Page 56 of Fate

If he made to grab her, she would scamper away. His temper was too volatile, and there was that horrible, niggling suspicion that his loyalty was to those wretched people in there, and he meant to bring her back to them. To lay her out as some sort of sacrifice, to let them do their worst as they tried to pluck the bond from her chest while her supposed mate stood by and allowed it to happen.

But he didn’t.

He paced, instead.

Back and forth. Over and over.

“Lucian,” Orma murmured, and he paused, just long enough to settle his eyes on her. “If I leave, will Firen be safe?”

Because Firen hadn’t answered, had she?

And there it was again. The flare, the burn, and she rubbed harder at the spot, although it did not seem to soothe anything at all.

“Why would she not be?” he retorted, jaw tight and his hands curling into fists. “You think that of me? Truly?”

Orma rolled her shoulders and stood. “I do not wish to. But we come from strange stock, you and I. Better to be careful.”

Firen did not watch her leave. Instead, her focus remained on her mate. As he glared up at the sky. The first sun had already set, and the second was sending out rays of purple and green into the skies. The clouds turned grey and mottled, and it was a rather dismal display. Pinks were prettier. The blues and rich oranges that accompanied the first.

But perhaps it was appropriate.

“I dislike them,” Firen declared. “I do not think I’ve ever truly disliked anyone before.”

It was the wrong thing to say. She should be gracious toward the people he loved, even if they were horrid. But she wanted to be honest with him, and that was the most truthful thing she had to offer.

He snorted, shaking his head and stilling, if only for a moment. “The feeling is, sadly, mutual.”

She’d known that—they’d made it abundantly clear, so why did it still hurt?

She pulled at her skirt and smoothed it out again. She wanted her own clothes. Or... wanted to go somewhere else. To be someone else. Where she could dance. Seduce her own mate. Do all the things that were natural and right without that itching feeling coming under her skin, that everything wasn’t.

Couldn’t be.

She wiped at her eyes again, but the tears hadn’t started.

She wanted him to sit with her. Wanted him to keep his distance. And both were in equal measure, pushing and pulling at her until she feared she would go mad.

Her mouth was dry, the sips of dryvintdoing nothing to help quench her sudden thirst. The trickling sound of the fountain only added to her distress, and she suppressed the urge to laugh until she cried anew. Because she did not even know where to fetch herself a cup of water, and every pull drew her back home.

Where she’d have to go, alone.

“Are you going to let them do that to me?” she asked him at last, because that seemed of greatest importance. To know if she should hold him amongst the rest. To allow that resentment to linger into something that felt a little too near to hate.

He took a step nearer to her.

“No.”

She could breathe, but only just. Everything was too much of a tangle in her heart and stomach, leaving little room for anything like comfort or relief.

She released a breath and looked at him. Wanted to gesture for him to sit beside her, but didn’t. Couldn’t. “Why?”

He blinked at her, his brow furrowing. “You ask me that?”

And if it had been anyone else, she’d have understood. The insult was extreme. But this was Lucian. Born into... that family. With ties and desires that she was only beginning to comprehend.

“I do,” Firen affirmed, sitting as calmly as she could. As if... as if something was not breaking inside. The doubt too strong. The uncertainty. “Because you accepted me against your will, and please don’t pretend otherwise. And they’re offering you a way out. Even if... even if Orma tells me it would be rather...” She struggled to find a word that seemed adequate. They were all too small for so brutal, sohorriblean experiment.

He stalked toward her. His eyes were bright and angry as he moved closer, not stopping until...