and I treasure what is mine.”

Meadow Ní Violet. Ossian had given me that new surname, “daughter of Violet,” after the Hawthornes’ rejection and curse. It always sounded so possessive when he said it in that velvety voice of his, like I was something to be coveted and cherished.

The fae king smoothed the hand on my neck up to my cheek and into my hair, his strong fingers kneading my scalp just the way I liked. “Let’s restart our day. Please.”

You could just say you’re sorry. For once. Yet at his contrition, the golden haze once again took root within me. He’d once told me it was the influence of our fated mate bond—a desire for harmony. It did more than that. Not only did it stoke my affection and ardor for the fae, it dulled my terror of the bear, or at least made it manageable. With Ossian, I felt almost fearless, like anything was possible.

“I’d like that,” I whispered, dropping my gaze to his mouth.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards for only a second, and then that luscious mouth pressed hard against mine. Nothing about this side of Ossian was soft. Not his body, not his touch, certainly not his desire.

His tongue plunged into my mouth as his lips bruised mine, but I relished the feel of his passion in light of the near-death experience with the bear. I fought for air against his kiss, him breaking contact long enough to rid me of my cowl. I reached for his chest, greedy to feel that bronze skin stretching tight over slabs of muscle, but he caught my hands and clamped my wrists together in one of his.

I’d made the mistake once of touching his golden wire necklace with its many gemstones, including that big blue one at its center, and he’d never trusted me to touch him again. With a feral growl, Ossian wrenched my wrists up and then behind my head, fingers clamping into my hair. Then his mouth roved down my neck, leaving a trail of moisture behind that the heat of the fireplace steamed away.

“Meadow,” he rasped, shoving me hard against the mantel pillar. My spine arched, offering the ties of my bodice. His fingers fumbled with the leather strings, yanking and pulling until he exposed the tops of my breasts.

As his teeth nipped the sensitive skin, I moaned more in frustration than anything else. I wanted to knit my fingers into his curls, dig my nails into the broad expanse of his back, squeeze the muscles of his arms.

“Let me touch you,” I begged.

Ossian lifted his head, panting, his jewel-green eyes as dark as shadowed emeralds. I felt his tight grip on my wrists loosen as his free hand cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my swollen lower lip. His gaze flickered across my face as he considered my request.

“Why?” he murmured. “If I let you touch me, I’ll be lost to you. And we both know you won’t let me into your bed, so what’s the point?”

That was cold. Maybe even petty. “Ossian—”