Текст книги "The Alpha of Bleake Isle"

Автор книги: Kathryn Moon

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Chapter SeventeenRONSON

Iflew in my dragon form, Mairwen seated carefully between my shoulder blades, her arms wrapped around the back of my neck, hands holding to spikes to keep her seat. It was easier to think straight like this, to not tackle her down into the grass and rut her in front of the entire isle. I puffed a breath laced with fire, and the grip of Mairwen's thighs tightened.

Publicly claiming Mairwen was a tempting thought. An effective curse to the betas who plotted against me.

See me with my omega. See me breed her and create another future alpha to keep you in your place.

Except there was one tiny, decidedly human thought pricking the bubble of lust. What happened if Mairwen did become pregnant with my heir?

My dragon heir. The likely future alpha.

Mairwen might die. Mairwen.

My father had lost five omegas to early and still-births before my mother had survived my own. Those were especially bad odds for dragonkin—usually it was a little less than half of births that failed—but my father had said his own birth was one in seven. He'd acted as though it was a point of pride. I'd accepted it as the danger of how strong we were, larger and more powerful than the other family lines on the island.

But now that danger was on Mairwen's shoulders.

The crass mutterings I'd heard about women and their bodies battled against my own feelings for the curious omega. She had good hips for breeding. She was larger than a lot of the omegas. She might withstand the birth. But what did that make her odds of survival against my family line? Even if she was more likely to survive, there was still risk. Risk against her life, a risk I might lose this omega I'd only just found.

Her perfume was the secret I'd drawn out, savored and craved in equal measure. Her wide eyes and flushed cheeks as she raced across the field to me to whisper the betas' plot in my ear, so unabashedly loyal when the rest of dragonkin schemed and watched me from afar. The still, quiet peace of her body curled against mine in the morning. Could I risk losing all of her for the chance of an heir?

If Mairwen grew pregnant during the rut, there was a sickening, painful possibility she might be gone before the end of the year. Gone for good.

And it would be my fault.

My wings drummed through the air in protest, and Mairwen's breath caught, barely audible on the wind, as the island edge cut away behind us, leaving only the restless sea below.

"I love flying!" she called out from behind me.

I'd been careful to hold steady and straight, to follow some of the turns of the air so I wouldn't jostle her, but at the sound of her voice, bright and delighted, I leaned forward and tipped cautiously to the side. Mairwen laughed and clung tighter, and I glanced behind me to see her hair whipping back in the wind, braid loose and wild. Maybe I would just keep flying, keep her safe on my back, close to me but not in danger.

We passed the castle and soared higher. Mairwen's thighs squeezed against the hard, scaled nape of my neck, and even through the dense hide of my dragon, her warmth soaked into me.

I couldn't resist the rut. I'd barely managed to leave the bed this morning, and it hadn't even started yet. I might seek another bed partner, but the thought of going back to the nest without Mairwen, of bringing someone else into it to spend the rut with me, made me feel sick and disgusted with myself. I wanted her. I wanted her scent and her sounds and her touches. I wanted her slick heat and her curiosity and her shy smiles.

I wasn't even entirely sure I could withstand not spending the rut with her, now that I craved the possibility. I'd never been sincerely interested in a woman before, let alone an omega, never been so obsessed with the proximity of any person.

I didn't want to lose Mairwen, and I didn't know how to keep her safe. Not when the threat to her safety was me. I'd be lust-addled and ferocious during the rut, mindlessly driven by the breeding instincts. There was no avoiding spilling myself inside of her. It would be like telling myself not to breathe.

Even thinking too much about the rut was creating a problem. If Mairwen weren't on my back, I would've dove into the sea.

Perhaps…

Perhaps I could leave for the rut, leave the isle. Lock myself away somewhere?

Perhaps Torion might have a dungeon in Grave Hills strong enough to hold me?

I puffed fire and turned for the castle. If I could just manage to keep away from Mairwen long enough to speak to Niall…

He would remind me that I'd been determined to choose an omega this year precisely for the reason I was now so reluctant: to conceive an heir. To hold my family line. To hold my own power.

I released a growl and made a sudden sharp turn for the castle, Mairwen squawking in surprise and holding tightly to me. She laughed, and my heart burned with restrained fire, wings and body arrowing toward my bedroom balcony.

