Rowan Fómhar
If she wanted to keep the bottle, she should have kept her thoughts contained within her head.
"No, I will not," I said, moving to stop her from walking away. Instead of grabbing her, I extended my arm in front of her to block her exit.
Too busy lifting the bottle and tilting her head back to take another deep swing, she didn't notice it until she was bouncing off it. The impact knocked the lip of the bottle from her mouth, causing amber liquor to dribble down her chin and spill across her shirt, turning the white fabric sheer. Well, it was white before we visited her friend- Mate, I corrected myself, struggling to come to terms with the discovery that I had made.
Lifting my eyes from the sight that the wet material revealed, I locked them with hers in an attempt to keep them from straying disrespectfully like my thoughts were. There was no way I was going to get the glimpse of the dusky points that her wet shirt revealed out of my head. My wet shirt.
I swallowed with more difficulty than I liked and composed my thoughts which were causing a battle between me and my body. "Do you think drinking in your state is a good idea?" I asked while attempting to keep certain anatomy from reacting to the mental image that I wouldn't soon forget.
My lips pressed together to keep a frown from forming. I didn't like the loss of control, no matter how small it was. I couldn't control the actions and thoughts of others, but I could control mine...
...wrapping my lips around the hard point of her breast and sucking hard, tasting the familiar and comforting spice of rum while...
Well, for the most part.
I really needed to get back out there if the sight of tits through a shirt had me reacted like a boy yet to experience the touch of a female.
"And what state is that, asshat?" She asked, wiping her sleeve across her mouth and not seeming to care about the state of her shirt or what it revealed. The renewed hostility in her voice had my blood cooling enough for me to think rationally.
"Unstable," I answered without hesitating.
It was truly bewildering that a fae as powerful as Silas had bonded with her. It was a surprise I hadn't expected in the slightest, so much so that it didn't even cross my mind that the mark on his side tied him to her until his shift in demeanor and sudden break of silence had the unlikely conclusion coming to mind. I was still struggling to accept it even after confirming it.
A Fae only got to form one soul bond and it was one that couldn't be broken, not even by death. Often, the departing soul dragged its bond with it into the afterlife with it which is why bindings weren't taken lightly. No fae would tie their life to one that was so easy to end, and that was without even getting into all the complications that came with bonding a fae's soul to a human's. A human's soul lacked the magic required to seal their end of the bond off, leaving an opening that only added to the reasons why a fae would never bond one.
But the Fae being tortured in a cell underground did.
Why?
And that wasn't all. Given she hadn't shown any signs of stiffness or discomfort aside from what would be expected from her injuries, he was hiding the worst of his pain from her. A feat not easily achieved let alone maintained consistently, even if a bond wasn't in full effect.
Silas... Who was he? Why would he start a bond with a human? What was so special about her that had not only him beginning a bond, but also had Ezekiel hunting the realm for her?
