Page 96 of Caging Darling

“If someone took her, wouldn’t that make it even more difficult for us to track her down?” I ask.

I expect the Nomad’s eyes to glint, but they don’t. “Not necessarily. Prizes like your faerie friend have a tendency to find themselves in the pocket of the highest bidder.”

“And who’s the highest bidder?”

The Nomad pushes his hands against his knees and stands, then glances at my Mating Mark. “Who do we know who has an affinity for collecting interesting women as pets? Or should I say—muses?”

CHAPTER 35

“No.”

Astor and Peter glance across the room at each other, the word having melded in both of their voices at the Nomad’s pronouncement of the plan.

We’re in the Nomad’s office. He’s propped on top of the front of his desk, one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around my shoulder.

I’m pretty sure he’s only doing it to get on our company’s nerves. Or maybe he’s doing it for me, so that I can watch both of them hurt.

Either way, the fact that the touch is only possessive in looks makes it somewhat affirming. A “you two don’t deserve to touch her” kind of touch.

Not that he’s giving off the impression that he actually cares about me, given what he just proposed.

Peter’s shadows swath around him in an outburst of agitation. He stalks up to the desk and gets in the Nomad’s face. “We’re not putting Wendy in harm’s way.”

Astor is leaning against the bookshelf to my right, arms crossed so that his hook rests at the crook of his elbow. When hespeaks, he sounds bored but firm. “I regret to admit that I agree with the winged boy on this one. Come up with another plan.”

The Nomad’s grin is all silky teeth. “Now, boys. When have I ever put Wendy in harm’s way? I’d say I have a much cleaner record than either of you.”

Peter seethes, but Astor says, “Forgive me if I don’t trust the man whose idea it was to offer Wendy’s life to bring my wife back to have her best interests at heart.”

The Nomad pulls me tighter into his side, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “Still, I’ve never held the blade to her throat.”

Astor’s throat bobs, but the stubborn man doesn’t back down. Doesn’t even do me the favor of offering me a glance of apology.

“Wendy’s not bait to be dangled in front of a known trafficker,” says Peter. “Especially one who’s already spent money to purchase her.”

“Yes, you’d much rather keep her dangling at the end of your own strings,” says Astor.

Peter whirls on Astor. “It’s what children do, you know. Offer a friend a gift, then demand it back. Demand it’s theirs once they finally realize the value of what they’ve given away.”

“I’m afraid that analogy only works if the gift belonged to me to begin with,” says Astor, still not looking at me.

My heart thuds against my chest, his words a pinprick between my ribs.

Peter turns back to the Nomad. “It’ll never work. You don’t know my Wendy Darling. She’s shy. She won’t be convincing.”

I shoot a glare at my counterfeit Mate. “I’d say I played your doting wife fairly convincingly.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse Astor stroke his beard, hiding his mouth with his hand.

Peter glances at me, shock in his expression, but he quickly averts his eyes.

“She is quite good at that—playing the doting wife. I can attest from experience,” says Astor.

“Yes, well, she won’t be playing a wife this time,” says Peter. “She’ll be playing a slave.”

“Given her current situation, I would think no acting would be necessary,” mutters the Nomad, though Peter and Astor are too busy arguing to hear.

Peter whips his head toward Astor. “Are you going to back me up in protecting Wendy or not?”

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