Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The King of Beasts was magnificent. Between one heartbeat and the next, a blast of copper magic rocked the bear off-balance, his claws sparking against the stone floor as he stumbled back. Ossian leapt onto the table, bare feet thunking softly as he stuck his landing.

I shied away as a second blast hurled the bear almost as far as the double doors. Then a rope of copper magic appeared, cinching tight around the grizzly's throat, and Ossian began to reel him in like a tuna.

The bear fought, but Ossian was stronger. I could see it in the straining tendons of his forearms, in the thigh muscles threatening to burst through his buckskin trousers, in the breadth of his shoulders hidden under the fox pelt as he hauled the bear across the great hall and back to the big iron ring in the wall left of the dais. Rallying through the pain of the blasts and the constriction on his throat, the bear surged to his feet and charged.

Ossian cursed as the tension on his magical line went slack, causing him to stumble back and fall off the table. When he regained his footing, his jewel-green eyes blazed with anger, and two of the gemstones at the necklace around his throat glowed. Three ropes shot towards the bear instead of one, tangling up both pairs of legs and coiling once again around his throat. Ossian wrenched, and the bear was yanked clean off his feet.

The trestle table, easily half a ton in weight, jumped at the impact. The miniature earthquake threw me to the floor in front of the fireplace, my palms scraping against the worn stones. By the time I managed to push up into a kneeling position, a tendril of copper magic was lifting the heavy chain and reattaching it to the collar around the unconscious grizzly's neck.

With a disgusted snort, the fae king turned away from his enemy. His features smoothed when he caught sight of me. The light in the gemstones of his necklace winked out, the copper power wreathing his hands vanishing. The fae king who had stolen my heart gave me a wild smile of victory, his elation quickly vanishing at the look on my face. With a burst of speed he was by my side, crouched down in front of me, cradling my cheeks in his large hands.

I burst into tears.

"Meadow," he soothed, kissing my brow. "Love, what happened?"

"The bear was loose in here and Alec shoved me inside and locked the door," I blubbered in a rush.

Ossian smoothed my hair away from my tears and snot. "He knows you are precious to me, love. Why would he do that?"

I fought through the lingering fear of the bear to glare up at him. Why couldn't he ever believe me? Whenever I told him of Alec's covetous looks or jealous remarks or snide comments, they were always brushed aside. "Why don't you ask him?" I snapped, jerking away from him.

Ossian's expression hardened. "I will , Meadow. But it must be later. I was late to breakfast—and all of this—because a report arrived of Wystan attacking yet another hamlet. Alec has already left to investigate and it might be days until he returns if he's able to pursue. In the meantime"—he rose, towering over me as he extended his hand—"would you like to get off the floor?"

I was about to take his hand when I spied the black tourmaline under the nearest chair's leg. Snatching it up, I slipped it into my foraging bag and then accepted Ossian's hand.

"What was that?" he asked, a copper eyebrow lifting.

Though I knew I could trust Ossian with anything, my foraging bag and its contents were my business alone. And still stinging from his refusal to hunt down Alec and demand a response right this second, they would remain my little secrets for longer still. Besides, he never told me what he kept in those pouches on his belt.

"Something that didn't work against the bear," I said, readjusting the bag so it rested against the small of my back. "For whatever reason," I muttered.

Ossian stepped closer, making my pulse jump and almost making me forget I was miffed at him, and ran the back of one finger up along the strap nestled between my breasts. By the Green Mother, it was nearly impossible to resist him when he stood so close, his jewel-like eyes half-lidded with desire, his full lips slightly parted, the golden aura emanating from his skin turning the edges of my thoughts deliciously hazy like I was on the verge of the most delectable sleep.

His finger paused along the strap at the collar of my dress where my necklaces poked free of my cowl. A little gasp escaped me as his finger diverted from the strap and across my skin to lightly tap the amazonite pendant.

"You know you can leave that bag and the rest of these chintzy pieces in your room," he commented. "They rather ruin the look of those rubies I gave you."

The bag and the tangle of necklaces gave my outfit a touch of frumpery even I was aware of, but I was reluctant to let them go. Instinct told me never to take them off or let them out of my sight.

"My grandmother gave…" The protest died in my throat.

"You mean the grandmother who disowned you for loving me? You want to wear her necklace? And what of the other?"

I couldn't remember how or why the Celtic shield had come into my life, nor its meaning, but instinct…

"I think we have more pressing things to discuss than my fashion choices," I said, stepping away.

"Like how you still have a considerable block on your magic?" he pressed. "One that might be exacerbated by your inability to let go of the past as represented by that hideous bag and those chains around your neck? The old Meadow could've taken down that bear with the magic in her pinky finger."

