Page 156 of Flirting with Darkness

“I am sorry, though.”

He raked his fingers through his hair, pulling the lengths from his face, then canted his head at me. “For…?”

“Your appearance scared me at first.”

He snorted and grabbed a comb from the chest of drawers. “I get that a lot. And in my line of work, it’s useful.”

I narrowed my eyes as he combed his hair even though he’d clearly already brushed it. “But not the full picture, I think. The flower was kind. And the bath was thoughtful.”

“Mm.” He stood back and shrugged, replacing the comb. “Didn’t want you to bolt.”

But when he turned to face me, there was no hardness in his eyes.

Yes, I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze, and if I tried, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to get my arms around him. Although he’d only just shaved, the promise of stubble already shadowed his cheeks and jaw. But this neatness in his combed hair and the shirt with its sleeves carefully rolled up to his elbows—it suited him far better than the road worn clothes and dirt.

“Hmm.” I tugged at my lower lip, and he shifted as I turned his own sound back on him.Ha, he didn’t like it when the tables were turned. I grinned. “Now you look more like your personality.” Notentirelya beast.

He gave me a long look, slight crease between his eyebrows.

We didn’t say anything more about it. I dressed behind a screen, and a note appeared from Granny together with more food. “‘I’m sure you’re tired, so here’s an informal supper,’” Faolán read out. “‘We’ll get to know each other better tomorrow.’ Hmm.” He frowned out the window and glanced at the mantlepiece where the clocktick tick ticked. “Night’s drawn in quickly. Must’ve lost track of time.”

We ate by the fire. Despite the sausage rolls and pastries, Faolán still devoured a large plate of chicken. Not a speck touched his shirt or marked his cheeks or chin.

Then there was nothing else to do but go to bed. Miraculously, it was large enough to not only fit Faolán comfortably, but for me to also stretch out and not come close to touching him.

Some part of me twinged with disappointment at the fact, but I’d barely registered it before sleep closed in, as sudden as a clap of thunder.

* * *

I woke in the dark. Something wasn’t right. I’d never fallen asleep so quickly in my life, for one thing. Though maybe that was just exhaustion from all that had happened the past few days. But still, something in the room felt… different.

I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light creeping around the edge of the curtains.

Faolán was gone.

I touched his side of the bed. Cold. I sat up, pulling the blankets closer and peered around the room. No sign of him.

“Faolán?”

The bathroom door was open, so he wasn’t in there.

I called for him again. No reply.

A chill crept down my neck. I thought I’d seen some softness in him earlier—the man who killed with one hand and shrugged it off. Had I been stupid and let the sight of his body and the handsome face revealed after his bath cloud my judgement?

Yes, he’d promised to protect me, but fae could twist bargains. By his own admission, they could twist the truth.

Maybe he’d brought me here to Granny deliberately. For all I knew, he could be working with her.

But working with her to do what? What might they want with me? I had so little information, it was hard to say, but one thing every story about the fae agreed on—it wasn’t anything good.

I ran through all those tales. Granny could boil me up in a stew. Maybe she’d feed me to some sort of monstrous pet. Maybe she’d trade me in a deal with some worse creature to get herself eternal youth—for some reason too many women in stories wanted that. None of them ever asked to be rid of their periods or the risk of dying in childbirth. Seemed unrealistic to me.

Still, stories were the only clues I had about Granny and her intentions.

Maybe she and Faolán would play with me for years, keeping me trapped here, and when they finally freed me, I’d stumble home and find a hundred years had passed. Worst of all, some part of me would miss their exquisite torture and the taste of faerie food, and I’d pine away, driven mad for wanting something I could never have.

With Faolán gone, this might be my chance to escape. What proof did I have that the geas keeping me in the house was real? None. Only his word.

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