We walked along the streets of London, keeping to the shadows. I’d been to this city before, long ago, as a child. Madame had toured Europe then. Of course, I hadn’t gotten to see much of it and remembered absolutely nothing.
To get to Paris, we’d need transportation. To buy tickets, we’d need money. But first, I had to find a safe, quiet place to figure out a plan.
I’d asked one of the pedestrians, a middle-aged woman, where the train tracks led. She told me the trains ran to the city center. That was where we were going, following the tracks the best we could. Sometimes the streets followed them almost precisely. At times, they tangled in a mess that took some time to navigate.
As we were passing by two buildings with an archway in between, Kyllen pulled me under the arch and into a narrow alley.
“I don’t think we’re being followed,” he said.
I poked my head out of the alley and scanned both sides of the street. There was no sign of bracks anywhere. With their size and tattoos, they’d be easy to spot.
“I think you’re right. Maybe they didn’t notice which direction we went.” Or maybe they chose not to pursue us, seeing what Kyllen had done to Leslo. Sooner or later, Madame would make them search for us, though. I was sure of that.
He turned to me, his head bowed, his hood low. “You’re tired.” He took my hand in his.
We must’ve been walking for a couple of hours now, maybe longer. The gray winter sky had turned a darker shade of gray meanwhile. It was evening. Night would come next, and I still wasn’t sure what to do.
“You’re thirsty,” I replied. We had to get him some water before I could get any rest.
“I’ll live.” He placed his hands on my shoulders—a stranger with so very familiar voice.
I stared at his wide chest, covered by the sage-green fabric of his tunic and crisscrossed by a couple of embossed leather belts. Kyllen had been but a disembodied voice to me. Now, the owner of that voice was towering over me.
Not quite as bulky as a brack, he was significantly taller than me. His chest was at my eye level. Judging by the way he’d blasted out of the crate, he must be much stronger than a regular human, too.
Mindful of his warnings, I resisted glancing up at him, studying what I could see without lifting my head, instead.
His clothes were wrinkled and worn—not surprising, since he’d spent months locked in the crate. However, there was not a trace of filth or unpleasant body odor. His scent was fresh, like the cucumber I’d fed him once, with a hint of wet moss and the smell of forest right after the rain. All the scents I rarely got to smell in my life.
“There you are,” he murmured, and I realized he was studying me, too.
I immediately felt self-conscious. People usually found me odd—with the scarf I wore all year round, my baggy clothes, and my hair smoothed back, the long braid hidden inside my hoodie.
Weird. Ghost. Ridiculous. These were only some of the hurtful things I’d heard about myself from the fair crowd over the years. I closed my eyes, not wishing to recall all of them.
What would a fae lord think about me, the ticket girl?
Kyllen’s hands traveled from my shoulders to my neck. He buried them in the folds of my scarf, but didn’t search for my skin beneath it.
He leaned closer until his breath tangled in my hair. “My rescuer.”
A tendril of pleasure sneaked into my heart at the gratitude in his voice.
“Thank you for breaking me out,” he added.
I thought about the way he’d decimated that crate.
“Actually, you did all the breaking yourself.” I hid a smile in my scarf.
He chuckled above me. “I’d fantasized about having my way with that crate for a very long time. It proved exceptionally satisfying to finally bring my fantasies to life.”
I brought my hands between us, fidgeting with one of the leather belts over his chest.
“I need to get you some water.” A long list of things to do was running through my head. The rescue wasn’t over yet. “I need to figure out how to get to Paris. But first, where to spend the night—”
He stopped me by lightly pressing a finger to my lips.
“We,” he corrected me. “We need to figure all of that out. Together.”
Together.
The word had the comforting effect of a warm blanket. It reminded me I was no longer alone. I tilted my head back, needing to see his face.
He quickly placed his hand over my eyes. “Careful!”
I exhaled a shaky breath, realizing the danger I’d so narrowly escaped just now. Chill of dread made me shudder. “Sorry…”
“Not your fault. It’s difficult not to look. But please, try to be mindful. If something happens to you because of me, I…” his voice broke off.
With his hand still over my eyes, I felt his gaze on me. “You’re looking at me.”
“Hmm,” he confirmed with a hum. “There’s no harm in me looking at you, is there?” His voice turned soft, like a caress.
With one hand covering my eyes, he traced with a finger of the other along my jawline.
“Why have you never told me how beautiful you are?” The sultry note in his voice vibrated deep in my chest, ripples spreading through the rest of my body.
His touch tingled along my skin.
He exhaled a soft laugh. “I was a fool, fantasizing about the crate. When I could’ve spent more time envisioning you.”
I never had a man speak to me like this or touch me the way he did. I froze, unsure of what to do. With my eyes closed, Kyllen looking at me might not carry the risk of either of us turning to stone, but it wasn’t entirely harmless, I feared.
A loud noise of a door slammed open yanked me out of the trance-like state.
Kyllen’s hand slipped away from my eyes as he turned around. He shifted forward, placing his shoulder in front of me to shield me from the man who had opened the door in the wall across the narrow alley.
The man casually shoved the door closed behind him, then leaned with his back against the wall. He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket, giving us a narrow-eyed look.
He was a fairly ordinary looking man, probably in his forties, with closely cropped reddish-brown hair. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he had a brown leather jacket thrown over his shoulders.
“None of my business.” He shrugged, lighting his cigarette. “If you want shag her here, go ahead. But I’m going to have my smoke.”
I slid my hand down Kyllen’s arm and wrapped my fingers around his. I could do that. I could hold his hand in public, and there was no one to stop me or punish me for the pleasure or comfort it gave me.
Kyllen tipped his chin at the wall behind the man. “What’s this building?”
“A hotel.” The man examined us more closely, spending more time on Kyllen.
With his richly embroidered clothes, his hood, and the bejeweled buckles all over, Kyllen looked like he’d come straight from a movie set, renaissance faire or…well, from a magical kingdom.
The man took a long drag from his cigarette. “Are you tourists? Need a place to stay?”
“Maybe.” Kyllen inclined his head in a regal manner. “What does this establishment have to offer?”