I transformed midair, landing on the stone and catching Mairwen in my arms, hauling her against my chest before I could think of what I was doing, my mouth slanting over hers. I needed her close, needed her safe, needed her in the nest⁠—

Under me.

Surrounding me.

Clutching me closer as she⁠—

Mairwen gasped as I yanked myself away, holding her back by her shoulders, staring at her and guzzling in her scent by the lungful. Her cheeks were red and marked with soot, hair tangled from the wind and frizzy and wild from the fire. She was a mess, dressed in my clothing, eyes red and lips chapped. The impulse to soothe her marked skin was so strong, my mouth watered and my body shook.

"I need—" I rasped.

Mairwen smiled, holding out a hand to me. "Yes, I know."

Fuck. Fucking Belfry's ballocks. Because she was right, of course. I did need to take her hand, follow her into the nest, lose days in her taste and her skin and her welcoming body.

I shook my head, swallowing hard around the painful burn and ache in my jaw and throat. "No, I need to-to speak to—" Who? Niall wasn't here! "Beatrice," I blurted out, because there was no one else who made any sense.

Not that seeing my elderly sister before my rut made any sense, either—a fact Mairwen seemed to realize by the blank stare she answered me with.

"Oh. Of…of course." She stepped back, and I was an impulsive, indecisive idiot, because I lurched forward, catching her wrist, drawing it up to my mouth and nose to suck in a quick, smoke-sullied scent of her.

"Wait in the nest," I bit out. Although I don't know if I can stand to come to you.

I don't know if I can stand to stay away, either.

Mairwen's lips pursed and her brow furrowed. It seemed as though she might snap at me, demand I answer for my strange behavior, show some of that perfectly determined spine she'd had this morning. If she did, I wouldn't be able to resist tackling her into the nest and kissing every stubborn, strong word from her lips.

A shadow passed over her face, and she turned away, shoulders dropping with a heavy sigh. "Very well. I'll be here."

My fingers tightened around her wrist for a moment, but I forced myself to release her, to step back toward the balcony.

"Stay inside," I called to her retreating back.

She waved a dismissive hand, and I bit my tongue to keep from calling her name, then nearly swallowed it at the sight of her hips swaying, lovingly sheathed in my trousers. With a garbled choke, I spun and leapt to the edge of the balcony, wings spreading to catch the air, flying around the corner of the castle toward my office. I would wait there for Niall to return, even if I had to tie myself to my desk to keep from crawling back to the nest. Which, given the tightness growing between my shoulder blades, was growing increasingly likely.

"Not that I object to the impromptu percussion taking place above my rooms, but aren't you meant to be…elsewhere?"

My feet froze, and I swayed in place, staring at my sister, who stared back with the particular pinched and canny expression that never failed to make me feel as though I'd been caught misbehaving.

"Cook is sending provisions up to the nest," Beatrice continued. "The omega⁠—"

"Mairwen."

"—is waiting there, from what I understand."

I choked on the growl rising up my throat, grunted, and braced a clawed hand against my desk and the rough punch of desire from my dragon. My face was hot and flushed, and I turned my chair away from Beatrice's clear stare.

"Ah. I was concerned you were avoiding her from disinclination," Beatrice said.

"I don't want to discuss this," I bit out between clenched teeth.

"If you attempt to hold your dragon at bay, you will set upon that young woman like a beast when he breaks free," Beatrice said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

Beatrice had always been too brave, too outspoken, too direct. After my mother had died, I'd looked up to her as some cross between parent and knight protector. She'd withstood the tempers of my father like a stone pillar in a raging storm, letting it wash around and off her without blinking.

"Is she afraid of you?" Beatrice asked.

My shoulders tightened, and I shook my head. "Beatrice⁠—"

"I can speak with her⁠—"

"Mairwen is not the problem!"

The chair I'd been seated on rocked and thundered against the floorboards, threatening to tip over, and splinters dug into my fingertips where my claws pierced the surface of my desk. Beatrice arched an eyebrow, cool as ever as I huffed and puffed and leaned over the desk, groaning at myself.

"I'm…concerned."

"Concerned?" Beatrice echoed.

"For Mairwen."

Beatrice snorted. "Omegas have suffered the attentions of dragons for centuries, Ronson. She's a hearty enough creature. I'm sure she'll⁠—"

"Survive childbirth?" I asked, falling back into my seat, blinking up at my sister. "The heir of the alpha? The Cadogan heir?"

