homicidal rage it would trigger, the obsessive behavior, and the fact that the object of the spell would likely turn on you and murder you in your sleep to keep you with them forever.
Sure, no problem.
Nothing said love like a knife in the intestines.
Just saying…
Dragging the robe on, I headed for the doors. A walk to the garden maybe. It would let me get outside, and I could get some fresh air. I’d go to the interior one because if I found the front doors, I’d probably be tempted to keep running.
A pause rocked through me as I reached the gallery leading to the garden doors. Why not just go? It was what I wanted, right? It was what I’d been wanting since I woke up in the prison. I wanted out.
So why stay here? Maybe the shackles were sex and blood, but they were still shackles.
I glanced back toward the hall and the way I’d come. The scent of dust and disuse in the gallery was missing. There were more wall hangings up and wood piled into the large hearths ready to be lit. There was also a long table and chairs set up along the front of the room, and the shutters on the windows had been removed, though they were all frosted panes in different colors. The light coming in was muted, and yet still lovely.
Shaking my head at the inane thoughts, I gripped the door and yanked. It gave a hollow sound and a wrenching creak of noise when I pulled it open. Both comforted me, because until the moment it gave, I half-expected to find it as impossible to open as the cell door in the prison.
The rush of cool air brushed against my face. The sun was on the back half of the garden, not the front. The tangle of dark vines still had snow all over them, and the ground was thick with it. I hesitated. If I walked out there in my slippers, they’d get soaked.
That would be shame.
Making a face, I tugged them off and nudged them to the side. Bracing myself with a breath, I stepped out into the snow. It was cold, but not frigid. Maybe spring was coming soon to wherever the fuck we were. Still, I tied the robe a little tighter. The snow crunched under my feet as I tugged the door closed, not all the way, but to a crack.
Picking my way carefully passed the thorns and ducking below some, I found some patches of rock free of the snow and sitting right in the sun. Perfect.
Climbing up to sit on one, I turned my face upward. There was a distinct difference between the light coming through a window and feeling its actual caress on my skin.
It wasn’t warm, and yet, it warmed me at the same time. My breath fogged in the air, but I closed my eyes, savoring the kiss of the sun and the fresh wash of frozen air. I sat there long enough that I should have been shivering, but I wasn’t. More, I’d sat there long enough one of my keepers should have come looking.
But they left me alone.
Pleasure bloomed at the show of trust.
Or maybe they hadn’t noticed my absence. Either way, it was nice to just have this time…
A bird called. Then another. Cracking an eyelid open, I shaded them as I squinted to scan the skies. A flock—yes, I know they’re called a murder—of crows wound its way over the roof to fly through the garden. Weird. I hadn’t seen them since my last trip outside. Not even when I looked out the windows the library.
Some alighted on vines, others soared back up to the rooftop. But they were all there.
And all of them were looking at me.
Hello Paranoia, your name just became Fiona.
Ignoring them, I closed my eyes again. I wasn’t worried about birds.
The crunch of snow, however, sent apprehension shivering up my spine. One could be a fluke.
The second?
Eyes open, I twisted on the rock and faced the stranger standing in the center of the garden. Deep, dark eyes stared back at me from a bearded face shrouded by messy hair that hung to his shoulders. His skin was darker, almost tanned, like he’d been sun worshipping.
It was the absolute lack of expression that had my stomach bottoming out. That, and the very real sensation of power crackling the air—not a whiff of lust rolled off of him, yet he stared at me like he