Chapter Eight

Silas bit back a growl and opened his mouth to argue. How dare she compare her to some former lover who'd failed to make Esmae feel as cherished as she deserved?

No words came out denying it. His teeth clacked together as he shut it.

Was she right? Had he treated her like an object? He'd forced her to stay against her will—there were no two ways about that. Yet it wasn't the most unusual response, given she had tried to kill him after he'd saved her. He didn't think she was an object. A prize, yes, but not a possession. A woman with an adventurer's heart, a sharp wit, and bravery enough to rival the fiercest armies.

"I do not expect to keep you here against your will forever," was what he eventually said .

"So you do plan to let me go?"

How eager she sounded! What Silas truly hoped was to win her over, so that she would choose to stay with him. They could go beyond any land she wished to explore, if only she would allow him to go with her. To guard her, keep her safe, and provide. And, of course, growl at any males who looked too closely at her. And perhaps to hold her…

But that wasn't seeing her as an object, was it?

"I will hold you to the terms set initially." It was the best he could do. "When that is done, you may do anything you wish."

She settled back in her seat as though she believed him. Yet it was all Silas could do not to cross the table and fall between her legs, begging him to let her court her properly.

"It's my turn," she eventually said.

It wasn't, but he'd allow it, after what they'd just said.

"Tell me about fated mates."

She hadn't asked about who his fated mate was again, so Silas was spared another attempt at dancing around the dragon in the room. "Fated mates are predestined pairs bound through unknown forces. They're perfectly matched, two halves of a whole. When they truly accept each other, it is said they can feel each other's emotions." For his kind, fated mates also represented the ultimate weakness—because only his fated mate could hurt him.

"My turn. Where did you hear about fated mates?" That wasn't a term common in Eurobis the way it was in Wyrdova.

Esmae looked away. "My mother. Do you know who your fated mate is?"

Why was she focused on this? If she asked who, he'd be honor bound to tell her, but no doubt she would run in fear. He needed time, flames damn him. "Yes." Was his tone even, bored? Nonchalance was hard to pretend, even for a master, when this was the subject. "I do not wish to speak more on the subject. The game is done."

Her brows furrowed, no doubt trying to decipher why he was so private on the subject. "So when you want to stop answering questions, that's fine, but the moment I refuse, you thrall me? "

"Yes." Her expression turned, what was for her, literally murderous. The knife he'd given her for the fruit was a dull steel, but all the same, he'd do well not to court her wrath. He could give an explanation—not the explanation, but one that was at least partly true. "The existence of my fated mate makes me vulnerable. I will treasure her above all else, and saying more could jeopardize her. I will not be moved to say more this eve."

The annoyance etched on her face dimmed, but there was still a curious tilt to her head. Trying to decipher him?

At least she was curious. A small victory for him. They finished their meal with relative peace, the conversation turning almost… normal. Esmae spoke little of herself, but she did tell him about her village, her favorite places to explore. Silas, in turn, listened eagerly, asking as many questions as he could without turning rude. It was outside their game, but she answered. At times, she seemed almost startled, as if unsure if she should stop speaking. As if no one had ever asked her so many questions about her opinions, her tastes, her wishes.

He wanted to know it all .

The hour grew late. As a vampire, he could sense it was well into the evening again. Esmae had been awake for a long time, longer than most mortals were used to by some measure. No doubt she was running on determination alone, but he wouldn't let his mate be harmed, even if it was by herself.

"Now, you've had a long day, and no doubt you need your rest."

His mate would no doubt argue for the sake of it, but when she went to protest, she was ironically cut off by a yawn. He stifled a grin. She was adorable.

Seeming to sense protest was futile—he'd have thralled her if needed—she followed him. There was a small cavern, more a carved out space really, where he could give her some space. Of course, since he hadn't had time to make arrangements—and she wouldn't be sleeping there for long—it needed furnishings. He made quick work, settling her in one of the more extravagant beds he'd sourced over the years, with four ornately carved posters and silk sheets spread over a massive mattress. Pillows were stuffed with pegasus feathers. A gossamer canopy of dark fabric helped offer privacy to his female. Mates needed none, but humans tended to be sensitive from what he'd read. He dimmed the torches to near darkness and Esmae eased towards the bed, eyeing him.

He stayed at the edge of the makeshift room. When she got under the covers, he let the torches fully go to darkness. Minutes ticked by. Her breathing leveled a bit as she relaxed, sinking into the bed, which was second to none.

A gentleman might have left her alone.

But then he scented her.