“I am my mother’s son,” he said in a flat, quiet voice.
I snorted and turned away again, striding fast towards the cottage as it came into view. As he followed me in silence, I tried to calm down enough to consider his words. What did he mean by that? That he couldn’t go against the Carlin’s wishes? That he wanted the same thing she did? But it still told me nothing. He hadn’t answered me when I’d asked what she would get out of meshedding my mortal skin. The Folk didn’t do things selflessly. There was a reason.
And if unlocking my fae side would let me leave, why did the Carlin even want that? She’d trapped me here, which meant she wanted me to stay.
I was so confused. Lonan was telling me to do what she wanted me to, but at the same time making it seem like if I did, it would help me get away from her.
Was he just tricking me? Trying to make me think that doing what the Carlin wanted would let me escape, when in reality it would just make me play right into her hands? Was he just trying to speed up the process so it would get his mother what she wanted? He hadn’t actuallysaidthat shedding my mortal skin would let me set foot in the forest, so he technically hadn’t lied. He’d just implied it.
My blood boiled at the thought of being tricked. He was as sly as all the other Folk. Why had I ever thought he was different? Everything he was doing was just to help his mother—help her carry out whatever unknown, terrifying plan she had for me.
I’d never felt more alone. Or more foolish. He’d twisted his words to make me feel like he was on my side, helping me adjust here, but he was just like all the others.
“Are you going to ignore everything I’ve said?”
He was still following me, and his voice was tight with suppressed emotion, like the thought ofhimbeing ignored, the beautiful fae prince, was unthinkable.
“I don’t trust you,” I snapped, whirling round to face him outside the cottage. “I don’t trust you any more than your fucking mother. I don’t trust any of you. All you fucking Folk are the same.”
“You are one of us, as much as you might hate that fact,” he gritted out.
He can’t lie, a little voice whispered in my head, making my stomach clench up with fear.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Liar.”
“Even if I did, you think you can manipulate me into playing right into your and mother’s hands? Trying to make me think if Ished my mortal skin, I’ll be able to go into the forest? I’ll be able to escape? When really, I’ll just be doing exactly what you all want me to do, won’t I?”
He clearly didn’t know what to say to that, because he couldn’t lie and tell me I was wrong.
“Things aren’t always so black and white,” he eventually got out, voice trembling with anger. “I am my mother’s son, but I—”
“Shutup.” I turned and flung open the cottage door. “Tell your mother I had a lovely time. Tell her the food was wonderful. Then fuck off and leave me alone in my sad little cottage with my tea and garden, which you clearly think is so pathetic, even thoughyour family is the one that put me here.”
I slammed the door, leaving him standing there in the dark with his shoulders hunched and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
As I stomped through the living room and into the bedroom, part of me expected him to fling open the cottage door, pull free his blade and drive it into my gut.
He didn’t. It was totally silent as I struggled out of my shirt and trousers and angrily jerked back the covers to get into bed. I was trembling wildly. With anger, at Lonan and myself, for letting myself believe for even a second that he was any different. With fear over what he’d said. With too much emotion roiling inside me, heating my blood and making my heart pound too hard. Worryingly hard.
My skin felt tight over my bones. I slammed my eyes shut and tried to clear my mind, but I couldn’t. I just kept seeing big black eyes, an insolent mouth curled into a snarl, his long fingers clenching into fists.
I wanted to punch him in his perfect fucking face. For making me feel small and stupid. For making me start to trust him, even just a little. I pictured doing just that—walking up to him and punching him in the jaw, uncaring of the blades gleaming at his hip and on his back, uncaring that he was Folk and royalty and the Carlin’s son.
But then the image morphed into me rushing up to him and grabbing his face and kissing him hard instead. What would he have done? Would he have kissed me back? He’d stared at my mouth that time like he wanted to, but that had probably just been another trick. A way to make the clueless, pathetic mortal play right into his hands.
Hot, angry pleasure pulsed through me at the thought of Lonan flinging open the cottage door and striding into the bedroom. But instead of slitting my throat, I pictured him yanking off the covers and covering my body with his own. He’d be ravenous. Animalistic. Biting at my throat and lips, clawing at me, heated anger fuelling us both.
My eyes popped open and I panted up at the ceiling, chest rising fast and my heart still slamming too hard against my ribs. I lifted my head and peered down my body to stare with furious betrayal at my pulsing cock, a rigid outline through the blanket.
“He’s a bastard,” I snapped. “A sneaky, manipulative prick. He’s no different to any of them. Stopwanting him.”
I really was losing my mind. Talking to birds and wolves and cats, and now my own fucking cock.
I couldn’t stop my hand as it thrust under the covers and fisted my stiff length. It jerked in my grip, pre-cum already smearing against the sheet. I kicked everything off and let my knees fall open, already pumping recklessly fast, unable to stop but not wanting to do this to thoughts ofhim.
It was his face that I pictured, though. His insolent mouth and high cheekbones and hooded eyes. The sweep of his hair and the vulnerable, pointed tip of his ear peeking out. His long, elegant, masculine fingers resting on the kitchen table, his long legs as I watched him walk away, his husky voice, his inky black hair shining in the sunlight—