Taming the Beast

He nodded.

She furrowed her brow. She’d never considered the correlation, but she thought he could be right. Their people weren’t the sorts who’d hoard regrets. They didn’t let the past make them sad. Their constitutions had evolved otherwise. They were so different from the Afótama. The witches in Fallon may have been the better feelings readers, but as far as Mary could tell, the Afótama were better at having feelings.

“I guess we don’t,” she whispered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. There was a chill in the room. Perhaps there’d been one before and she hadn’t noticed.

“The temperature dropped,” he said. “I believe we’re going to get a spritz of rain.” He turned and put his feet on the floor. “Would you like me to turn on the heater? I put kerosene in it this morning in case I ended up having to be here longer than expected.”

“No, that’s not necessary. I have a cardigan in my tote.”

“I’ll get the sweater for you.” He walked the short distance to the bag and knelt by it—by her—and gave her a long stare before looking down into the tote’s mouth.

He withdrew the dark pink sweater and passed his thumb over the cashmere threads. “Not your color. You shouldn’t wear anything that makes you look so pale.”

She scoffed. “Thanks a lot for the insult.” She took the sweater and shrugged into it, wondering if she’d be begging for him to switch the heater on after all.

“I mean you no offense,” he said. “Your skin coloring is actually quite warm, but your hair and eyes are cool. I can’t help but to notice. My mother is a painter, and I learned a lot from her manic mutterings.”

“I see.” So, he did have family somewhere. She made a mental note to query him about them later. “What should I wear, then?”

“I don’t claim to be an expert. I only know when I like what I see.”

“And you don’t like what you see on me?”

“I would like more if you wore a color that suited you.” From the pocket of his pants, he withdrew a white handkerchief, edged in a deep gold. He held the edge against the back of her hand and looked up at her. “Perhaps…like that.”

“Do you like that?”

His fingers were tightening around her wrist, his warmth infusing her flesh.

He was so warm.

“I believe I’d like to see more of it on you,” he said when his fingers had completely cinched her.

“You’d have to find a lot of handkerchiefs.”

“My bed sheets are this color.”

“Are they?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And…where’s this bed of yours?” she couldn’t help asking. He had to have been maintaining a domicile somewhere outside of Fallon, or else she would have been able to find the place. She’d never had such a difficult time tracking someone down.

“Not important.” He picked up her hand and raised it slowly, staring at her over the top as if in dare.

What is he doing?

She was too curious to pull her hand away, and possibly not afraid enough.

Afraid of what?

She wasn’t entirely convinced he’d wanted to hurt her. “Why’d you drug me?” she asked as his warm, soft lips pressed to the back of her hand.

“That’s very elementary.” He turned over her hand and kissed the ticklish underside of her wrist. “I wanted to eat you, and you were going the wrong way for me to do so.”

“Funny.”

“Why do you assume I’m joking?” His tongue lashed up her wrist and forearm, and then lingered at the tender hollow of her elbow.