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“I am sorry. I cannot.”

Tamsin’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“Truly, it is not within my power. I would not even know where to begin.” There was no point trying to hide his nature from her; she’d already seen his hound and horse shapes, if not his repulsive true form. “Perhaps a true high sidhe could unravel the magics that bind you, but I am a half-blood. My father was a phouka.”

Her eyebrows drew down further. “I know phouka from my granny’s tales. They’re a type of faerie shapeshifter, right?”

“Correct. A true phouka can take many forms, but I myself am limited to horse and hound. And just as my wild fae magic is weakened by my mixed blood, my high sidhe powers are also woefully inadequate. I cannot cut the curse that binds you. I cannot set you free.”

She was still regarding him with that uncomfortably penetrating look. “If you could…would you?”

He opened his mouth to say yes, of course—and the words stuck in his throat. Despite the taint of his phouka father, he was high sidhe. And high sidhe couldn’t lie. Dance around the truth, yes, distract and dazzle…but not lie.

And he didn’t know if he could have let her go.

“It is of no matter,” he said instead. “Since I cannot do it anyway. But what I can do, my lady, is promise to serve you in all ways. I may not be able to release you, but I swear that I shall keep you safe, and do my utmost to ensure that you are happy here. I know that your first impressions of the unseelie court were not, ah, entirely auspicious, but you will come to appreciate its charms in time.”

“Oh, I’m appreciating them, all right,” Tamsin muttered, eying him. She grimaced, scrunching up her nose. “Look, can you please turn that off?”

He looked around in confusion, then down at himself. “Turn what off?”

“That.” She made a vague, annoyed gesture that encompassed his entire body. “The…magic sex thing.”

Magic sex thing?

“You think I’m glamouring you?” he ventured.

“Yes, that. I know all the old stories about fae. I know how your kind can mess with people’s heads. I felt it myself, back when I first arrived.” She folded her arms. “I don’t like being manipulated. If you want me to trust you, then stop trying to magic me into wanting to ride you like a pony.”

She found him attractive? To the point of thinking that he was toying with her mind?

He spread his hands, fighting down a wholly inappropriate urge to whoop and punch the air. “On my honor, I am not glamouring you.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, so you look like that naturally, do you?”

Once again, the truth tangled his tongue. Because of course he didn’t.

He was using glamour…just not on her.

“I swear on the Shining Ones, I am not manipulating your emotions,” he said, picking his words with care. “As I said, I am only half high sidhe. My glamours are limited to trivial visual illusions. I cannot cast a false allure over you, nor influence your mind in any way.”

Tamsin rubbed her forehead. “And I guess I just have to take your word on that, huh?”

There was a way he could prove it…and he definitely was not going to suggest it. He could only hope that the stories she knew of his people did not mention their greatest weakness.

“I am high sidhe enough that I cannot tell a direct falsehood,” he said instead. “You said you had heard tales of the fae. Did they include that fact?”

She still looked dubious, but she nodded. “We have a lot of stories about your kind, though. Most of them made up. At least, I assume you’re not about to sprout cute little butterfly wings and perch on a toadstool.”

He snorted at the mental image. “Humans have forgotten much if that is what they think of the fae.”

“Blame the Victorians. And Walt Disney.” Tamsin shook her head, blowing out her breath. “So much for sweet little faeries. You are definitely not Tinkerbell.”

Her manner of speech was as enchanting as it was baffling. “This is a bad thing?”

Her gaze flicked over his body again, lingering on his shoulders. “I’m not complaining. At least, not as long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“I am not a beast!” He took a deep breath, forcing his voice to lower to civilized tones again. She could hardly be blamed for thinking such a terrible thing, given that she had seen him snarling on all fours. “I am not a beast. I am fae, and we respect the goddess in all women. No one in this realm will touch you in that way against your will. That, at least, you need not fear.”


Tags: Zoe Chant Fae Mates Paranormal