Curse of the Troll, Emma Hamm [books to read to increase intelligence TXT] 📗

“A banshee.”

“A banshee?” Elva burst into laughter at that. So she had heard him right. But who slept with banshees? No one wanted to be around the terrifying things. “They are the souls of the dead. You know that, right?”

“Doesn’t mean they don’t have needs,” he grumbled.

“Needs? Like sucking out the souls of those they deem unworthy of an afterlife?”

He remained quiet for so long after that she thought perhaps she’d insulted him. Then he expelled a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Well, she was good at sucking something.”

“Oh, for gods—” Elva whipped one of the pillows at him, striking him hard in the face.

Now, a full belly laugh rumbled through his body. He tossed the pillow back at her. “You walked into that one, faerie! Come on, now. What else were you expecting?”

“A little gentlemanly decorum perhaps?”

“I could say the same about the woman prying into a man’s love life. I’m not exactly prolific in my philanderings, if you must know.”

She shook her head and tugged the furs higher. “Oh really? I find that hard to believe. Even in the Seelie Court, we’ve heard how dwarves find lovemaking to be…quite an experience to enjoy.”

“Ahh,” he sighed. “So the faeries of the courts do remember their old friends.”

“Old friends? Is that what you call them? Seems to me you’d want to be with someone younger, but for a man who enjoys the company of banshees, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

Elva shook her head. “Not likely.”

They fell into a companionable silence. Elva tried to keep her mind in that lighthearted state of mind. She wanted to focus on the way he’d made her laugh and the sound of his own happiness.

He had a way of doing that to her, a way of breathing life into a situation that felt so dark she couldn’t inhale.

Except, now he was right there. She could feel the blankets moving with a twitch of his foot. Even the sound of his breathing reminded her that someone was right there. So close she could have reached out and touched him.

Did she want to? Elva wasn’t really sure. She didn’t know if that would make this infinitely worse, and then she’d have to ask him to leave. Leaving the room wasn’t possible, which meant she had even less control over this situation than she wanted to have.

There was that tight feeling in her chest again. She curled her fingers in the furs and forced herself to relax through the panic attack. He wasn’t trying to touch her. He was just trying to get warm. She could be here, force herself to live through the horribleness, and it would be fine.

“How are we doing over there?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

He shifted, rolling over in the bed so his silhouette was turned toward her. “Okay, now I’m going to ask that again, and this time you’re going to answer me truthfully. How are we doing over there?”

“We are doing fine,” she repeated. Then muttered, “I am not at my best, however.”

“That’s what I thought.” Donnacha shifted a bit away from her. “Better?”

She assessed the situation. Her chest was still tight, her breathing irregular, her mind incapable of focusing on anything but the way her hands were shaking. “Not really.”

“I’ll get out of bed.”

“No!” she shouted the word, startling even herself. “I just… Can you maybe stay where you are and reach out your hand?”

Elva wished she could see his face. She was certain he was wrinkling his brow at her. He stopped breathing for a moment, then settled back on the bed. Slowly, he slid his hand under the furs toward her and stopped in the middle of the bed. “Like this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Why was she asking him to do this? She wasn’t going to like touching him. She didn’t even like that he was so close. Asking him to move closer seemed foolish. But she was so tired of holding all this anxiety inside her. She was so tired of being afraid.

Elva slid her own hand under the covers until she was close enough to touch him. Did she really want to do this? She wasn’t sure. Would this change their relationship? Right now she was enjoying being somewhat close to a man with no expectations. She didn’t want him to think she was romantically interested in him.

That was so much of a stretch for her. She didn’t know how to be interested in someone again. Not after everything that had happened to her. She was better off alone.

Far away from any man of her own species. Far away from anyone who could hurt her.

Wasn’t that her problem? She’d taken herself out of the world, forced herself so far away from everyone else that she was hardly living anymore. Elva wasn’t even a person at this point. She was a ghost who remained in the shadows, mimicking what life was but never actually enjoying it.

Elva shifted her hand again so she could place her pinky over his. That was it. That was all she could do tonight, but it was something.

She blew out a long breath and focused on the feeling of his hand under hers. It was a strong hand, like his arm. It was more than just the smooth, pretty texture that had been Fionn’s. The Seelie King had never touched a weapon in his life.

Donnacha’s hand was covered with callouses and a few scars she could feel just from where she touched him. He had the hand of a swordsmith. The kind of hand that had gone through battles and come back out alive.

The kind of hand who could hurt.

She waited for the overwhelming rush of emotion that was certainly going to crash over her head. He could hurt her. He could at any point. Gods, he could waltz in here as a bear and tear her limb from limb.

The emotions never hit her. Instead, all she remembered were the times he could have hurt