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen my older sister surprised. Beatrice swayed forward and braced her hand on the back of a chair before helping herself to the seat.

"Oh, Ronson," she sighed out. "The danger only just occurred to you?"

I scoffed. "Of course not. I've understood, even regretted, what we dragons ask of our women. But it's different when…"

"When you really like the woman?" Beatrice asked.

I sighed, sinking back against the spine of the chair, letting my wings droop and raising my hands to scrub over my face. "Mairwen overheard the betas. They've been trying to keep me too busy and stressed to go into rut."

Beatrice snorted. "Men. They make up the most absurd plots. As if they could prevent your rut."

My lips twitched. "It forced the consequences of the rut into my mind. I've been focusing on…" I wrinkled my nose and shook my head rather than admit my thought out loud to Beatrice. I've been focused on the pleasure of fucking Mairwen.

"You chose an omega specifically to gain an heir."

I frowned. "I know."

"You wanted the strength, the power of two dragons."

"Yes, Beatrice, I know."

"And that has changed?"

I swallowed hard. "Not precisely, but I don't want Mairwen's life to be the cost for my victory."

"I imagine she understands it's the potential hazard to her duty as your omega," Beatrice said coolly.

I gaped at my sister. "How can you… You have no idea—" Beatrice's eyes narrowed, and I wet my lips, starting over. "It doesn't feel right."

"Have you spoken to her?" Beatrice asked.

"I can barely look at her without—" I cleared the growl out of my throat. "The rut is very close."

"What is it you want, exactly? To refuse her your rut and heir?"

"I want to—I don't know! It's as if my options are to force this danger on her or deny her completely and-and⁠—"

Beatrice straightened, leaning forward slightly, stare too keen. "If she had a choice, would you offer it to her?"

"Of course!" Although I might do my best to persuade her to choose the safer option, if one were possible.

Beatrice stared at me for a long moment and then glanced down at her lap. "You know I never had any children, in spite of the wishes of both Father and the dragon he passed me off to."

"Beatrice, I⁠—"

She held up her hand. "My failure was a great blow. To them. For me it was a…a relief. And a success." She held my gaze, and a wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Sebastian didn't want a daughter, of course, so he only made an effort with me during his ruts. But I didn't want to risk his attention. So I drank a particular tea at the start of every month for the entire thirty years it took for me to outlive him and then Father."

My brow furrowed. "A tea?"

Beatrice smoothed the folds of her skirt. "It is illegal for dragonkin women to take any measures to prevent pregnancy. Our great-great-grandfather created that particular law. But before his rule, it was not uncommon practice for omegas to brew a tea with a collection of now outlawed flowers and herbs that would allow them to attend their dragon during a rut, without the consequence of a dangerous pregnancy."

"What?" My jaw was hanging open, but the rest of me felt quite numb, and I shook myself, as if I might make sense of these words. "Why…why have I never heard of this before now?"

"Because it is easier to prevent something from happening if you are able to erase even the suggestion it might be possible," Beatrice said with a shrug. "Which our forefathers did their very best to do. The birth rates of male dragons were dropping quite quickly for several centuries at that time. I don't know if our relative made the law to protect the isle's dragonkin population, or if he simply wanted to ensure his own heir."

"Beatrice, are you telling me… If the flowers were outlawed, how did you obtain them?" Was there time to get the tea for Mairwen too?

"Men take little interest in flowers," Beatrice said with a wave of her hand. "Especially our father. The library here at the castle has many texts that have been banned across the rest of the isle, including the records I needed. And Father gave me fair warning of his plan to use me as a political tool. I was able to track down the seeds I needed. I planted them in the greenhouse here, drank the tea on my monthly visits. I thought Father and Sebastian would grow suspicious, discover my deception eventually, but I don't think either of them knew enough about the real history of our island to realize what I was doing was possible. Erudite gentlemen, they were not."

My chest ached, and as Beatrice fell silent, I realized I'd been holding my breath. "And the flowers?"

Beatrice smiled, earnest and wrinkled, and she reached across the desk to cover my tense hand with her own soft and aged one. "I could brew Mairwen the tea today, if she wants it. But it must be her choice, Ronson. I gave the choice to your mother, but she wanted a child. And she loved you. I'm glad you don't want to take Mairwen's choice away, but I won't, either."