"Are we seriously doing this?" I fired back. The effect of that ever-present golden haze warming my thoughts to him was gone in the face of his arrogance. "I just survived a bear mauling, which may or may not have been initiated by your second-in-command, though it was certainly encouraged by him, and now you're belittling me over something so trivial as to which necklaces I choose to wear? And this from the male who calls me ‘love?' Is that how they love in Elfame? With degradation?"

I shoved away from his reaching hands and headed for side door, which I knew to be unlocked and definitely open since Ossian had just burst through it moments before.

"Meadow—"

I whirled on him, tears blurring my vision. "I gave up my world for you. My family, my magic, everything! I'm sorry it wasn't enough!"

With that frightening speed of his, Ossian closed the distance between us and seized my upper arms. Then he wrenched me close, one hand gripping my neck and his thumb under my chin forcing me to look up into his jewel-green eyes. Barely restrained power boiled in their depths. "You are enough, Meadow," he said forcefully. "More than enough. You are a star in a sky of eternal darkness. Your family were fools not to see it, not to nurture it, but I am not like them. You are mine , Meadow Ní Violet, and I treasure what is mine."

Meadow Ní Violet. Ossian had given me that new surname, "daughter of Violet," after the Hawthornes' rejection and curse. It always sounded so possessive when he said it in that velvety voice of his, like I was something to be coveted and cherished.

The fae king smoothed the hand on my neck up to my cheek and into my hair, his strong fingers kneading my scalp just the way I liked. "Let's restart our day. Please."

You could just say you're sorry. For once. Yet at his contrition, the golden haze once again took root within me. He'd once told me it was the influence of our fated mate bond—a desire for harmony. It did more than that. Not only did it stoke my affection and ardor for the fae, it dulled my terror of the bear, or at least made it manageable. With Ossian, I felt almost fearless, like anything was possible.

"I'd like that," I whispered, dropping my gaze to his mouth.

The corners of his lips twitched upwards for only a second, and then that luscious mouth pressed hard against mine. Nothing about this side of Ossian was soft. Not his body, not his touch, certainly not his desire.

His tongue plunged into my mouth as his lips bruised mine, but I relished the feel of his passion in light of the near-death experience with the bear. I fought for air against his kiss, him breaking contact long enough to rid me of my cowl. I reached for his chest, greedy to feel that bronze skin stretching tight over slabs of muscle, but he caught my hands and clamped my wrists together in one of his.

I'd made the mistake once of touching his golden wire necklace with its many gemstones, including that big blue one at its center, and he'd never trusted me to touch him again. With a feral growl, Ossian wrenched my wrists up and then behind my head, fingers clamping into my hair. Then his mouth roved down my neck, leaving a trail of moisture behind that the heat of the fireplace steamed away.

"Meadow," he rasped, shoving me hard against the mantel pillar. My spine arched, offering the ties of my bodice. His fingers fumbled with the leather strings, yanking and pulling until he exposed the tops of my breasts.

As his teeth nipped the sensitive skin, I moaned more in frustration than anything else. I wanted to knit my fingers into his curls, dig my nails into the broad expanse of his back, squeeze the muscles of his arms.

"Let me touch you," I begged.

Ossian lifted his head, panting, his jewel-green eyes as dark as shadowed emeralds. I felt his tight grip on my wrists loosen as his free hand cupped my cheek, his thumb tracing my swollen lower lip. His gaze flickered across my face as he considered my request.

"Why?" he murmured. "If I let you touch me, I'll be lost to you. And we both know you won't let me into your bed, so what's the point?"

That was cold. Maybe even petty. "Ossian—"

"No." He dipped his head, his kisses turning painful as he trailed down my neck to bite my shoulder. "Better to take this pleasure as it is then be deceived into expecting more."

My pulse jumped, not with desire, but with fear, as the fae king trapped me against the pillar with his body. He was so much stronger than I was, and for a second, I thought he was going to use that strength against me.

As his free hand slid down my body, either for my belt or the hem of my woolen dress, a familiar little bell sounded at the side door. Ossian froze, his grip tightening in a momentary pulse of frustration.

A moment later, the owner of that little bell marched into the great hall as she did every morning, a picnic basket slung over her arm. The housekeeper and cook, Mrs. Bilberry.

Adorned in her white apron with blue ruffles, the badger rang her little bell a second time and announced, "Breakfast is served, Cernunnos, milady."

"I already have my breakfast," Ossian growled, kissing the top of my left breast and running his tongue to the cleft between them.

