For his part, he doesn’t seem to notice how he’s affecting me. He leans back and drops the book on the cushion next to him. “There was a time when the realms—mortal, demon, divine—were closer together. Or easier to cross.” He looks away, dark eyes going thoughtful. “There are a lot of theories why that changed, and no one quite knows for sure what happened. Obviously humans used to be here in greater numbers.” He motions to himself, to his humanoid body.
That makes sense in a strange sort of way. There are tales across many cultures about people stepping into fairy circles or answering strange voices calling in the night and never being seen again. It’s not so hard to believe they crossed into a different realm, especially considering where I’m standing right now.
But knowing that still doesn’t explain why Sol risked his entire kingdom for a human bride. Especially when he’s obviously avoiding said bride.
“Did Ramanu frighten you?” He studies me intently. “I won’t pretend they’re harmless, because they’re more assuredly not, but Azazel’s contracts are good. Ramanu won’t hurt you.”
Honestly, after I got over the eye horns, Ramanu is more infuriating than anything else, but I find myself nodding. “Yes, they frightened me.” What are you doing? I ignore the very reasonable voice in my head and press forward. “Would you… Could…” I drag in a breath. “Could I sit with you until I calm down?”
Chapter 8
Briar
It’s blatantly clear Sol had every intention of sending me back to my room. It’s equally clear that I’ve shocked him with the request to sit with him. That’s fair. I’ve shocked myself. My damned curiosity has a hold of me, and the fact Sol is obviously trying his best not to overwhelm or scare me is…
I don’t know.
I hardly feel like myself as he nods slowly and lifts a hand in obvious invitation. It’s not until I’m moving, carefully placing my hand in his, that my brain catches up enough to ask me where I intend to sit.
In that moment, if Sol pulled me onto his lap, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.
He doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He simply tugs me to sit at his side. His tail shifts against my back, tightening the slightest amount, scooting me closer until we’re plastered together from knee to shoulder. He’s so warm. I don’t even think to tense. I melt instead.
Sol awkwardly drapes his massive arm around my shoulders, and the sheer size of him has my lower stomach doing strange things. By all rights, I should be terrified of him. Ethan taught me many hard lessons over the course of our marriage, the first being that my instincts are trash. I trusted that man enough to marry him and look what happened.
With my track record, Sol is more likely to eat me whole than to be kind to me, contract or no.
Maybe that’s the difference. The contract. The stakes are so high—so much higher for him than they are for me—that I feel safe. That must be it. It’s the only logical explanation. I relax against him further. The texture of his scales against my cheek really is nice. He’s smooth and warm and…
“How would it work?”
Sol goes so still against me, he might as well have turned to stone. “Excuse me?”
“Sex. That’s why you were there at the auction, right? Or you were there for a bride to have children with, but children are often a product of sex, so the question stands. How would it work?” Though I don’t know if it was actually an auction in the strictest sense of the word. As far as I can tell, there was no bidding or funds exchanged. They just claimed each one of us and then signed a contract with their territories in the balance. At least if the terms of the other contracts were the same as Sol’s and mine.
He still hasn’t moved. “We don’t need to talk about this.”
“I kind of think we do.” It’s easier without looking at him, trying to read his expression when I’m still not familiar enough to pull it off. Body language is simpler. He hisses and flares his crest when agitated, and neither of those things are happening right now. What’s more, he’s still keeping his touch on me carefully light as if he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he moves too quickly.
Or as if he’s deciding whether he wants to bolt right now.
“Though, if you intend to seduce me, you’re going about it strangely. Or is this one of those hunting games predators play? I don’t have much to go on, and I’d like not to make assumptions because there are obvious cultural differences between us.”
He shudders out a very human-sounding breath. “You didn’t want to be married.”
Of all the things I anticipated him saying, this didn’t number among them. I blink. “What does that have to do with anything?”