he had to say to her? “I’m not cleaning them.” Or eating them.
He frowned at her. “You aren’t hungry?”
“I’m starved, but—”
He cut her off, saying, “Then clean, cook and eat them. Problem solved.”
Was this how things were going to be between them? He gave orders and expected absolute compliance? “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t want to touch a dead animal. I don’t want to eat an animal. I’m a vegetarian.”
He shrugged, completely apathetic. “You’ll do what I command. Nothing else is acceptable.” He walked away then, disappearing in the shadows.
Grimacing, she toed the animal carcasses out of her way, her stomach weeping even as her anger spiked. She was Puck’s greatest investment! He’d married her for a reason and that reason hadn’t changed. He needed her. So, he could freaking take care of her.
Should probably try to take care of...myself?
Definitely. And she would. Of course she would. Later. After he’d fed her a proper meal.
Oh, wow. She sounded every one of her eighteen years. How embarrassing—for her!
But she had passed hungry and now hangry, so what the hell.
She jumped to her feet and stalked after him, knowing he’d gone into the very cave he’d forbidden her from entering during his absence because “you never know what’s nesting inside.”
Drip, drip. The warm, damp air was fragrant with—she sniffed. Orchid oil? A dreamy scent she followed until she reached a bubbling hot spring. A whimper of longing escaped her. She could have stayed in here the entire time rather than freezing out there. Obviously, nothing was nesting.
Puck stood in the middle of the water that reached his waist, his back to her, his long hair plastered to his skin; through the strands she could see a crimson butterfly tattooed from the base of his neck to the curve of his ass. The gossamer wings looked as if they would actually lift and flutter.
And...she frowned. In many—many—places, Puck’s flesh was raised. With scars? A lump grew in her throat. Poor baby. What had happened to him? For scars to have formed on an immortal, the injuries had to have occurred during his childhood, before his body had developed the ability to regenerate, or had to have been so horrific, so fierce, even his ability to regenerate couldn’t heal him fully.
Poor baby? Who am I?
Stay strong. She stomped her foot, saying, “You are my...my husband. You will feed me. It’s your duty.”
Ugh. That was staying strong? Acting like a child?
Slowly he turned to face her. Droplets of water trickled down his cheeks, falling onto the wide bulk of his shoulders. “I may not care about much of anything, lass, but I live by certain rules. I have to.” Just then, he was an Egyptian prince with an Irish accent, and he was more confident, more commanding, than she’d ever been in her entire life. “My rules are the only reason I’ve survived my affliction—the only reason the people around me have survived.”
She licked her lips, his gaze following the motion of her tongue.
“The one you need to memorize?” he continued—did he sound a smidge less confident? “You will work or you will starve.”
A standard she would normally support. “I told you. I’m a vegetarian. I don’t mind working for my food, as long as it’s food I can eat.”
“You can eat what I provided, you simply prefer not to. What you don’t yet understand is this. You don’t have to like the tasks I give you, lass, but you must do them.”
“I would rather starve to death.”
He shook his head. “That will never be an option for you.”
“But—”
“You’ll do as you’re told, or you’ll suffer.”
William would never threaten her this way. He wouldn’t force the issue, ever. He would provide for her—fruits, nuts, even twigs if that was all he could find—no questions asked. She’d gone from the ultimate pampered life—and a man who valued her—to this, a laborious life with a man who couldn’t care less about her.
Biggest. Mistake. Ever.
“You would hurt me?” she asked through chattering teeth.
His answer was a succinct, “Yes.”
She backed away from the hot spring. “I’ll hate you.”
“And as you’ve probably figured out, I won’t be bothered by it.”
Fear gave way to anger and incredulity, and she balled her fists. He couldn’t...he wouldn’t...
Actually, he could and he would. “I want to go home.”
“I’m your home.”
“I want to go to my old home.”
“No. You’ll go to mine.”
And find herself surrounded by others of his kind? “We don’t have to live together.”