"Brew the tea, Beatrice," I said, the leaden weight in my chest easing, the prospect of the rut stirring interest and heat in my belly once more. "I'll speak to Mairwen."

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Chapter EighteenMAIRWEN

My stomping footsteps echoed through the halls of the castle, and I realized as I made my way to Ronson's office that this enormous and intimidating structure was becoming slightly less of a maze. I would've been pleased by the fact, but I was too busy being itchy and irritable and annoyed.

The castle servants had arrived at the nest with a huge copper tub and a dozen pails of steaming water, and the prospect of a bath had been the perfect balm to the disappointment of Ronson rushing off once again, and this time for no apparent reason. And then one of the human women had stepped forward to speak.

"Lord Cadogan wishes to speak to you, Omega Cadogan."

I'd stared blankly at the human servant before the words registered.

"Then he can come back to the nest," I'd answered, a little too sharply. The busy servants stilled and I shook myself. "I'm sorry. Of course, I'll go speak to him."

"Your bath will be ready when you return, milady," the young maid said, curtsying as I passed her, her nose pointed to the floor in a way that left me feeling like a bully.

I forced myself to draw in a deep breath as I approached Ronson's door. The last thing I needed was to lose my temper with the alpha too, no matter what kind of rapport was growing between us. Especially since I'd somehow managed to displease him on the flight home. Or was he angry because I'd wandered off on my own to spy on the betas?

I paused outside of his office, shuffling in bare feet, wishing I'd made him wait for me to bathe before going to speak to him, partly for my own comfort and partly just to annoy him. I could turn back. The servants would be gone by now, leaving that lovely and large steaming bath all to myself. If Ronson could storm off from the nest, surely I could storm⁠—

"Mairwen."

I gasped and jumped in place as Ronson swung the door open.

"Why are you standing in the hall?"

"I was debating returning upstairs for my bath." My face twisted in frustration, annoyed by my habit of always blurting out the truth to this man.

Ronson purred, and his eyes darkened. "We'll bathe together. After we talk."

"You couldn't have come up to the nest to speak with me?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Mairwen, if I went up to the nest, I wouldn't have spoken. I would've tossed you onto the bed and—" He grimaced and cleared his throat, backing away from the door. "This is…important."

Some of my ire softened. The real truth, the one I wouldn't even speak to Ronson, was that I'd worked myself into a bit of a lather after he'd left me upstairs, convinced he was changing his mind about keeping me as his omega for the rut, that he'd flown back to the betas to bargain for a better one.

I stepped forward, and Ronson backed away. Not as though he was trying to stay out of my reach, but more like…

Like he was keeping from reaching for me.

I crossed the threshold and stepped farther from him, pressing my lips together as he stumbled in my direction, keeping a precise amount of space between us.

"What is this about?"

"Sit, please," Ronson said, holding out his arm to guide me toward the chairs at his desk.

I sighed, tightening my fingers around my elbows, and obeyed.

"Oh," I murmured after Ronson had finished explaining his busy thoughts during the flight to the castle and his conversation with Beatrice. They hadn't been so different than my own this afternoon, and it gave me a soft, bitter ache in my chest to know he'd been worrying for me.

"I thought the only option was to avoid you during the rut, but I…didn't really want to do that. I don't even know that I would be capable of staying away," Ronson said, scowling, as if that wasn't one of the best compliments anyone had ever offered me.

"But it's not as if we are just—Ronson, you are the alpha. If anyone found out that I made certain not to conceive your heir… Well, like Beatrice said, it's criminal."

Ronson leaned forward in his seat, reaching across to take my hand in a firm grip—his first touch to me since he'd left me upstairs. I resented how that simple grasp seemed to ground me, settling some of the anxious thrumming in my chest. "Only you, Beatrice, and I would know. Mairwen, I don't even need to know. This is entirely your decision."

I pursed my lips and stared back at him. "Is it? Really? Do you…not want an heir?" Do you not want me to give you one?

He sighed and leaned back, and his hand slipped from mine. "I don't want the matter of an heir to be an either-or question," he said.

Either the heir, or me.

"That's what we're discussing though, if I do drink the tea," I reasoned. "And the strength of two⁠—"

Ronson waved his hands. "As far as we really know, that's just a proverb. My father's strength didn't double when I was born, and I certainly wasn't any use to him for the first couple decades. I was only a child."

