Page 32 of The Lost Fae
"You haven't answered the question." Lincoln steps between me and the trolls that start to come to life once more.
"I grow tired of you. This conversation has made me uneasy. I need time to rest and we can talk it over... another day."
"What day? When?" I push even as the trolls fall to their sides and start rolling until they are squishing our toes and forcing us back.
"Anotherday."
She turns her back on us and strolls casually from the room.
Nine
Fuck Sparking
The door clicks shut,leaving Lincoln and I alone. The room we've been offered is small. I would compare it to my bedroom in my old apartment.God, that feels like years ago.Turning to face the room, I shrug and groan.
A queen-sized bed is pushed up against the wall, opposite a freshly lit hearth. A single dresser sits under a small circular window. And that's it. That's all there is to the tiny room.
"Well that didn't go as planned." Lincoln undoes his coat, carefully folding it before he sets it up on the dresser and starts to undo his boots.
Warmth from the fire warms my legs and I scoot a little closer, opening my palms to the heat. I don't want to be a piece of forgotten history. I don't want to be stuck in this court, forced to find myself a home in the forest where I'll always be running into strangers. That is not for me.
What would the Fae say? What are they saying right now? Where do they think their Mortal Queen has gone? Do they think that I have abandoned them? Or died? Do they think I'm hiding?
The possibilities are endless, and each one more infuriating than the last. I haven't given up on them. I'm just... stuck. With that thought comes a long and low sigh.
"Here." Ziko runs his arms over my shoulders, then draws them up over my chest to start undoing the buttons of my coats. My attention lands on his face. "The fire will warm you soon enough."
"What are we going to do now?" The question hangs between us with no ready answers. Really, there was no need to say it out loud when Lincoln's mind is already following every bunny trail of an idea for a solution.
My jackets peel away, leaving my shoulders feeling light. But the weight of the situation still presses down on me. I lower to the floor. With my boots propped in front of me, facing the fire, I pat the space next to me for Lincoln to sit. He folds my coat neatly and sets it next to his.
"You don't have to do that."
"Do what?" he asks as he folds his legs underneath him, stretching his arms toward the fire.
"Take my coat, clean up after me, constantly treat me like a queen..." I drone.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought I was just showing you common decency," he laughs. "Man, Collin really did a number on you, didn't he?"
"I should be offended by that." I smile, but I'm not offended in the least bit. At some point, it went from me feeling like Collin and everything that happened in that relationship was my fault to now... now it was what it was and I feel no need to take ownership of what I went through as all my fault.
Lincoln leans a little closer. Heat from his skin travels through the sleeve of his ruffled pink shirt and warms my side. The slightest brush makes my skin tingle with excitement.
I could tell he is present in my thoughts, aware of how my body reacts to his touch as his gaze lands on my lips, parting with a breath. My fingers twitch against the cold floor, itching to touch the curls that had formed in his hair since it has dampened from the snow.
"Tomorrow is a new day." His voice is low.
"As if that makes a difference." My attention bounces from his burning gaze back down to his mouth.
"It makes all the difference."
Every ounce of air catches in my chest. I don't move. Don't dare to. Not when I'm terrified that I could ruin this, or make Lincoln feel uncomfortable. Yet, he moves a little closer. Lifting one hand, Lincoln burns a line of fire against my cheek as he traces the shape of my face.
"I don't need a spark," he finally says. His fingers weave through my hair, angling my face to his. Hot breath fans down my chin and neck, his lips surprisingly soft as they brush against mine as he repeats. "I don't need a spark to love you."
His hand is the only thing that holds me up. I go spineless with his nearness and his proclamation. We've said it before and we'd say it again. But somehow every time it left me in disbelief. The world stops for moments like these. Nothing else exists and all my problems melt away when he looks at me as he is now. As he devours my image.
"Fuck sparking," I murmur.
