Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,95
even when he could probably have snatched a few without my noticing. And he hasn’t given up his search to find a way to free me from his people’s needs.
“Of course.” I swivel to offer him the full array of my hair, damp but not outright wet after the recent toweling. “I hope the dye won’t interfere with testing it.”
“I’ll take that into account. Close to the root, there’ll be an unaffected section. It’s better that I waited until it had time to grow.”
He plucks the hairs so deftly that I only feel the faintest twinge in my scalp, careful not to touch me otherwise. The nape of my neck still tingles with the awareness of him standing so close, his hands mere inches from my skin.
We walk up to the second floor together, my foot brace tap-tap-tapping against the floor since I can’t keep up with him even at his slowed-down pace if I aim for silence. At the branch in the hall, Sylas brushes his fingers over my shoulder in the lightest of caresses and heads in the opposite direction, presumably to his study.
Even that brief touch sends a wash of heat through me. It’s like I’ve been starved after all this time without the slightest affection, and now my body is ravenous for whatever contact I can get.
I’ll just have to keep a close eye on myself until I have a better idea where I stand now—and how Sylas and August are going to work out their uneasiness.
In my bedroom, I curl up in the armchair August recently brought up and open a book I borrowed from the entertainment room in recollection of how much I wished I had reading material up here the evening of Tristan’s visit. The sky beyond the window is darkening, but the amber orb mounted over the chair wakes up with its wavering glow. This is some kind of life, at least. It could be so much worse.
I’ve sunk deeper into the chair, my legs slung over one of its arms and my mind sucked well into the story, when my bedroom door swings open. My head snaps up with a flinch, my pulse skittering in alarm. Sylas and August always knock—unless maybe it’s an emergency…
But it isn’t either of the fae men who’ve come to my bedroom before. Whitt stalks inside, shutting the door behind him and coming to a halt halfway to my chair. His sun-kissed hair looks even more wildly ruffled than usual, his blue eyes stormy, his jaw firmly set. He’s so fiercely stunning that my heart stutters again in both awe and fear.
I scramble to straighten myself, clutching the book tightly as if it’ll defend me from whatever he’s come to demand. “Is everything all right?”
He cocks his head and considers me. “You’ve proven yourself decently observant, mite, even when you shouldn’t be observing. Do you really think everything is ‘all right’?”
I blink at him, my stomach twisting even in my confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, no? So it’s truly escaped your notice that your two paramours aren’t quite as at ease with each other as they used to be—as they’re meant to be?”
My face flushes at the clear insinuation of the word “paramours” before I’ve even processed the rest. How does he know—did Sylas or August tell him what’s happened between us? Has it been obvious without anyone needing to mention it?
How much does he know?
Enough to realize the tensions he’s picked up on are my fault. I tuck my legs up, hugging my knees with the urge to shrink in on myself. “I didn’t mean for anything like this to happen.”
Whitt waves an erratic hand through the air. “Of course you didn’t. Why would it even occur to you to consider it?”
“Have they been fighting about it when I’m not around?” How bad have things gotten?
“From the looks of them, it’s only a matter of time. And believe me, you won’t want to find yourself in the middle of that squabble.”
I grip my knees harder. “I don’t know what to do. I tried to tell them— I haven’t let anything happen since I realized— Me being here has already caused so much trouble with all of you. The last thing I want is for them to be at each other’s throats.”
Whitt pauses, studying me with his scowl shifting into a frown that’s more puzzled than foreboding. What reaction was he expecting?
Whatever threw him off, he recovers quickly. “There’s an easy solution,” he