Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,40
on the ground a little every time I raise it.
Along the hall and down the stairs, I only slip up with the crutch and tap it on the floorboards once. Not bad. I’m getting there. Considering that I still have no concrete idea how I’m going to get past the locks or find my way out of the fae world afterward, I’ve got plenty more time to practice.
I expect to find August in the kitchen. As I slip through the doorway, my body tenses just slightly in anticipation. An image flickers through my head: his face twisted with fury, his fist hurtling at Kellan’s face, his animalistic roar ringing through the hall.
He was protecting me. I know that. I know it, and my pulse still stutters when I remember how he looked and sounded in that moment.
He’s been so sweet to me, but he’s no more a man than the others. He has one of those monstrous wolves inside him. I can’t ever forget that.
Scary as that might be, it doesn’t change the fact that I find him less scary than his companions. The kitchen remains my favorite hangout spot.
There’s no sign of his dark auburn hair or well-built body in the room right now, though. I’m about to head back out when a clinking sound reaches my ears. As I glance around, Whitt emerges from the pantry that’s just off the cooking area.
His sun-kissed hair is in typical disarray, his stride as jaunty as ever, but his high-collared shirt and trim slacks look more rumpled than I’m used to, as if he’s slept in them. Maybe he has. There was another party outside the keep last night, one I could still hear strains of music and laughter from until I finally let myself sleep. He didn’t emerge for breakfast or lunch today.
When he catches sight of me, he cocks his head. There’s a glaze to his eyes as if he’s not quite seeing me after all.
“Are you all right?” I find myself asking, even though on the scale of scary Whitt is definitely at the upper end. He’s never been mean to me like Kellan, but he hasn’t ever been nice either.
He makes a humming sound and brandishes a bowl of something he must have grabbed from the pantry. “I will be. Perfect hangover cure.”
Something that counteracts the effect of faerie-world intoxication? That could come in handy. A shiver runs through me with the memory of the pulped fruit my former captors shoved into my mouth when they wanted me particularly compliant.
“What is it?”
Whitt ambles over to the parlor and flops into one of the chairs with a leg casually draped over the padded arm. “Much too precious a delicacy for a mite like you,” he declares, warmly enough. “You wouldn’t know what hit you.”
My body balks for a second before I force myself to limp over. I haven’t really talked with Whitt before—maybe I should have tried. He might not go out of his way to be friendly, but he seems pretty free with his words. Maybe he’d tell me some of the things the others are keeping secret. Especially while he’s hung over.
“I’ve survived all the faerie food I’ve eaten so far,” I remind him.
He hums again and takes a swig from the bowl, which I can now see holds a syrupy liquid a slightly lighter shade of pink than my hair. He swirls the rest against the sides of the bowl and scrutinizes me with eyes the same bright blue as the ocean under a beaming sun. A perfect match for his hair, not so much for his temperament.
“You want a taste, do you?” he says, a sly glint lighting in those eyes. “I suppose that sort of boldness should be rewarded.”
I sink into the chair next to his, and he hands me the dish. It’s like an oversized mug in his broad hands; in mine, it’s more like a mixing bowl. I raise it to my lips and manage to take a sip without spilling it down my chin.
The syrup coats my tongue, lighting up a giddying warmth everywhere it touches. It’s fruity and sweet—so sweet my gums tingle—but rich at the same time. I’m overwhelmed by the flavor in an instant, and at the same time I want to gulp and gulp until I’ve filled myself to the brim with it.
“Oh, no, you don’t, my overeager friend.” Whitt snatches the bowl back from me before I can pour more into my mouth. He takes