Burning Dawn. Gena Showalter
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would deal with Adrian in a minute.
“Besides the Fae, has anyone given you any trouble?” Thane asked her.
Silence reigned as she again nibbled on her plump bottom lip.
Want to do that for myself. Want to nibble on other parts of her, too. No! He squared his shoulders, the feathers in his wings ruffling. “Elin?”
She...was staring at his wings, he realized. Curious about them? Wondering how soft they were? Everyone did. He curbed the urge to proudly flare them, to show her just how long and strong they were. To preen and impress her. Instead, he drew one forward, closer to her.
“Uh, you asked a question, I think,” she said, watching the motion with wide eyes. “Yes. Yes, you did. And it was... Oh, yeah. For the most part, everyone has been really nice.” As she spoke, she reached toward a patch of golden down. Just before contact, she swung both arms behind her back and kept them there.
He frowned, not liking such a reaction from her. It was as if she’d suddenly found the thought of touching him repugnant. “Feel the wing.”
She vehemently shook her head. “No way.”
“This isn’t a debate.” He never debated. He ordered. And expected. Using the muscles in his back, he caused the end of a wing to shake ever closer to her. “Feel.” A command.
A command she did not heed. “Is this a trick?”
Why would— Ah. Realization dawned. She’d seen him break the dragon warrior’s hand, and could only assume he would do the same to her.
“No trick. You have my permission; the shifter did not. But you are not ever to touch another Sent One this way. Or any way. Not even Bjorn and Xerxes. Understand?”
“Yep. Copy that.” Still she didn’t touch him.
“I won’t harm you, female. Feel,” he demanded. “Now.”
“Why?” she insisted.
Continuing to defy him. What a strange mix of bravery and fear she was.
“Well,” she prompted.
Because he would discover his reaction to her was the same as his reaction to the Harpy in his bed—not that he’d allowed the Harpy to come into contact with his wings. As her skin had rubbed against his, he had remained distanced. Bored.
“Do it,” he replied, ignoring Elin’s question.
At long last, she obeyed.
Not the same, he realized immediately.
Trembling fingers stroked over his feathers in a single, innocent moment of communion, flooding him with sensations he’d never before experienced. Sultry heat arced through his wings, spread through his body. His blood crackled and fizzed with something akin to contentment. An impossible contentment. His shaft was filling, threatening to burst.
This was pleasure, he realized, dazed. Pleasure without a hint of pain.
His first true taste. Another impossibility. Yes? And yet, everything he’d felt before had been a weak dilution.
No. Surely not. He had this wrong.
He had to have this wrong.
No woman would affect him so powerfully with so little.
“Elin, you are human, yes?”
The color he’d so admired in her cheeks drained, and she smoothed several errant strands of hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. “Yes. Of course.”
He tasted no lie.
“Why?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. It was just her, then. She affected him.
His gaze homed in on her hands. Six jagged scars crisscrossed over the tops, the raised flesh red and angry, clearly from recent wounds. They must have come courtesy of one of the Phoenix.
Before he realized he’d moved, he took her by the wrists to bring her hands to the light. Not six scars, but eleven. Each was long and thick.
Hands were sensitive, layered with nerves. Oh, how she must have suffered.
“Who did this?” he demanded quietly.
She tugged from his grip and once again snaked her arms behind her back. Embarrassed?
He...mourned the loss of her warmth and softness.
It was irritating. Confusing.
And not to be tolerated.
“Who?” he insisted, determined to mete out punishment. And he didn’t miss the irony. He, of all people, had no right to condemn another for causing a female pain.
She thought for a moment, shrugged. “It’s not like I have any loyalty toward her. It was Kendra. After you brought her back to camp, but before she snuck out and returned with you.”
Vile witch. Tonight, he would administer like for like to the princess. “Why did she do it?”
“I mouthed off.”
Well, then, after Thane sliced up Kendra’s hands, he would cut off her ears. Perhaps growing a new pair would help her appreciate the gift of listening to others.
It’s almost time. Xerxes’s voice drifted through his mind.
“I must go,” he said, “but when I return we will speak.” And he would force—allow Elin to touch his wing again. He would realize she affected him as little as everyone else, that the first contact had been a deviation.
She gazed up at him with dawning horror. “Speak about what?”
He wasn’t used to being questioned but opted to indulge her. Just because. “You.”
She backed away from him until her thighs hit the edge of the table. “Are you going to stake me?”
He frowned. “No. I have more questions for you.”
“What kind of questions?”
“The kind that will help me get to know you better. You are my employee, after all.”
“Oh.” She released a heavy breath. “Okay, then.”
What, she’d expected him to attack her? “I have told you before, kulta, I’m not going to harm you. I’m going to take care of you.”
The admission startled her as much as it did him.
Him? Take care of a female? Something that went far beyond mere protection.
But even as it surprised him, it felt as natural as breathing.
“What does kulta mean?” she asked.
Honey. Baby. Darling. Precious. Any of those things. All of them. Take your pick.
Little wonder he’d never used the endearment before. He wasn’t sure why he’d used it now.
He was the one to back away this time. Only, he didn’t stop. As he strode from the room, he snapped, “Adrian, I don’t recall telling you to wait before overseeing my orders. Go. Now.”
CHAPTER SIX
FINALLY, ELIN COULD BREATHE.
Thane’s presence somehow sucked the oxygen out of her lungs. He was just so much...man. Big and hard, undeniably dangerous, he soaked the atmosphere with the fiercest testosterone, making every woman in his vicinity downright giddy with an intoxicating rush of hormones, endorphins and chemicals.
Seriously. She’d wanted to have him for dinner. No crumb left behind.
She imagined him spread out on a buffet table. If he were a food, he would be a Grade A fillet, marinated in a rich sweet-and-tangy sauce—and sprinkled with enough cayenne pepper to burn just right.
No.