Page 10 of Bound
“No.” I extricate myself from his hold.
Though he continues to watch me warily, he doesn’t remark anymore.
We walk deeper into the penthouse, and that sense of incredulity from the sidewalk grows. Of all places for high ranking Fae to stay, a hotel this ridiculous would not have been my first choice. Between the steel and electrical amenities, the buzz of tech seems to roar even in my ears.
The first shine of Fae fighting leather sparks something like nostalgia in my chest. I force it away as I get my first look—in years—at flawless skin in cremes, tan, and even a soft blue. The guards and their captain wait in a tight cluster around three Lords and a handful of stunning females. Every pair of irises sport dual lines of color, their glow muted from so long inside the building.
In the center of the group, next to a golden haired male, is a petite figure so small that his average frame seems to tower over her.
I frown.
Did they bring a child?
She rises as the male next to her does, elongating such a small frame.
Clad in a gown of chiffon and lace, the woman’s long honey blonde locks are loose down her back, and framing a petite heart-shaped face that would be almost too pretty but for the sharp lines of her cheekbones.
The closer I get, the more little details seem to glare at me. The triple line of lilac, sapphire, and sky blue of her irises. How her lips are damp looking and plump. How the darker hints of lace line her neck, or how flawless her creme skin is.
I stare at the girl. Because she is a girl compared to me. Then again, Ruin is a child against my age too.
But though she exudes a kind of sweet innocence, her willowy frame has gentle curves under her clothes. Womanly curves.
Tanner leans into my side. “Do all your women look like that?” he mutters.
“Mostly,” I manage. My eyes flow from her narrow waist down over the lean lines of her thighs as they push against her skirts.
She stops a few feet away with her kin, her brilliant irises tracking from me to Tanner and back. Her frame is so small she could curl up on my chest like a beautiful doll and still have room.
I shake my head hard.
What the fuck?
The male at her side steps forward. He doesn’t extend a hand. And I don’t offer either. Since touch amplifies our powers and allows another to read how strong we are, Fae don’t do handshakes.
A small smile tugs at the curve of his pale pink lips as he peers up at me. “Captain Whitehorn, I presume,” he intones. “I am Branwen Knyt of the Tennessee Sith.”
I dip my head. “Master Knyt, I hope your flight was smooth.”
He frowns a bit at the lack of title, but it has been many years since a Fae was my Lord.
“It was as well as expected.” He glances back at the small woman with him. “I fear my sister suffered most of all.”
My eyes lock on her downcast face as her cheeks flush a soft pink. “I am well now, brother mine.” Her voice is a soft, lyrical soprano. Not husky, but close.
He extends a hand back and she walks to his side. The current of air inside the room shifts, blowing a cool breeze over my feverish body and bringing her soft floral scent to me. Like wild rose and orange blossoms. It makes my teeth grind with its gentle sweetness.
Is there anything about her that does not scream innocence?
“I pray you remain that way, Amoret,” he says to her.
The name rolls through my mind, pulling at something inside me.
A memory?
Though I don’t remember her from the Sith, something about the name makes me feel like I should. Or maybe it is her that sparks the familiarity.
She gives a graceful incline of her head, and my fists clench at my sides. Every move she makes is demure. If she is Lord Branwen’s sister, and judging by their near twin-like appearance she is, then she was raised from birth to be a lady of the court. And it shows.