I fidgeted with my skirt. Ronson could offer me this choice, wait another ten years, declare me useless, and take a new omega. Or he could even simply wait for me to die naturally, if he was really patient and men like Gamesby didn't come up with a successful plot before I was out of the picture.

"Everyone will think I failed," I said, speaking the words softly to my lap. And they won't be surprised, I added privately.

Ronson's chair creaked and his boots thumped, and I drew myself up, trying to force myself into a calm, unaffected expression. But when the alpha sank before me, gathering my hands and holding them gently in his own, those dark eyes shining up at me, I found my vision blurring and my throat tight.

"I don't want to refuse you the right to have a child, if that's what you want, Mairwen. But I don't want you to take this risk for anyone but yourself. You're worth more than a potential heir."

I sputtered, a garbled laugh slipping from my lips. "Ronson, that's…absurd⁠—"

"I'm not going anywhere," Ronson said, shrugging. "And I've managed this long without one, haven't I?"

"You know it's not that simple. You are…you're the alpha. Even if you don't mind…" Did he need an heir? Society would say yes. And up until today, until this moment, Ronson and I both knew his intention had been to gain one.

Until he realized it might mean…losing me? Or just the guilt of my death? The answer shouldn't have mattered, but I was so close to asking.

The door behind me squeaked on its hinges, and I jumped, half expecting my family and Gamesby and all of dragonkin to burst inside this room, pointing their fingers and accusing me of-of⁠—

I didn't know the word for it. Something disgraceful, embarrassing, and clumsy, no doubt.

But it was Beatrice walking into the office, carrying a well-loved porcelain tea set with faded painted flowers and slightly chipped cups. The steam rising from the pot was fragrant and a bit pungent, and my stomach turned queasily, eyes bouncing between Ronson and his sister.

"Mairwen, look at me."

I held my breath and met Ronson's gaze, and for a moment, there was no panic, no shame. Just the soft urge to lean forward and fall into him, seal my mouth to his and forget all the other little troubles that seemed to stack up around us. I flushed, and he caught my face in his hands before I could turn away again.

"Forget the rest," he said, voice low and heavy, like thunder on the horizon, his words echoing my own thoughts. "Make your choice. No one else's."

My eyes fluttered shut as he leaned in, grazing a kiss over my mouth and then pressing one firmly to my brow. Porcelain and silver rattled gently as Beatrice set the tray down at the edge of the desk. Ronson released me, standing up at my side so I was framed between the siblings. I swayed, untethered, as yellow and pink flowers gleamed out of the corner of my eye.

"You'll need to drink at least three cups, but given how close the rut is, I'd suggest finishing the whole pot," Beatrice said smoothly. "It's bitter, but you get used to it, and there's no physical discomfort."

"I'll wait upstairs in the nest," Ronson said. "Take as long as you need. Beatrice?"

"In a moment, Ronson."

I was trying to catch my breath, but each effort came in short, weak gasps, as if the air in the room was too thin. An heir would be my chance to prove dragonkin wrong about how they thought of me. I would not be the omega the alpha had chosen as a last resort, but the omega who'd helped continue the Cadogan line. The right choice instead of the wrong one.

Would dragonkin's opinions matter if I didn't survive?

Beatrice cleared her throat and I stirred, glancing around the room. Ronson was gone. It was only us. "It was always important to me that Ronson not grow up to become an alpha like our father. One who put his own interests and desires before all others, before the good of the isle. And he has. I knew that decades ago," Beatrice said, waving her hand. "What I failed to expect, because I've never truly seen an example of it in my entire life, was that he would also see us—see omegas—as more than the use of a broodmare. He means it when he frees you to make your own choice, Mairwen."

I licked my lips, blinking up at Beatrice, who waited for a moment before nodding and heading for the door.

"But is it right, then, if I have no gift to give in return?"

My voice was small, but Beatrice's quiet steps paused. I didn't turn to look at her, wasn't really sure if she'd answer me.

"Are you sure there's nothing? Nothing but a potential child to follow in a line? What does it really matter if the Cadogans reign as alpha on this isle? Alphas rise and they fall. I'm not sure our bloodline matters to Ronson, and our father isn't here to care."

And perhaps even if there was a male dragon child, he might fail to grow into an alpha, take the position from Ronson. Dragonkin would be as unsurprised by that as they would my failure to produce one at all.

I groaned and leaned forward, dropping my face into my hands. My choice. My choice. What was my choice?

