Page 22 of Sweetling
Stuck again in a daze, she followed when the fae went to pick up both of her bags and lead her outside. There would be no celebration nor wedding dinner. They wouldn’t stand to greet guests and well-wishers.
They were pledged and that was that.
Outside, a much larger crowd of curious neighbors had gathered in the street. The fae’s black unicorn stood proudly just outside, and everyone gave him a wide berth. When they appeared, a curious hum of chatter began.
“Congratulations to the happy couple,” called Brom from behind them.
More awkward clapping followed, making Molly’s cheeks burn. She might as well have been naked for how exposed and vulnerable she felt then. Tears pricked her eyes to think of herself, hair unkempt and dress worn, standing beside this ethereal being.
What we must look like.
Molly followed without a word as he walked to the unicorn. No saddle sat on his back, just a finely woven blanket and a pair of stirrups. The fae slung her bags across the unicorn’s broad back before offering his unbound hand to help her up.
Her cheeks burned. “I don’t know how.” She’d never learned to ride.
Without a word, the fae took her by the waist and hauled her up. With anoof,Molly clutched at the strap of her bags as she flung a leg over the unicorn’s back. It was difficult, one of her hands still bound to his, and she had to scramble to right herself. Her skirts rodeup higher than her boots, exposing her knee and pockmarked lower thigh.
She’d barely gotten her seat when the fae mounted up behind her, graceful as could be. He curled his arm around her to rest their bound hands in her lap. With nowhere else to put her other hand, she laid it on the lump their hands made.
The crowd tittered and murmured, gawking as the unicorn turned to head down the street.
And that was how Molly finally left her uncle’s home—on the back of a unicorn, handfasted to a fae, and utterly humiliated.
5
Allarion thought the day went rather well—the ceremony was efficient and to the point, Molly had looked lovely in all her warm colors, and even better, she’d come to him willingly. Now he rode for home with his new bride safe in his arms and under his protection.
And she’s mine now. Mine.
All in all, certainly not a bad day.
Despite the triumph he felt, though, he couldn’t help a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. Even for Bellarand, far swifter than a mere horse, the ride back to Scarborough took hours, especially laden with two riders and two full bags. His bride hadn’t said a word to him throughout those long hours.
He’d asked multiple times as the sun began to sink across the sky if she needed to stop, but all he received for his courtesy was a stiff shake of her head. She held herself rigidly in front of him, always looking ahead. Her cheeks had gone pink with the wind rushing past them, but otherwise her coloring was abnormally pale.
He didn’t like that. She should be flushed with warmth and high spirits. He didn’t like that she’d only had two bags, either. When he’d asked if she had nothing else to bring or would like to stop somewhere to purchase more, that had only gotten him a terse shake of the head.
When they lost the sun, Allarion could feel how her limbs went cold, even if she shook her head to that, too. Resisting the desire to roll his eyes, and not wanting to be the fae who let his new bride go cold, he slipped his cloak from his shoulders onto hers, wrapping her up in the fine cloth. It almost swallowed her, but Allarion didn’t miss how her tight shoulders loosened a little under the warmth.
He liked seeing her in something of his. Soon, she would begin to smell of him—and even better, her scent would permeate the house, sink through the floorboards and touch the rafters above.
Having the cloak between them was for the best, as thinking of her in his house, filling it with her laughter and scent and presence, had his cock twitching with interest. Holding her against him had his black blood running hot, and it was all he could do to focus on the ride rather than the warm, alluring female practically in his lap.
He’d known about her sumptuous curves, of course. They drew his eye every time, the heavy slopes of her breasts and rounded globes of her backside, the thick plushness of her thighs and enticing nip of her waist. It was one thing to know—it was another entirely to feel.
He didn’t let himself explore, not without her permission and not in the gathering darkness as they neared Scarborough, butoh,it was more than just his fangs aching to feel every curve and contour of her.
But because his magic was concentrated inside him after being away from the estate, and because his instinct rode him hard to take and claim andbite,horrifying and baffling as that might be, Allarion did allow himself to duck his head and take a deep pull from her hair.
He filled his lungs with her, a pleasure not unlike wielding magic running sweet through his veins. It was as sweet as she was, that hint of honey and vanilla underlying her scent of woman. He didn’t know what about her scent drove him to such madness—whether it was the humanness of her, the thrill of something new, or neither at all.
Whatever drew him to her, he was ensnared, with no desire to be free.
His plans so far had borne fruit, and he just needed his luck to hold a little longer.
As they neared the estate, his anticipation grew. It was already an inky dark, the moon climbing above the trees and the stars glittering in a clear, velveteen sky. Perhaps they should have camped for the night, but Allarion trusted Bellarand and the unicorn’s sight implicitly.
They were so close—and Allarion wanted her to see her new home.