"Ossian," I hissed, bucking against him. His court might be composed of animals, but they were sentient, and I didn't want to get mauled by my lover in front of them. If I could call him that. At the end there, he'd seemed no better than a beast. B-but maybe that's how fae males were? More feral in their lovemaking? I didn't know many of them—none other than Ossian, in fact—and it wasn't like I'd been educated about their ways at Hawthorne Manor.

Smirking, Ossian bruised my lips a final time like a ruffian before yanking the ties of my bodice shut and guiding me to a chair like a gentleman. The ravenous fae male was now the reserved King of Beasts in front of his subjects. After taking the seat at the head of the table, he gestured politely for Mrs. Bilberry to continue. I wished I had his composure; I was still a roiling mess inside of unsatisfied and uneasy… everything. Yet with each passing second, the golden haze eased away my misgivings.

With mincing steps of her little badger feet, Mrs. Bilberry led a parade of twelve woodchucks into the great hall. She diverted to where we sat and opened her picnic basket. From the gingham cushions she withdrew what appeared to be a silver masala dabba—an Indian spice box—and a flask of carbonated water. Those she set by Ossian's right hand, then she began to set our place settings from the remaining contents of her picnic basket. Two crystal goblets, one for juice and the other for water; one plate and one bowl; two forks, one knife, one large spoon for things like soup or pudding and one tiny spoon for the salt cellar; one cloth napkin bound in a gold band that resembled stag antlers.

As she set the table and Ossian added spoonfuls of this and that from the seven jars within the dabba to the flask, the woodchucks served the buffet. They followed their leader Roland up the little ramp on the far end of the table and down along the opposite edge so their paws wouldn't foul the eating area. No one commented about the gouges nor the piece of the table that was in a heap of kindling on the floor. Upon their backs, each woodchuck bore a silver platter.

The moving buffet brought us scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, fruit salad, Mrs. Bilberry's legendary waffles, roasted game hens, fried potatoes, blistered tomatoes, sauteed mushrooms, oatmeal spiced with cinnamon, yogurt drizzled with honey and almonds, and each on its separate platter. Dale, the last woodchuck, could always be counted on to bear the platter with the crock of apple butter for my morning toast. Though it was frowned upon, I always snuck him a quick scratch behind the ears for his thoughtfulness.

Mrs. Bilberry stood off to the side with her serving ware, quickly scooping or tonging whatever we wanted onto our plates. When they were full and the woodchucks were all filing out of the great hall, she inevitably asked, "Would you care for something other than juice and water to drink, Cernunnos? Milady?"

"Beer," Ossian always answered, just as I always replied, "Latte."

Then, just like always, Mrs. Bilberry sighed as if the weight of the world had just settled upon her shoulders. She set her little gold bell aside to dig out a bigger bell of brass from her picnic basket. One clang was enough to make me wince, and she always rang it twice. "Boys!" she called out.

Two black Labrador retrievers entered the great hall, one bounding over the exiting woodchucks while the other maintained a sedate trot as if he was afraid of spilling the pitcher whose handle he held gently in his white teeth.

"You want it frothy today, Lady Meadow?" Cohen, the more exuberant of the two dogs, asked.

"Yes, please."

Grinning, the dog proceeded to shake like he was dislodging an entire lake of water from his coat, the thermos in his harness thrashing wildly.

"That's enough, Cohen," Mrs. Bilberry shrilled. "You'll get fur all over the food. My apologies, Cernunnos."

"So long as the dog didn't deflate the beer, all is forgiven," Ossian replied.

Charlie, the elder of the two Labs, gulped and held very still as Mrs. Bilberry took the pitcher and carefully poured its contents into Ossian's glass. Plenty of tiny bubbles remained in the amber liquid, a respectable-sized head of foam rising to the rim. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now you," Mrs. Bilberry said, snapping her badger fingers at Cohen to make him sit, "hold still."

"No coconut milk?" I asked the barista.

"Never for you, Lady Meadow," Cohen said proudly, red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he stuck one rear leg out to the side to lounge.

Quick as lightning, Charlie nipped his brother's ear to remind him to suck his tongue back behind his teeth and straighten up. They were in the presence of the King of Beasts, after all. Cohen whined but obeyed. I smothered a smile.

"There you go, Lady Meadow," Mrs. Bilberry said, wiping the soiled edge of my latte cup clean with a sweep of her apron. "Enjoy, Cernunnos, milady."

Snapping her fingers at the dogs to shoo, Mrs. Bilberry claimed her picnic basket, took three steps back, bowed, and then bustled from the room.

Ossian looked down at his plate of roasted hens and vegetables, bringing his goblet of beer to his mouth with a regretful sigh. "This looks wonderful, as always, but I still would've preferred you for breakfast."

I shivered at his words, and for the first time since I'd known Ossian, it wasn't all with pleasure.