Captive of Wolves (Bound to the Fae #1) - Eva Chase Page 0,99
that I’ll see to it she finds herself in the care of the arch-lord most benevolent to humankind. With the strength and tenacity she’s shown, who’s to say she won’t carve out a better place for herself there?
And I’ll back off on any attempt to claim her. If she and August should wish to seek each other out in those remaining days, they can proceed without fear of reprisal.
By the Heart, let that be enough.
As I walk to Talia’s bedroom, the burning sensation in my chest doesn’t fade. Even my final act of charity digs into me like a wound. Last night, I meant to claim her for myself for as long as I could have her with me. And she refused to be claimed at all—by myself or by August.
I want her. She wanted me. I’m not used to contending with the possibility that a potential lover might want another man as well, let alone one of my cadre-chosen. But I doubt she’ll have much affection left for me after our conversation tonight. She’ll be better off with him in what time they have, if she wishes it. Even if the thought stirs a denial in me so furious it sears through my ribs.
How ridiculous is it to be worrying over that when I’ll be quite literally casting her to the wolves in a few days’ time?
I steel myself and knock on her door.
No answer comes, not even the sound of movement from the other side. I knock again, listening closely. Even if she has fallen deeply enough asleep that she wouldn’t rouse at the rapping on the door, my sharp ears will make out her breathing.
They don’t. There’s no indication of any living being in the room beyond.
Frowning, I ease the door open. It’s as empty as it sounded. The only sign of Talia’s presence is the book lying haphazardly on the seat of the armchair by the window.
The moment my gaze catches on it, an afterimage floats through my vision from my dead eye: Talia sitting up with a jolt of her spine, her mouth tensing, her eyes startled and… sad? The book falls from her hand to the cushion—and then I’m seeing only the chair before me again, that fragment of what I have to assume was the recent past vanishing.
My hand tightens on the side of the door. Why would she have looked upset just now? What drew her from her reading and her room?
There could be a perfectly simple explanation. It might be as innocuous as that the book reminded her of some uncomfortable event in her own life, and she went to find another activity to distract herself. But as I stride down the hall, a thread of uneasiness weaves through my gut.
Both the shared lavatory and the privy are vacant. Talia isn’t in the kitchen, the dining room, or the entrance room, but those weren’t likely possibilities at this time of night anyway.
I barrel down the stairs to the basement, checking the entertainment room, the sauna, and then heading toward the gym. She could have gone to August before I even gave my blessings—
No. August emerges before I’ve reached the room, rubbing his dampened hair with a towel, his face flushed from the exertion he’s just put his body through. The wary look he gives me sets my teeth on edge, as annoyed with myself as with him. He is my brother-by-father, my cadre-chosen—it isn’t right that he should mistrust me.
But that is a hurdle we’ll need to overcome another day.
“Has Talia been down here?” I ask.
His wariness falls away behind a flash of concern. “I haven’t seen her, not since she went upstairs with you.”
By all that is dust, that’s not the answer I wished to hear. “She headed to her room, but she isn’t there now. Nor any of the other places I might have expected. I haven’t checked every room in the building yet, though.”
Perhaps she’s gone to one of our bed chambers. I’ve already covered the lower two floors thoroughly.
We lope to the upper floor together, veering in separate directions at the split in the hall without needing to consult one another. All of the bed chambers are empty other than Whitt’s. As I come up on his door, his voice carries through it in a dull mumble. “…the best.”
Is he talking to Talia? The idea that she’s in his chamber with him—for what purpose?—sparks a clash of relief and possessiveness. I shove the door open.