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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There was no way in Nine Hells I was going anywhere with Danne Pelan. He was more of an idiot than I thought if he really believed I'd meet him somewhere alone, and listen to his lies.
I reached for a glass of champagne—
It was the merest of twangs, like a spider creeping out of a shadowed nook to crawl across a silken strand of cobweb.
I went instantly alert.
Sitting straighter, my gaze whirled around the gathered guests, until my gaze collided with cunning golden eyes staring right back at me.
Master Sirro.
My heart missed a beat.
His full lips curved into a delighted smile as the tip of his forefinger idly brushed back and forth over his neatly trimmed beard.
I inclined my head, reminding myself to cooly smile—polite, yet disinterested.
His smile widened.
Shit, shit, shit.
Corné's father, Aldert Pelan, stood beside him, his beady eyes gleaming with pride and arrogance as he talked. But the Horned God's entire focus was on me.
Latching my fingers around the crystal flute, I took a sip, the sparkling liquid tasting sour on my tongue, before turning away to give my mother a mindless, pretty smile.
But I still felt Master Sirro's gaze gliding all over my body with the stickiness of molasses. Placing the champagne glass back down on the table, I slid it across the crisp linen from hand to hand, while readjusting myself in the chair and trying to ease the feeling of constriction from the dress clinging to my body like an itchy blanket.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Master Sirro break into movement.
My heart exploded into a racing gait.
Thin threads of magic coiled and weaved through the air like a tumbling squall of dark clouds. The strands of power connected him to his Familiar who trailed a polite distance behind. Might strummed across the space dividing us. Skimming against my flesh. A whispering caress along the shell of my ear. And the heralding darkness roused the creature inside me. The thing began to uncoil from around my bones.
No—I hissed.
It stilled, grumbling its discontent, but it listened, retreating to keep itself hidden.
Master Sirro's footfall on the stairs to the platform was soft and slow and measured, yet they hammered an almighty death drum in my ears.
The Horned God reached me, ignored my mother, and inclined his head. "Nelle."
I steeled myself and angled toward him. "Master Sirro," I replied, my fingers gripping what was left of my bracelet hanging loosely around my wrist.
Light from the giant orbs strung throughout the ceiling of the tent skittered off the Horned God's deep, coppery skin. He was beautiful and powerful and I was terrified. A mouse quivering in the shadows of a lion, fearing the beast would scent its presence. He wore a navy pin-striped tuxedo with a bow tie. Dark hair was artfully tousled and pushed back from his brow. Bestowing upon me an admiring smile, his golden eyes darkened to a rich hue of honey as his gaze slithered along my jawline, down my throat to linger on the fluttering pulse point, before snapping up to meet my carefully-schooled gaze. He raised a hand, palm upward in an offering.
