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

Stay still, he told himself. Don’t touch her. Because this wasn’t about him. This was about her taking back her independence, choosing to touch another person and see how far she could push herself.

But then he might die if he didn’t touch her.

“Donnacha?”

“Yes, Elva?”

Her head shifted on his chest, letting the full weight of her body fall against his heart. It was perfect. This moment when he finally had her in his arms, when she finally let go of her fear and trusted him not to hurt her, was perfect.

“Can you just…hold me?”

Could he? Donnacha had to tense his muscles so he didn’t suddenly snap his arms around her so tight her back would creak. Carefully and, oh so slowly, he wrapped one of his arms around her.

His palm flat against her spine, just above the curve of her hip, felt as though he were touching divinity. She was so kind, so giving, and so unbearably strong to be doing this now when he knew what had happened to her.

If he sank into her heat a little more comfortably, it was because he didn’t want her to think he was nervous. If he tilted his head a little bit to smell the wildflowers in her hair, it was only because he was trying to fall asleep.

These were the things Donnacha reminded himself as he drifted off. All was right in the world.

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Elva waited until she heard his breath even out before she let anxiety run her actions. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t take this entire situation in her own hands just because she didn’t truly trust him.

Who was this man? Was Scáthach right? Could she break the curse by looking at him?

She’d meant to ask him before he fell asleep, meant to whisper a question of whether it would work. But then she’d remembered he couldn’t answer her even if she asked.

The warmth of his body eased her anxiety a little bit. It was worth taking the risk to help him. He felt…good. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had felt good in her arms.

Then again, he was the first man to hold her in his arms and not want anything more than that. Elva had thought he would at least tug her closer, that he’d try to take charge of the situation somehow, but he hadn’t. Instead, he’s simply looped his arm around her like he’d done it a thousand times before and snuggled closer.

He didn’t push. He didn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do just to please him. Instead, he was there for her in quiet solitude.

Gods, this man was twisting up her insides. Suddenly, she questioned everything about men that she thought she’d understood. Had she been so wrong? Had she wasted so much time hating everyone and everything when this man had been out there?

She reached behind her for the wick of the candle she’d hidden in the furs. Her hands started to shake. All she had to do was one little spell, a candle lighting spell that every faerie knew since they were a child, and then voila.

Elva didn’t like using magic. She’d always thought it felt a little unnatural when she could use her hands to do the same thing. Not to mention he had always wanted her to use magic. Over and over again until she was exhausted by the effort of it. Until she vowed to never use magic again because it still reeked of his lingering scent.

She wondered if Donnacha knew how to cast spells. Dwarves usually did, so he must be able to. Then he knew she could cast light whenever she wanted, and he’d always trusted her not to do this.

Or maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. Maybe he just preferred the darkness to the light.

Was he ugly? She doubted it, although his chest was covered in more hair than she was used to with faerie men. Still, ugliness was more about what was on the inside. Of all people, she should know that.

Just do it, she told herself. Get it over with and then it’s done.

All it took was one little flex of power, and the candle was lit. The flame danced in front of her eyes, merry that life had been given to it. A drop of wax heated, melted, then dripped down to touch her fingertip.

Looking down, she stared into the face of the man who had given her so much and who had no idea she was breaking the rules.

Donnacha was handsome, she realized breathlessly. Not in the way of faerie men, no dwarf could ever be beautiful like that. His attractiveness came from the depths of the earth as his kind always did. His cheekbones were the marbled cliffs of the mountains. His beard brown and warm as the earth. Long lashes fanned out over his cheeks and tumbling curls of dark locks spread across the pillow.

He was as stunning as he was hard. Strong as he was kind. A conundrum of a person and yet…perfect.

So damned perfect.

What was she doing? He was asleep, and she was gawking at him like a child. She shouldn’t tell him she’d done this, whether the curse broke or not. Resolving to do just that, she leaned forward to blow out the candle, then watched in horror as a drop of wax fell from her fingertip and struck his collarbone.

He sucked in a breath, opened eyes so vividly blue it made her heart hurt, and met her gaze.

Would he be angry? Would he yell at her now when he never had before?

She prepared herself to hide the flinch, to retreat back into the cage of her mind.

But then, he smiled.

A great big smile that stretched across his features like the sun peeking over the horizon. He had crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes and dimples on his cheeks. But it was the laughter bubbling in those blue depths