Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,65
to see her anything but ferocious in the face of danger.
But that very ferocity could get her in trouble.
Without a word he turned and moved to the armoire. Flinging the doors open, he knelt and rummaged inside among the spellbooks, searching for a particular volume that ought to contain the work he needed. He felt the girl’s gaze on his back as he crouched on his heels and flipped through a little green book, scanning the spells it contained.
“What is that?” she demanded.
He cast her a quick glance and went on turning pages. “A precaution, Miss Beck.”
“What kind of precaution?”
He didn’t answer. In the middle of the book he stopped and studied a spell more closely. Then with a nod he stood, shut the armoire, and moved across the room to the front door.
As though reading his intention, Nelle sprang to her feet. “What are you doing?” she growled.
He re-opened the book, lifted the spell to eye level, and began to read it off slowly. But before he’d gotten three lines in, the girl crossed the room, grabbed his arm, and yanked his concentration away. The faint spell traces, only just beginning to come to life, faltered.
Soran cursed and glowered down at the girl, who met his glare without flinching.
“Is that a lock?” she said through gritted teeth. “Are you locking me in?”
“I am making certain that the lighthouse is secure against potential invasion.”
Her fingers dug into his arm. “You’ve got locks and spells and enchantments running all up and down this place. I can sense them, you know. They’re all as strong now as they ever were. You don’t need more locks.”
“I think perhaps I do.”
Her mouth screwed up into a tight knot, as though she fought back the string of vicious words springing to her tongue. She drew a long breath and let it out slowly, her nostrils flaring.
When she spoke at last, her voice was low. “You can’t do this. You can’t make me your prisoner.”
Her words were like a blow to the gut. Soran almost staggered. “That . . . is not my intention.”
“You can’t lock me in and call it protection,” she persisted. “You can’t.” Fire seemed to light her pale eyes, hot enough to burn him. “I don’t belong to you.”
The little bit of magic sputtered out. Soran’s hand trembled. The spell itself was compromised, but if he turned to it now he might yet be able to salvage it. It was only a temporary lock, after all. Just until Roseward had bypassed that dangerous shore, just until Nelle was safe again. It was for her own good.
But he could not ignore that look in her eye.
If he locked her in against her will, how was he any better than Kyriakos?
He must trust her. He must trust her, or else . . .
Soran snapped the book shut and yanked his arm free of her grasp. He turned to face her fully, crossing his arms over his chest. “Very well, Miss Beck,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “But know this: If you step outside this door, you risk everything. Your life, your freedom. Everything.”
She opened her mouth, but he didn’t wait to hear what she would say. He pushed past her, stormed across the room to the stair, and hastened on up to his solitary chamber. Anything to get away from that accusatory gaze.
Anything to hide from her an awareness of the peril he had so recklessly led her into.
Nelle simply stood there, arms wrapped around her middle, trying to keep her shivering body from breaking apart. Her ears strained after the mage’s retreating footsteps until long after they’d faded from hearing. And still she stood in silence, her mind numb, her heart pounding.
After what felt like hours but was possibly only a few minutes, she whispered, “Bullspit.”
What was she supposed to do now?
At least she wasn’t locked in. That was something. She whirled around, her hand reaching for the doorlatch, but froze before she touched it. Was she really going to rush from the lighthouse again with Soran’s warning still ringing in her ears?
He takes them as his wives.
Mortals are his favorites.
She closed her eyes. But that was no good. In the darkness behind her eyelids she saw again that powerful form she’d glimpsed on the beach—that strangely beautiful creature with his purple-tinted skin and midnight hair. To be taken by such a man, enslaved . . .
No. No, that wouldn’t be her fate. Soran had driven the fae from Roseward, hadn’t he?