When Nelle Wychthorn was forced to sign herself away in marriage, she should have read the contract's fine print. Because she signs not with ink, but with blood. And that changes everything.
Season 1 'Of Crows and Thorns'
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Fiery Nelle, the isolat...
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Startled, I sat up quickly, scrambling to my feet.
Graysen Crowther.
My gaze narrowed on his tall figure cut into a dark suit, annoyed my personal space had been invaded. Darkness wrapped itself around him as if it welcomed him into its fold of shadows. He was eighteen, nineteen perhaps, I couldn't remember. Handsome, as all the Crowthers were, with sharply cut features that were almost brutal if not for the supple line of his mouth.
He sketched a shallow bow, straightening to stare at me as if he'd already judged me and didn't like me.
I glared back. He knew nothing about me.
But the thing that prowled beneath my skin was intensely curious about him. I was not. I shoved away that prickling feeling and ignored the hyper-awareness of him that seemed to hum between us like a musical note drawn out by the strings of an orchestra.
I swiped at my dress where my skirt was scuffed with grass stains and now more dirt. Godsdammit. My tone was waspish as I snapped at him. "What are you doing here?"
He glanced away, answering in that same flat tone he'd used earlier in the great room. "Same as you I suppose."
I shot him a curious look.
Is he hiding too and needs to settle himself?
He drifted deeper into the aviary. His sharp eyes shone like an animal that hunted at night. The shapes of the roosting birds should have been indistinguishable, but he clearly made them out as his head tilted upward in their direction. "Rather a dull choice of bird," he muttered. My mother could have had all kinds of exotic birds—brightly plumed parrots, lorikeets, or even hummingbirds—but she preferred thrushes and sparrows and finches.
How did he find me here?
Is it coincidence, or has he sought me out on purpose?
Graysen twisted around slowly to face me. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, head tilted to the side, those coal-black eyes meeting mine. His wavy hair had been pushed back from his forehead, but there was a cowlick at the hairline and the wayward hank of hair slipped across his eyes. He shook his head, flicking it back, but it wouldn't settle into place. "Why are you rarely seen?"
I tensed. I'd been purposely kept away from the other Houses. Someone like me should have been handed over to the Horned Gods at birth.
To keep me safe.
To keep me from people like you.
Instead, I just offered a shrug as if I didn't know.
"Do they keep you caged, little bird?"
The name rankled and I glared. "Don't call me that."
The way his eyes lit up, I realized I'd just done the worst thing possible. Inwardly I groaned.
