Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,51

hits me. I threatened to have her locked in her room—shut away in one small space where she can’t speak to anyone, can’t even pretend she’s an actual guest here. That bedroom Sylas gave her is leagues above the hospitality Aerik offered, but perhaps the suggestion of being caged at all was too much. And I did grasp hold of her rather brusquely on top of that.

It wasn’t a huge offense, but there aren’t many fae who’d come out of years of torment with their minds unscarred, let alone mortals.

My stomach twists, torn between shame over making myself an Aerik-like figure and irritation that I have to deal with this problem at all. If Sylas had just shipped the girl off to the arch-lords and let them decide what to do with her in the first place—

But she is here—he wants her here—so I must play with the hand I’m holding.

“Hey.” I pitch my voice as low and soothing as I can manage, bending down so I’m on her level. What would Sylas say to calm her down? Or August—he’s gotten awfully chummy with the mite. Let’s see if I can channel my inner over-eager whelp.

“It’s all right,” I go on. “Nothing awful is going to happen to you right this minute. You startled me. We can talk about it—you can explain.”

Talia sinks down until she’s sitting on the floor. Tremors keep running through her body, but at least the wheezing is tapering off. It occurs to me that having her wrist still in a death-grip probably isn’t helping the situation. I release her arm, hesitate, and give her an awkward pat on the back. “There, there. You’ve got nothing immediate to worry about. Everything in here is fine.”

The statements ring hollow in my ears, but the girl’s shoulders come down a little. To outright lie diminishes a fae’s connection to the Heart of the Mists, so I avoid it as much as possible, but I do have quite a lot of practice at speaking around the truth in convincing ways.

She blinks at me, her eyes really focusing on me for the first time since the panic hit her. Another shudder shakes her scrawny frame. She braces her hands against the floor and drags in a deep breath.

“I—I’m sorry,” she says. “I just—I couldn’t help it—I couldn’t breathe—”

I stay crouched across from her and cock my head. “But you can now. All’s well that ends well?”

A shocked laugh tumbles out of her, so she must be nearly recovered. She rubs her hand over her pale face and into that shock of deep pink hair. It’s the sort of vibrant hue you’d typically only see on the purest-blooded of fae. On a human, as natural as August has made it look, it’s incongruous.

And yet I can’t stop the memory rising up of that face lit with laughter the other day in the parlor, how lovely it became in the giddy glow of the cavaral syrup. Maybe if I gave her some more of that, she’d calm down faster, and I could enjoy that recklessly gleeful side of her again…

I clamp down on that thought and shove it away before it can even fully slip through my consciousness. She’s not here for me to enjoy her in any way. I shouldn’t even want to.

When the girl looks up at me, it’s with an expression as if she still thinks I might toss her into a locked room and throw away the key—or perhaps even hit her. I wince inwardly. Did I really come across that vicious?

“I was listening,” she admits, her shoulders hunching. “I heard a voice I didn’t recognize, and I was confused, so I was trying to figure out what was going on. I only caught a little of the conversation.”

I don’t think Ralyn and I mentioned anything particularly sensitive. Nevertheless— “None of us here will take kindly to eavesdropping—not even Sylas would be pleased about it.”

She nods. “Are you—are you going to tell him? Honestly, it’s the first time. There’s just so much about this place I still don’t understand…”

The muddled little mite. I have to admit that if I were in a similar situation, I’d be listening at every door I could. She is resourceful and determined, even if her traumatized emotions sometimes get the better of her.

In some ways her bewilderment is Sylas’s fault, for keeping her here while still holding her at a distance. How could she know what to make of us? So far we’ve