Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,31

to propel my voice louder around him, not with his silvery eyes fixed on me like blades in themselves.

“Such a docile little lamb.” He takes a step closer, and my spine goes even more rigid. “Or perhaps a clown, with that ridiculous cataclysm the whelp has made on your head.”

As much as I’m fighting not to react, my cheeks burn. All I want is to get away from him, but he’s standing between me and my bedroom. Between me and the entire rest of the keep, really. He has me cornered here at the end of the hall, and with that growing awareness, my breath comes short with panic rather than awe.

He prowls even closer. I think the glint in his eyes might be a sort of pleasure alongside the maliciousness. He licks his lips, making no effort to hide the motion of his tongue, and I’m sure of it then. He wants exactly what he’s getting: me, trapped and terrified, at his mercy. He’s simply enjoying testing how much he can scare me.

Because he wouldn’t actually hurt me, not while Sylas has said they’re going to keep me safe here. Right?

Under Kellan’s cold stare, I can’t summon much faith in that pledge.

My heart is thudding, and I just barely hold my body back from trembling. Will he let me get out of this stand-off if I try? I have to try—the panic as he closes in is already dizzying me.

I fumble for words, lurching forward with my crutch as I do. “I’ll get out of your way. I was just going to bed.”

I limp past him as quickly as I can, sticking close to the wall. Kellan watches me go, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze pickling over my skin.

“That’s right. Run, little dung-body. Enjoy your lavish bed while you can. You won’t have it much longer.”

I stumble into my bedroom and slump against the closed door. My limbs aren’t just trembling but shaking now, so hard I might vomit. When I close my eyes, images flash behind my eyelids: the bronze bars of my cage, the haughty faces sneering down at me, the gleam of the blade that dug into my wrist.

I’m not there anymore. I’m not there. I remind myself of that over and over in my head, but my body isn’t convinced.

My body knows that all I’ve done is traded up for a prettier cage and jailors with nicer manners. Well, most of them.

I let myself sink to the floor and summon different images in my mind. The Egyptian pyramids, rising ancient and sublime out of the desert under a scorching sun. The dawn glow filtering green through the thick bamboo stands in a forest near Kyoto. Picture after stunning picture from my collection. There’s still a chance I’ll make it to those places someday.

Gradually, the tremors fade away. I’m still wobbly as I shuffle over to the bed, but I make it there without falling.

The full moon must be weeks away. I have time before any of these wolfish fae need my blood. I’ve already found out so much more than I knew before.

I’ve just got to hope that they don’t change their minds about how much freedom they’re allowing me—or about keeping me to themselves to begin with—before I discover everything I need to.

The bedcovers settle around me, cocooning me in feathery softness. As I tug them closer, the lavender scent in my pillow tickles into my nose. My breath evens out, and sleep pulls me under.

The next thing I’m aware of is a cold, hard surface beneath me. I’m slumped against it, unable to move. Too weak to move. Like I’ve refused to eat or drink for days and even thinking about lifting my arm is exhausting, let alone doing it. I can’t find the energy to so much as stretch my fingers.

Then someone is grasping my jaw with bruising force, wrenching my mouth open. Sharp eyes glint beneath spikes of blueish-white hair.

A cloying, viscous liquid flows over my tongue. I sputter and gag, but I’m too weak to push at the hand, too weak to spit the stuff out. My survival instincts kick in against my will, and I swallow, swallow, swallow until my head spins with the magicked wine and my lips are sticky with fruit pulp.

It courses down my throat and into not just my stomach but my lungs—I’m drowning. Gasping, gurgling. Muscles wasted and slack. Helpless, so helpless—

Suddenly I’m sprawled on grass in a forest clearing. The