Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,120

I accept your oath.” His fingers skim down my arm and back up again, and a tingle travels over my skin at his touch. “I can only imagine how difficult coming to us in this state must have been for you, Talia. You will never owe it to us to do so. And I won’t forget your bravery on our behalf.”

“It was the least I could do after everything you’ve given me.” I glance at the other two men standing around me. “All of you.”

Sylas hums low in his throat. When I turn back to him, his hand glides up to my jaw. He tips my head back and claims my mouth with the hot brand of his lips. The earlier tingle blazes with a rush of heat.

A rough sound like a choked-down growl emanates from August’s chest. When Sylas releases me, I don’t let myself hesitate. I reach for the other man who’s made my heart and body sing and rise up to kiss him too, ignoring the very definite growl that escapes Sylas before he bites it back.

August meets my kiss tenderly but determinedly, unleashing a torrent of passion with the press of his mouth. I could get drunk on this. I feel a little drunk as I sink back down, which must be why when my gaze reaches Whitt, I bob up without thinking and kiss him on the cheek.

It’s only a peck, and I barely even reach his cheek, my mouth skimming the uninjured side of his jaw, but Whitt stiffens. I swivel toward Sylas, my face flushed. I don’t want to witness the other man’s rejection of even that small gesture of affection.

The fae lord’s gaze smolders down at me, but he keeps any possessive emotions he’s grappling with under wraps. “We’ll likely be out until dawn. Don’t wait up for us.”

Even with Whitt’s reaction, the sense of being part of this household hasn’t left me. I balk at the thought of losing it, even for a moment. “What if I want to?”

Sylas chuckles softly. “Then I suppose that’s up to you, as you’ve well proven.” He nods to the others. “We’d best get moving.”

34

Talia

True to my word, I don’t venture outside the keep. Instead, I settle into one of the parlor armchairs and watch from the windows as Sylas and his cadre shepherd their pack.

They’ve shifted back into their wolfish forms to do it, as makes sense when they’re contending with beasts in the grips of the full-moon ferocity. Sylas, the most massive creature of them all, lopes across the field emanating feral power and shoulders apart two wolves who’ve started snapping at each other. August clamps his jaws on one’s neck, just tightly enough to hold and not wound, and tugs it in one direction while Whitt shoves the second wolf in another.

I’ve heard them refer to the pack so many times, but I’ve never grasped just what that means until now, witnessing them working together as leaders over their people, watching the other wolfish fae respond even in their wild state. Seeing it, the glimpses of fangs and claws no longer spark the fear they used to.

Those aren’t the marks of monsters. They’re tools to be used as their owners see fit. And Sylas and his cadre bring them to bear with care and conviction.

When the first rays of the sun peek over the horizon, my head is muggy but my eyes still open, if starting to ache. The three wolves of the keep come trotting around the side of the building as one being. I push myself out of the chair and head to the entrance room to meet them.

The gouges from Sylas’s raging claws still scar the floorboards. I guess he must use his magic to fix them once he’s recovered from the night’s horrors. Now, the fae lord bobs his head to me and sprawls on the floor with a wolfish yawn as if too tired to move any farther, to even shift into his typical body.

I hesitate and then, my heart beating only a little faster than usual, walk up to him. As I sink down on the rug next to him, I stroke a tentative hand over his fur.

It’s a mix of coarse and silky, so thick I could bury my fingers in it and barely make out my knuckles. The wolf lets out a pleased thrum and nuzzles me closer to his side. As I rest my head on his body, his chest rising and falling