Chapter 5

5

Allarion thought the day went rather well—the ceremony was efficient and to the point, Molly had looked lovely in all her warm colors, and even better, she’d come to him willingly. Now he rode for home with his new bride safe in his arms and under his protection.

And she’s mine now. Mine.

All in all, certainly not a bad day.

Despite the triumph he felt, though, he couldn’t help a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. Even for Bellarand, far swifter than a mere horse, the ride back to Scarborough took hours, especially laden with two riders and two full bags. His bride hadn’t said a word to him throughout those long hours.

He’d asked multiple times as the sun began to sink across the sky if she needed to stop, but all he received for his courtesy was a stiff shake of her head. She held herself rigidly in front of him, always looking ahead. Her cheeks had gone pink with the wind rushing past them, but otherwise her coloring was abnormally pale.

He didn’t like that. She should be flushed with warmth and high spirits. He didn’t like that she’d only had two bags, either. When he’d asked if she had nothing else to bring or would like to stop somewhere to purchase more, that had only gotten him a terse shake of the head.

When they lost the sun, Allarion could feel how her limbs went cold, even if she shook her head to that, too. Resisting the desire to roll his eyes, and not wanting to be the fae who let his new bride go cold, he slipped his cloak from his shoulders onto hers, wrapping her up in the fine cloth. It almost swallowed her, but Allarion didn’t miss how her tight shoulders loosened a little under the warmth.

He liked seeing her in something of his. Soon, she would begin to smell of him—and even better, her scent would permeate the house, sink through the floorboards and touch the rafters above.

Having the cloak between them was for the best, as thinking of her in his house, filling it with her laughter and scent and presence, had his cock twitching with interest. Holding her against him had his black blood running hot, and it was all he could do to focus on the ride rather than the warm, alluring female practically in his lap.

He’d known about her sumptuous curves, of course. They drew his eye every time, the heavy slopes of her breasts and rounded globes of her backside, the thick plushness of her thighs and enticing nip of her waist. It was one thing to know—it was another entirely to feel.

He didn’t let himself explore, not without her permission and not in the gathering darkness as they neared Scarborough, but oh, it was more than just his fangs aching to feel every curve and contour of her.

But because his magic was concentrated inside him after being away from the estate, and because his instinct rode him hard to take and claim and bite, horrifying and baffling as that might be, Allarion did allow himself to duck his head and take a deep pull from her hair.

He filled his lungs with her, a pleasure not unlike wielding magic running sweet through his veins. It was as sweet as she was, that hint of honey and vanilla underlying her scent of woman. He didn’t know what about her scent drove him to such madness—whether it was the humanness of her, the thrill of something new, or neither at all.

Whatever drew him to her, he was ensnared, with no desire to be free.

His plans so far had borne fruit, and he just needed his luck to hold a little longer.

As they neared the estate, his anticipation grew. It was already an inky dark, the moon climbing above the trees and the stars glittering in a clear, velveteen sky. Perhaps they should have camped for the night, but Allarion trusted Bellarand and the unicorn’s sight implicitly.

They were so close—and Allarion wanted her to see her new home.

It wasn’t finished and certainly wasn’t perfect, but now, with her, he hoped to complete his work very soon. Imbuing magic into the house and surrounding land took time, allowing the native magic and his own to accustom and acclimate to each other. Over time, it began to act as a sort of circuit like that in the faelands, sharing the burden of the magic.

Allarion hoped to one day soon include Molly in that circuit. As a human, born of this land, he suspected she would ease the bond. She would likely never wield magic like a fae, but on his land, bonded to him and Bellarand through magic, she would still be part of their circuit. Someday, he hoped to have Ravenna too within the circuit, and together, they could build a safe little haven away from the faelands.

Imbuing his magic into the house had had some interesting consequences. The house itself was gaining its own sentience. Some structures in the faelands, as well as trees and even lakes, had been known to grow such sentience. As he added his magic and made the necessary repairs to the house, it surprised him how quickly the formerly abandoned manor awoke and took to its new state, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

Another being for their circuit.

He very much wished for Molly to like the house and his repairs to it—and for the house to welcome her.

Allarion knew the moment they passed onto the estate. They crossed over his thick layer of wards, the magic flowing over them like the finest gossamer. Molly shuddered in his arms, her head turning this way and that for the first time.

“Be at ease,” he soothed, “it was only my wards. We are now on my estate.”

Her head jerked in a short nod, and although it wasn’t much improvement from a shake of her head, it was still an improvement.

The moments passed quickly as Bellarand found the familiar path through the forest deeper into the estate. The trees and ferns rustled sleepily, welcoming them home.

Summoning his magic, Allarion lit the lamps that lined the main drive up to the manor. A soft glow emanated between the trees ahead, and as they neared, he felt Molly straighten just as the trees thinned and the path evened. Soft blue light from the lamps puddled in circles on the ground, lighting their way home.

Bellarand’s hooves crunched on the gravel as he trotted up the slight incline to the manor itself. The house loomed above them, and with a thought, Allarion lit a few of the lamps and sconces within the finished wing. Light burned in the windows, a sentinel in the night calling them in from the wilderness.

Molly’s head tilted back as she looked up at the four-storied house, with its two turreted south and east towers and grand staircase leading up to the second level front doors. Her human eyes likely couldn’t discern much in the darkness, even with the light from the lamps, but Allarion still awaited her noises of delight, or at least approval.

