His lips curved at the memory of the way she had glared challengingly at him when they had briefly roused, and he had insisted that she eat the food he’d prepared from his hand. What had once been a hated duty, he had enjoyed all too much in providing for his songbird. She had then surprised him by taking up morsels and feeding them to him in turn. Something few drow females—and certainly no queen—would deign to do. Although it lasted no longer than it had taken to fuel their bodies before their sexual appetites had roused and caused them to fall into bed together once more, it had been a moment he treasured.
The tap came again, and Ashul sighed, slipping from the bed. He did not need to guess who it would be.
Stalking across the room naked, he yanked open the door to glare at the tall sylvan waiting at the other side. The male raised a pale eyebrow coolly as he returned his regard, another steaming basket in his arms.
“My anhatal made this for you and yours,” the sylvan said softly without prompting. “An offering of neighbors and far-kin in hopes that you stay and add your protection and power here among us.”
Ashul’s eyes narrowed. So that was their plan. To trap him there. But what benefit would they receive for it? Although it had been clear that they had been given safe passage through the woods due to Robyn’s presence at his side and had kindly offered shelter in a gesture he had expected was repayment for his gift to the younglings, he had still wondered if there was another motivation at hand.
“To what purpose?” he replied warily.
The sylvan blinked with an expression of surprise. “To provide shelter for you and your mate, of course. Our mates and families are safe within this wood, as would be yours. There are parts of this land that would respond to you and provide greater fortifications. By joining our power, we can better protect them and our lives here.”
My mate?
The sylvans had assumed far more than he expected. They truly believed the two of them to be a mated pair.
The assumption felt absurd. A drow elf would never look at an elf in the company of a human and assume they were mated. If it were a drow female, then perhaps a breeder or pleasure servant, but such assumptions about male drow were never made. Furthermore, because of the seriousness of mating, elves were notoriously slow to mate unless it was prearranged like his accursed pairing had been. Yet the sylvans of this wood had swiftly jumped to that conclusion to reap the benefit of additional power and protection, and the perceived fertility that accompanied the newly mated to add surplus to their numbers. It was a reasonable offer.
And, for some reason, it annoyed him.
“I will speak to my mate of it,” he lied, accepting the food from the other male. “We must first complete our journey, but she may agree to return. I admit that it is not an offer a drow expects to hear from a sylvan.”
Disappointment flitted across the sylvan’s face, but he inclined his head graciously. “This new world is different than the one we left behind while still very much the same, possessing dangers of the old and the new. It only benefits us to cooperate and work together by blending our talents into more powerful fortifications. You will otherwise be left to live as you like here near the borders of our woods but without the same security. You would be out of reach of your people—and any queen—who would not take a mating like yours kindly. Does this not tempt you?”
It did, and that was precisely the problem. He knew where his necromancer’s compelled duties lay. Their arrangement was a temporary one—that much had been made clear early on, regardless of what either of them wanted. It did him no good to dream of such things.
The sylvan took in his unyielding expression and sighed. “Very well. The offer will stand should you decide to return.”
Seeing nothing but honest optimism on the other male’s face, Ashul grunted vaguely and stepped back with the basket, closing the door firmly between them, not wishing to feel even a drop of gratitude within him for the offer.
His expression immediately softened as a languid yawn greeted him, and he turned just in time to see Robyn’s bare breasts push up as she stretched her arms over her head and yawned.
“Who was that?” she murmured sleepily.
“A meal,” he said, setting the basket onto the table. “But it will keep.” Without another word, he slipped back into bed, his large frame curling around her smaller one.
“Mmm, shouldn’t we get up then?” she whispered, and he shook his head.
“It is still early. The sylvans have a horrific sense of what constitutes a rising hour. They would assume that all wish to rise with the sun as they do. Sleep and allow me to hold you for a little while yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing the soft skin of her shoulder.
Sighing, she mumbled a sound of agreement, already slipping back into her dreams as he gathered her into his arms and sank into her comfort, pretending that this moment could be held onto forever. For a while, it seemed to work. The first half of the day once they finally rose passed as if there had been no interruption in the activities from the night before. They ate, fucked, and took pleasure in each other’s company until the late afternoon arrived, and without their hour of departure.
It had come too soon as far as he was concerned.
The tips of Ashul’s ears twitched as they left the underground nest that had served them, his head tipping briefly as Deroxas took the trees above and chittered down. His lips twisted as the squirrel’s tail flicked excitedly.
Ashul scanned his surroundings. Satisfied that there was no threat, he stepped out of the way of the entrance, allowing Robyn to step outside as she directed a wry look at him. At least the sylvan was nowhere in sight, which was a relief. His instincts had settled after thoroughly marking Robyn not only last night but upon rising and a few more times as they waited out the hottest part of the day. Now the shadows were long and the air cooler, and still he searched for any reason to delay their departure even as his frustration rose.
A frustration that had festered since the sylvan male had erroneously assumed Robyn to be his mate earlier that morning. That assumption alone was not the source of his irritation. Nor was it the sudden gratitude that he had uncharacteristically felt at the offer. What he hated was something far simpler, something he had not prepared for that came upon him as an epiphany in the late hours of the morning as he held Robyn close. He’d accepted his desire for the necromancer, and even his own possessive infatuation likely due to the leash connecting him. But he found himself irritated because he irrationally wished the sylvan’s words to be true.
He wished more than anything that she were his mate.
Ashul wanted his little songbird, not just for sharing mutual desire or entertainment, but to keep as his forever. To be his mate in equal share with him for the rest of their lives. Few elves in history ever mated with humans. Loving them, being infatuated, and breeding them to bring in new bloodlines were all acceptable, but to share the spark of his life essence was something few did, and never among the drow as far as he was aware.
And yet it was a seductive temptation to break the last of the laws and taboos of his people and claim Robyn. To flout custom and law to claim what he wanted. The Dark Ones knew he wanted to, because he couldn’t imagine the rest of his life stretching on without her. It felt endless as he stepped away from the small shelter, following after her.
Just one step and a sudden emptiness and sense of desperation flared in the pit of his belly. All at once, he wanted to insist that they remain and drag Robyn back inside if need be. He could keep her there with him for at least a time—and if he bound her to him, perhaps, in time, he could override her magical compulsion that wore on her day after day, keeping them at a brutal pace. Maybe then she would forget about her duties, including escorting him to the monastery where supposedly he would be rewarded with a life of peace, tucked away in some little corner to be forgotten.