With a screech, she stomped her foot. “You fiend!” Forget ignoring him. “You’re ruining my floor. I scrubbed for minutes, and you dirtied it all in seconds. I’ll never forgive you for this. Never!” Her tirade downgraded to haughty acceptance in an instant. She wasn’t alone anymore! “Also, I adore the gift, and I humbly accept it as my due. Shall we display it on my mantel?”
The furrows in his brow conquered new ground. He cast his gaze to the head dangling from his grip and cringed. “You’re cleaning,” he said, focusing on her again. “In costume.”
His astonishment proved she’d made a lasting impression. “Yes. I donned the French maid outfit to do my chores.” She’d even anchored her mass of pale hair into a bun. “The other option was sweatpants, but I think we can both agree I don’t have the erectile bulge to pull those off.”
“You’re…” His eyes widened as he perused her once again...only slower. He gulped at the bodice and licked his lips at the mid-thigh ruffles. “You…”
Viola savored a swell of strength and pleasure. Mmm. Another dose of pure, undiluted adoration. How she’d missed it. “I’m magnificent? Perfection? Trust me, I know.” She heaved a mournful sigh. “But that’s my burden to carry. Something few others can comprehend. As for you…”
As she gave him an equally unhurried examination, she noted a stronger awareness of Brochan’s appeal. Such aggressive masculinity. An intensity she’d never encountered from another. With his wings partially flared, and his free hand fisted, he exuded barely banked ferocity.
As she continued to look him over, he bowed up. Expecting her to insult him?
“I don’t care to hear what you think of me. I want to know what brought about this change in you, and I want to know now.” The statements lashed like a whip. “Yesterday, you were sad. Weakening. Today, you’re happy. Strong. Why?”
Careful. Reveal nothing. But, uh, how did he know the state of her emotions, exactly? “Perhaps I remembered your great desire for me. Maybe there’s another reason. Either way, I won’t discuss anything with a male in the process of ruining my floor. Especially the area I intended to consider scrubbing next.”
His eyes slitted. “You have one hour. I will return, and you will give me the answers I seek. Be ready.”
“You’re leaving me again?” Her pulse leaped, panic surging without delay. Thankfully, she tamped it down swiftly and schooled her features to reveal disdain. “Well, good riddance. I don’t care what you do. Never have, never will.”
A scowling Brochan flashed away, and Viola sagged.
The too-brief interaction rolled over and over in her mind. What did he wish to discuss? The key? The ways he planned to torture her? All the amazing things he’d missed about her?
What did she want from him again? His sudden appearance had wiped her final resolution from her mind.
Whatever she decided, she must prepare quickly. Viola needed to condense six hours of primping into sixty minutes.
She flew into the bathroom and hurried through a shower, pretending the toiletries didn’t smell like Brochan, and her blood didn’t heat with every inhalation. She dried and styled her hair, then strode into the closet, expecting to find an array of tops with holes and ties in the back, all sized giant. She’d been wearing Brochan’s shirts as dresses.
Wait. New garments hung from hangers. Gowns of every color and style. Silks, satins, and velvets. Her heart about melted with joy. Where had her host found these beauties worthy of a queen?
She selected a lovely dress with fabric the same silvery hue as the Forsaken’s eyes. The silk molded to her curves, leaving an indecent amount of cleavage. The hem reached the floor, high slits providing mobility. The awful cuff acted as her only piece of jewelry.
Well, well. Brochan forgot to provide underwear. How interesting. He must have–
Viola sensed him before she saw him, his heat setting her nerve endings on fire. She spun, and there he stood, only a few feet away from her. He’d showered also. Thankfully, he’d deposited the decapitated head somewhere else. Locks of damp hair clung to his brow, his cheeks. He wore a plain white T-shirt and black leather pants. Still no combat boots.
He was…beautiful. And he was gaping at her.
Deluged with power, she preened at him. She deemed his reaction appropriate. “Allow me to articulate what you’re currently feeling, beast. Your entire world has shifted, the sight of me burned into your memory forevermore.”
He gulped, nodded, and took her hand, his rough palm tickling her skin. He led her to the balcony, where he shouldered open the double doors. A cool breeze rushed in, enveloping her with a chill until he tugged her in front of him, putting her chest flush against his.
“Hold tight,” he commanded, wrapping his strong arms around her. Flaring his wings and flinging water droplets in every direction, he shot into the air.
Wind combed through her hair as she clung to him. “Where are we going?” she asked, nervous but excited. She’d never flown in the shelter of anyone’s arms before.
The most wonderful heat enveloped her, infused with Brochan’s heady male scent. His strength charged her up as surely as the wolf’s admiration.
“An oasis sprang up the day after you used the faucet.” He rolled through a fluffy white cloud, soared over a barren hill, and began his descent.
She almost huffed with disappointment. Over so soon?
When he landed, he set her on her feet. But he didn’t release her, and she didn’t step back. His gaze searched hers as he traced his hands up the ridges of her spine before massaging her nape.
Deep yearning seeped from him. Fury, too. All that barely banked ferocity rippled through his wings, and she battled a strange urge to comfort him. To hold him and never let go.
The urge to kiss him bombarded her next, and Viola jumped back at last, least she give in.
Kiss her captor before he groveled for forgiveness? No. Besides, they needed to nail down some of the finer details of their relationship. For six days, he’d kept her isolated, on edge and miserable. He continued to threaten her pet and blame her for his brother’s condition. He hadn’t earned a kiss yet.
She turned on her heel. The cut direct. And she wouldn’t feel bad about it! Not even when she later replayed the flash of hurt she’d briefly spied in his expression.
As promised, an oasis stretched before her. Miles and miles of lush, emerald foliage teeming with pink and yellow blooms stole her breath. Butterflies the size of her fist perched here and there. A jungle worthy of a goddess.
Viola skipped forward to smell a flower. A warrior wouldn’t reward a despised enemy with such a prize. But he might bring a female he hoped to bed…
Brochan followed, staying close to her heels. “This isn’t a candlelit dinner, I know,” he told her begrudgingly. Reluctantly. “I hope it’s better.”
Much. “Is this our first date?” she gasped, pressing a hand over her thumping heart.
He scrubbed his too-harsh features. “This is a temporary truce.”
* * * *
“Are you sure it isn’t a date?” Viola asked, batting her lashes at him. “I mean, if it looks like a date and acts like a date…”