Such noises never came.

She said nothing as Bellarand trotted past the grand staircase and around the side of the manor, to the back where a side door into the kitchen stood.

Allarion could feel the house waking from its slumber, shutters rattling and shingles twitching. It was as if the house leaned over to get a good look at them, holding its breath with anticipation.

Molly held perfectly still, and Allarion watched in surprise as the skin at the back of her neck prickled.

Off you get, grumbled Bellarand, I’m tired.

Yes, yes.

Allarion slipped off, turning to help Molly down, too. She reluctantly put her hand on his shoulder as he caught her waist with his free hand. He lifted her, only to have her slide down his front.

He just barely caught the groan in his throat.

She peered up at him with those big brown eyes, and for a moment, all Allarion could think of was how good she smelled and how soft her skin had been when he kissed her in her uncle’s tavern.

Twins take him, he wanted to do that again. Soon. Many times. All over her body.

As soon as they were dismounted and the bags relieved from his back, Bellarand shook out his mane with a great huff and headed off into the darkness, sliding through the shadows to find the meadow of clover he preferred to bed down in.

Molly watched Bellarand disappear amongst the shadows, her lips drawn thin.

“Shall we?”

She looked at him then at the house. “It’s just us here?”

He frowned, not quite understanding her meaning. “There’s the house.” He would explain its sentience to her soon. Now, he suspected she needed rest after that long ride.

When she nodded slowly, Allarion took the encouragement and led her into the house.

The kitchen was cold and quiet, slumbering as it waited for her to breathe new life into it. Allarion had neglected the room at first, as fae had no need of kitchens, but when he’d determined to bring a human bride home, the kitchen was his next project. It now gleamed with clean countertops, a new oven and stove, and an array of pots, pans, and utensils. Unsure what she’d need, Allarion got her everything. He considered lingering, to point out all his repairs and refurbishments, but decided that could wait.

He took her up the most direct path through the house, choosing the sturdiest floorboards. Lamps lit to guide their way, helping him point out where she needed to tread carefully or where she should refrain from going until he’d made it safer.

They passed through corridors with wallpaper faded from the sun and the ghostly squares of where paintings once hung. Many of the original sconces had gone missing, so he made do with lanterns. He’d cleared most of the rooms of the moldering furniture and tattered curtains, so it was empty rooms that greeted them.

Ready for her to fill.

She followed him in silence, her big eyes skittering over everything as if she dared not miss a thing. Allarion hoped to hear a noise or word of interest, but her lips remained tightly sealed.

Too soon, they reached the bedchamber he’d prepared for her. It was near his own, where he took his needed long sleeps. He hoped one day to share a bedchamber, a bed, with her, but even in the throes of lust, he knew he had to give her her space in these first days.

Setting down her bags, he inclined his head at the door just ahead, left ajar. “That shall be your room.”

A lamp illuminated the inside, and she’d just be able to see the fine canopied bed and cedar chest awaiting her. He’d filled the room with things he hoped she’d like, things that were a pleasure to touch and see. As his mate, she would have only the finest things—if she didn’t like something, he’d procure her something else. Now that she was here, he would undertake the rest of the repairs to her taste, and one day soon, the house would be just as she wanted it.

“Mine?” she asked softly.

Allarion didn’t like the wariness in her gaze when she turned it on him, like she was asking far more with that one word.

“Yours. My bedchamber is just there.” He pointed out his door, not far down the corridor.

“We’re not…?” Her lips twisted with alarm.

“Not yet. But I hope, when you are ready, we may share a space.”

Whatever he’d hoped for in her response, it was more than the brusque nod he received.

In terse movements, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and threw it over one of his. When she made to move away, their bound hands pulled her back.

Molly stared at the ribbon tying them together before pulling a small knife from her pocket. With a quick flick of her wrist, she cut the ties, freeing her hand and leaving him clutching the ruined ribbon.

Without a word or glance, she ducked to pick up her bags and hurried into her chamber. The door closed swiftly, with a resounding thud, behind her. Then the lock scraped into place, echoing through the empty house.

Allarion stared at it, befuddled.

That…wasn’t what he’d expected. Or wanted.

Did he expect her to want to or even insist that they share a bedchamber? That he join her in bed or that he stay with her through the night? No. But…it was a pleasant thought.

Faced with a shut and locked door instead, the disappointment couldn’t be helped.

Peering down at the ribbon in his hand, he brought it to his nose to catch the waning scent of her before stowing it away in a pocket.

He lingered at her door, listening to her quietly move about the room. It sounded as if she opened every drawer and upended every cushion. For what purpose he couldn’t guess.

What’s wrong? asked Bellarand through the bond, no doubt feeling his disquiet.

She’s retreated into the bedchamber and locked the door.

A distinctly equine whinny of laughter echoed in his head.

You’re no help.

Oh, bah, huffed the unicorn. Tomorrow, we’ll find the biggest human male we can, then you’ll fight him for dominance and prove you’re a suitable sire.

Allarion couldn’t help it—he rolled his eyes.

Finally, after another long moment of staring at the closed door barring him from his bride, Allarion decided to quit the field for the night, a little disheartened but certainly not displeased. He had her here, with him. She was his bride, his azai, and every day she spent here would be another closer to his goals.

One day soon, she would open her door to him.

Hopefully morning would shed new light on how to further his cause.