devilishly. Very slowly he tilts his head aside and reaches out, fingering a pale tendril of my hair. “You know that’s not true, love. The entire island is my territory.”
Every hair on my body stands at attention at the velvety smoothness of his croon. Goosepimples dot my flesh, my stomach whirls again. I should be afraid of him, deathly so considering his proximity and what he is, but I’m not.
I never am, never have been.
Despite how he gets on—or rather, doesn’t get on—with others, especially Peter, Callan has always been cordial and amiable with me. He’s never given me a personal reason to feel fear.
Why that is, I haven’t a clue.
In fact, it’s a question I’ve been asking myself ever since I can remember.
♫ Ride - Twenty One Pilots ♫
She’s so damned close, I can smell her; sweet jasmine and ripe honeysuckle.
I can feel her body warmth.
Hear her heart gallop.
See the way her pulse flutters wildly.
There’s a flush in her cheeks, a hitch in her breath as I step all the more closer, invading all essence of her personal space. She’s puzzled, a bundle of nerves, and yet, she doesn’t recoil.
Now that I think about it, I can’t recall a time she ever has. Then again, these lone moments between us are a rare occurrence. A very rare occurrence.
And this one right here—it’s different from the rest.
It’s the absolute closest I’ve ever been to her.
I usually have more self-control, but the way she looks today…I can’t. I have to be near her, even if but for a second.
Perfectly still the little pixie stands before me, aquamarine pools locked firmly on my blues. She doesn’t so much as breathe, not even when I duck my head to her level.
“Breathe, Tinksley,” I whisper, gently brushing back her mane. My lips ghost along her cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I-I know,” she stammers, completely disarming me.
An appeased grin touches my lips. “Do you now? So sure of yourself, of me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you trust me.”
Tinksley shudders slightly, just enough for me to catch it, and while I can’t see her expression, I know those big, innocent eyes of hers are clamped tightly. “I do.”
I shake my head, nearly chuckling as those two little words echo through me, rippling from my head down to my toes.
If she only knew what they do to me.
Arousal. Elation. Confusion.
Of all people, she trusts me?
“Why?” I have to know. “No one else does. I’m what nightmares are made of, remember?”
A small shove, but it jerks me back nonetheless. She wants space. Needs to breathe.
Okay. I’ll give her that.
She doesn’t speak, just watches me, observes the space now between us. When it’s clear I’m not going to rush her again, she gathers herself rather quickly, and crosses her arms.
“Not everyone has the same idea of nightmares.”
“Oh, come on. You know what they say about me. I’m the big, bad man. The villain of Rosewood tales.”
“Are you, really though?” She seems dubious, oddly chastising, too. “Or is that how you want people to see you?”
To say I’m impressed with her rebuttal is only putting it lightly, but I don’t tell her so. I want to press a little more, taunt the flame, watch it lick and billow under pressure. “The question is, how do you see me, Tinksley Bell?”
Her head rears back a fraction. “Does it matter?”
I nod.
“And why is that? I’m just a little pixie in your grand world of immortal majesty.” Sarcasm drips off every note of that retort, quirking the corners of my mouth.
She may not be immortal but…
“If I recall correctly, there’s royal blood coursing through your veins, as well, so this grand world is just as much yours as it is mine.”
“Yeah? But this forest was yours just five minutes ago? Please, Captain, you’re not fooling anyone with your silly little mind games. At least not me anyway. And for the record, there’s nothing magical about Faes,” she mutters, narrowing her stare in offense.
I am loving this.
The sass on her is enticing. Evidently, my cock agrees, kicking beneath my slacks at the thought of egging her on.
Riling her up.
Cornering her.
Feeling that tight little body against mine as I sink my teeth into her neck while giving her this dick.
Goddamn it.
“On the contrary,” I take a step toward her, “they’re quite magical indeed. Vicious and deadly.”
Tinksley steps back. “You forgot conniving, deceitful, and despicable.”
“Kind of like Pan?” I counter, advancing again.
Every inch closer urges her backward until her back