Page 103 of A Song of Air
Finally, he let out a sigh. “I cannot help you,” he said.
Iona blinked.
Malika let out a sound of disbelief. “What do you mean you can’t help us?!”
George cut his gaze to Iona’s sister, all the mirth melting from his whole body in an instant. “I mean I cannot help you, even if I wanted to.”
“Why not?” Iona felt her voice growing smaller.
George looked at her again, and this time the affection in his gaze was obvious. “My sweet Iona Wylde...” He lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach out and caress her cheek. She swore she felt a tug on her being as he did so, but it was gone as soon as his hand dropped into his lap. “Besides having nothing to help you get them back, I would not help even if I could.” He looked at all of them, both apologetic and almost gleeful. “The Unseelie Court is a wild and dangerous place. Even more dangerous, I dare say, than the humanlands themselves.” He looked at Iona again, and this time she felt the truth of his words pierce her down to her core. “If the vicious and deadly monsters of the Unseelie do not get to your friends first, they will wish for death a thousand times over if the royals find them. I am sorry, but they are lost forever.”
Bone and Rage
Bryson’s eyes flutteredopen to be met with shadows and light. Each blink came faster and harder than the last. Her brows furrowed, eyes squinting as she tried to make out whatever figures she could. Slowly, painfully, the world came to her in a clearer picture. Splotches of color contorted with the shadows, bright bursts of light and slashing, dark lines.
It wasn’t what she’d had, but it was something.
Her eyeballs still burned from the iron that coated the air, and she felt compressions against her chest with every breath, like there was a heavy weight against it, making every drag of air burn.
But she was alive.
Comforting warmth slipped across the skin at her nape. Strong fingers pushing aside knotted red curls to play with her skin. Bryson found herself leaning into the touch and the strong, prevalent aroma of cocoa and spices. Weylyn’s essence invaded her entire system, and she drew strength from it. From him.
She shouldn’t have found comfort in the way his fingers slid a slow trail around to the front of her neck, pressing firmly against the unsteady jumping of her throat. Her breath hitched, nostrils tickling, senses clouding as Weylyn pressed closer.
Her eyes had closed against his proximity. She didn’t want to look at him. Not when she could scarcely see and most certainly not when fear beat a compulsive rhythm in her body.
Bryson wanted to quit him. To be stronger than she was and push him away. But he was a force, a vortex she was twirling in, losing her head as her body lost control within him.
Maybe that was a reason they were in this mess in the first place, she thought as those strong fingers cupped the underside of her jaw, tilting her head up. His lack of a care for her personal boundaries were the reason they’d both ended up in the Unseelie Court.
His touch sent little currents dancing across her exposed skin. His thumb teased her bottom lip and her mouth dropped open on a gasp at the sensations he provoked inside her, all around her. Like little fireworks were being set off in her chest.
It was the bond. Bryson knew it was the bond, urging them closer, pushing them together.
But this was his fault. He invaded her mind. He made her lose all logic and reason. He forced his way inside her head. He’d fucked her, spiritually if not emotionally.
