Page 9 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
Wild Hunt take me, but some foolish part of me wished it wasmyear that dark haired fae, for all his inhumanity, murmured in.
It had been too long since I’d had any affection other than Rose’s and, much as I loved her, it wasnotthe same as a lover’s touch. Even with my eyes shut in the deep dark of night, my own touch wasn’t the same, however much I pretended.
The girl shook her head and replied, voice too low for me to catch. She couldn’t be denying him—that wasn’t an option in the Tithe. Once chosen, that was the end of it. The stories were full of doomed attempts to save loved ones who’d been chosen.
Then her head turned in our direction and his gaze followed.
Rose gasped, arm going rigid under my hand. What was happening? Was he choosing one of the other Hawthorne girls?
He stalked this way, something fierce in the set of his brow. A smile spread across his mouth until it revealed pointed canines.
Gods, he reallywasmore animal than person.
Surely he wouldn’t choose one of the younger sisters.
Lady Hawthorne pushed forward the next eldest of her daughters. The fae dismissed her with a swipe of his finger.
The Hawthornes parted to let him pass.
Because his gaze wasn’t on them. Or Lady Hawthorne. It went past them all.
It was on me.
Claimed
My heart leapt into my throat like it was trying to escape.
Slowing, he came one step closer. Two.
Every pair of eyes was on me. Grey blotches crowded my vision. Something pressed on my chest. Everyone watching. Even with my hood, I was exposed, and some voice in my head screamed,Run.
Lady Hawthorne shot me a look that could’ve killed. Buthisgaze was far more dangerous.
Three steps. Four.
Rose jerked and might’ve pulled away if I hadn’t been holding her arm so tight.
The fifth step brought him too close, only a foot away, and I had to crane my neck, because my eyes were trapped.
His weren’t black like I’d first thought. They were the colour of midnight, perhaps a shade lighter than his jacket, flecked with starlight blue and violet like the glowing motes drifting around us. One caught in his hair, flaring against the iridescent colours before floating away.
Power rolled off him, dark and delicious, flooding my nose and mouth, filling my throat, like I could breathe it instead of air. My face tingled.
Mama used to say power called to power. Perhaps mine, weak as it was, had called to his and that was what this feeling was. Maybe he felt some measure of it and wanted to ask about the bodice, about the magic upon it.
His gaze roved across my face, taking in every shadowed feature at his leisure. He had to be wondering how something so weak could have any magic at all.
I didn’t see him move, but I blinked and his hand was at the edge of my hood, pushing it back. I couldn’t even stop him.
“Ah.” The dimple in his cheek appeared, and his long fingers curled into a loose fist in the air between us. He nodded once, a finality to it that I didn’t understand. “You.”
I didn’t understand that, either, but a collective gasp rushed through the crowd, and Rose gave a low moan. “No.” Her hand closed over mine. “No.”
He smirked and broke that entrapping eye-contact.
I sucked in a long breath, sagging like he’d released a hold on me. Mama had been right—creatures like him were too much, too powerful. My heart thundered in my ears like I’d sprinted the full length of Briarbridge.
Eyes wide, I threw Rose a questioning glance, but the look on her face, a glassy stare, one hand over her mouth, stilled the words on my tongue.
