yesterday when he came galloping toward me. He has dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair in complete disarray, and the scar over his eye looks redder than normal.
I don’t comment on his appearance at all. Instead, I stare wordlessly at him and wait for him to speak. He doesn’t speak and we stay still, continuing our stare down.
Arching a brow, I cross my arms beneath my breasts. His gaze flicks down to my cleavage and his lips twitch, probably finding my ill-fitting dress comical, as only he would.
“Am I allowed to eat or will I be locked away in here until I starve to death?” I grind out.
His eyes widen and lift to meet mine. His lips are unmoving and stay in a small smile. “What good would you be to me dead, Sybilla?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
Taking a step toward him, I tilt my head to the side and keep my gaze on his. “I’m not sure what good to you I am alive, Elias,” I say, keeping my voice even and calm.
Elias’ jaw clenches as his eyes slightly narrow. All humor has disappeared from his face and I find that I miss it the moment it’s gone. Unfortunately, the smirky, smartass Elias is one that I find supremely more attractive than the pissed off and annoyed one.
“Do not, Sybilla,” he barks. “I’ll send your maids up to fix your dress then you may meet me in the dining room to break your fast,” he announces.
Deciding that I don’t want the girls to fix my dress, for some asinine reason, I want my husband to help me, I reach out and wrap my fingers around his wrist to stop him from leaving. He looks down at my hand, then lifts his steel-blue gaze to meet my own.
My breath hitches at the beauty of his eyes, the tenderness that they show for just a moment before they return to their hardness. I wish that he could lose that anger, that guard that he keeps up, but I have a feeling that Merek was right, the gates that guard him are ironclad.
“Will you tighten my ribbons? It seems silly to send the girls up here when you’re more than capable,” I suggest, keeping my voice soft.
He frowns for a moment, obviously wrestling with something inside of himself, then nods once. “Turn ‘round,” he murmurs.
Dropping my hand from his wrist, I do as he orders and turn my back to him. My dress wasn’t even buttoned, because even as flexible as the few yoga moves that I’ve done the past six weeks have made me, there is no way that I could do up a million tiny buttons along my back by myself.
Elias’ calloused fingers trail down my back slowly, from the base of my neck to the dip right before my crack. Then without warning, his fingers disappear and he reaches for the top of my ribbons and tugs on them so hard that the breath is forced from my lungs in a whoosh.
He doesn’t stop there, he continues to pull on them, too hard, making them too tight causing me to gasp with each tug. In just a few seconds, my ribbons are tied and my buttons are done all the way up my back.
Elias wraps his fingers around my shoulders and spins me around, his dark blue gaze focused on mine.
“You will not bewitch me with your body, Sybilla,” he growls.
“Elias,” I wheeze.
He shakes his head once. “You will not bewitch me,” he breathes, dipping his head. His lips are so close to mine, it would take almost no effort to touch my mouth to his, but I don’t.
“Elias.”
“The witches put a binding spell on you and your true love,” he rasps. “Both you and your true love will be physically ill if you do not accept the love and touch from one another. How do you feel?”
I gasp, remembering how I passed out after Godiva’s freaky swirling eyes and hand touched my chest a few days ago, then yesterday how she stopped me in my tracks, cemented my feet to the floor while her eyes did that shit again.
“My stomach,” I breathe.
He nods. “Aye, mine as well.”
“We’re one another’s true love?” I ask.
He shakes his head once. “Witchcraft isn’t real. What you’re feeling is not genuine. What I’m feeling is not, either.”
His words are said in a sexy whisper, but they hurt. I take a step back from him, not wanting him to be so damn