Page 3 of Thief of Souls
I wanted a handsome prince to whisk me away and save me, but the truth is: I’m a wraith-born bastard who is owned by her father. There is no handsome prince coming to save me. All I have is myself.
But he looks at me, and it’s as if we’re both drawn back into the past.
We both feel it—we both wanted something else too.
A pretty little lie.
“No.” The truth dies in his eyes. “Not Merisel. I never did catch your real name…?”
“I never gave it.”
Keir glances down, his silky lashes hiding his eyes for one small moment before he looks up again. There’s no green in his eyes anymore. Only the dragon staring back at me—because that’s his little secret.
He looks like a fae prince. He acts like a fae prince.
But long ago, when the fae went to war against the dragon kings, rumor says they turned from this world, turned to stone, stepped into the long Unwaking….
Sometimes I wonder if the dragon kings set those rumors themselves, because one of them is right in front of me. Locked into mortal flesh, his eyes blazing as though his fae prison can barely contain him anymore.
“Where have you been?” he demands as his gaze slides down me. “I’ve summoned you a half dozen times.”
Drowning. Repeatedly.
But he doesn’t need to know that.
I shrug, but the shiver that runs through me ruins the effect. “I told you that you weren’t the only one to whom I owed a debt. Sometimes, I’m not at liberty to attend.”
His eyes narrow. “You’re dripping wet. And freezing, by the look of you. Where are you?”
“What? You’ve never taken a bracing swim in a glacial fjord?”
“Not clothed.” Keir bares his teeth. It’s not a smile. “I see how easily you do it now.”
“Do what?”
“Lie,” he growls before he holds his hand up and makes a gesture.
Water sluices down my body. It feels like a warm tingle running over every inch of my skin, and I do mean every inch. A gasp steals from me as puddles of frigid water hit the floor, and then I’m warm and dry and blessed gods, I almost forgot this feeling….
It’s enough to make my eyes water as I stagger.
Warmth. Actual warmth.
I can survive almost anything my father wants to do to me—Iwillsurvive—but the sudden shock of such a comfort almost breaks me.
It’s not real.
Somewhere out there, my body is coughing and spluttering as the inevitable finally happens and I’m forced to choke down a lungful of freezing water. But just for a moment I’m safe and warm, and I don’t have to be strong anymore—
I hit my knees, palms slapping against the tiles.
It’s as if my body simply gives out.
Bare feet whisper over the tiles in front of me and then his shadow looms. It’s enough to make me flinch back, but there is no weapon to grab and belatedly I realize Keir’s not attacking me. His hands are still an inch from my arms, the expression on his face arresting.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly. Gently.
“You….” I clear my throat. “You caught me by surprise.”