"Drink the tea, or dump it. No one need know your decision but you."

The door shut behind Beatrice, and I was left with the hundreds of bickering arguments in my head.

The sun was setting, and the room was cast in gold and copper rays of light when I finally made it back to the nest. I paused in the doorway, struck dumb by the sight of Ronson in all his blazing warmth, wings seeming to soak up the sunset and reflect it darkly. He was frozen too, halfway across the room, staring back at me, and he let out a long, heavy breath.

"I've been using my dragon fire to keep the water warm for you," he rasped out in greeting. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him what I'd done, the decision I'd made, but Ronson held his hand out to me, waiting for me to reach his side.

And it was my decision. If he wanted to know, he could ask me.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me, the click of the latch loud and final. "Did you already bathe?"

"I washed off a little, but no, we're bathing together. Are you ready, Mairwen?"

I turned to face him. He wasn't asking if I was ready to wash. This was more than that. We'd managed a great deal of exploration in the last two nights, but two nights would never be enough preparation for a dragon's rut. Especially not the alpha's.

"Is it true you shift into a dragon during…?"

Ronson grinned, his teeth sharper than they had been a week ago. "Not exactly. I grow larger, and more dragon features appear throughout, but I couldn't truly shift completely, not for the act itself. Not even an omega as perfect as you could take my dragon. Is that something people think?"

"It's just a rumor. It sounded false," I said, ducking my head.

Shadows churned out of the corner of my eye, and then Ronson was there, in front of me. Had he flown, or could he muffle his thunder and step silently when he wanted? Either way, he was surrounding me, the door solid at my back and him even more so in front of me.

His brow furrowed. "You're frightened."

"Nervous," I corrected, trying to avoid looking at him. But it was impossible. He was huge, and he was taking up every inch of my view. "Tired."

"We can⁠—"

"Excited," I continued, glancing up, his gaze as black and difficult to decipher as ever. "Confused. It was a big day, Ronson."

"Just a bath, then," he said, gathering me gently and peeling me away from the door, cocooning me in strong arms and heavy wings.

"Not just a bath," I said, and his steps faltered. "I'm afraid if we wait another day, the betas will find a way to sink the isle into the sea and make it your job to float us back out again. But maybe… Can we move slowly?"

Ronson's arms circled my waist, drawing me back into his warm chest. He always smelled a little smoky to me, but it was a much fresher and more intense scent than the sweat and fire clinging to my own skin, and I turned my face to breathe him in.

"I especially enjoy moving slowly with you, omega," he purred in my ear, taking advantage of my twisted neck to press kisses inside the open collar of his shirt I was still wearing.

Will you be disappointed when you learn my decision? I wondered, but I didn't want the answer. It had taken a long time to dig through voices that didn't belong to me in order to discover my own, but by that point, it was a relief to discover it at all.

"In fact, before we even entertain the bath, I think I ought to start by very slowly undressing you," he continued, one hand sliding up to tug the uppermost button of my collar. His claws were sharp and glossy black, and they clicked against the delicate brass buttons.

"You're teasing me," I said, rubbing my cheek on his clean sleeve and feeling a petty pleasure when I realized I'd marked it with soot.

"I'm seducing you. Although that sometimes comes in harmony with teasing," he said. "Mairwen, would you be disgusted with me if I hired someone specifically to make you better undergarments? Ones that didn't aim to press you flat?"

"You are obsessed," I gasped out with a laugh, glancing down at the now gaping shirt that revealed my most comfortable—although apparently still objectionable—set of stays.

"I am," Ronson answered, and then one claw sliced through the front band of material.

I growled, and Ronson growled back, bucking his hips against my ass. "I have to say yes now, or I won't have any undergarments at all."

"That's another very clever idea."

"Ronson!"

He gripped my shoulders and spun me to face him, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes the only clear sign of humor. I reached up and touched the firm line of his mouth, wondering what it might take to earn one of those startling and rare smiles, and his expression slackened as he stared down at me. My throat tightened, and for a moment there was no air—time had stopped.

He would ask what I'd done in the office, if I drank the tea, and I would tell him the truth, and then I'd know how he really felt about giving me such power.

His gaze darkened, and he stepped forward, guiding me backward, the moment vanishing and returning to this warm intent and anticipation.

"I don't think anyone really recognized me today," I said.

"I don't think this island really knows you, Mairwen," Ronson said, tipping his head.