He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and the lack of natural warmth takes me aback. “Would you want to talk about the home you loved and missed after getting blinked into a barren wasteland for reasons that had nothing to do with you and no way to ever return?”
“No, I don’t suppose I would,” I say softly.
“I didn’t want to upset my parents when they worked so hard to make this a home for me and my brothers, for our people, so I kept my research to myself.”
“For what it’s worth, Finn, I’m sorry. Aine was always temperamental, but exiling both courts forever was extreme, even for her.”
I realize my mistake when I see the flicker of curiosity on his face. I just offered him an inside look at my encyclopedic knowledge of the queen who altered his life before he was even born. But talking about my mother is the last thing I want.
“To answer your question,” I say, fingering the pendant, “I have thought of possible reasons. Maybe he preferred the look of it, maybe he and my mother had an argument, and he did it out of spite. Maybe he wanted me to stand out as different. None of them feel like the right answer, though, so I don’t know.”
“Maybe he knew how beautiful it would look on you when it catches the moonlight,” he offers huskily.
Tiny, winged things take flight in my stomach, but I do my best to ignore them. “My turn. Which is your favorite brother?”
“That’s easy. Whichever one isn’t acting like an ass in that moment. Which means sometimes it’s neither,” he says with a quick smile, those deep dimples winking at me. “Speaking of brothers, I have a theory about yours.”
“Oh? What theory is that?”
“That the reason Dmitri and his vampires can walk in daylight,” he says, locking his gaze onto mine, “is you.”
NINETARYN
I’m momentarily surprised at the direct statement. Since I’m usually believed to be either a vampire myself or a human, depending on the company I’m in, no one’s ever guessed that before. Obviously, the world of others have speculated as to why the Romanov Clan has an ability no others do, but the how is a well-kept secret. Not even the clan members know where Dmitri gets the elixir from.
“I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Finn holds up his right hand. “Fae Scout’s honor.”
The corner of my mouth tips up. There’s no such thing, but as he was able to make the claim out loud, by default I know he’s telling the truth.
“Yes. Dmitri wanted the ability to conduct his business with the humans during the day, so he asked for my help. It’s what’s helped us build the empire we have today. Dmitri’s is the wealthiest of all the vampire clans because of it.”
“Smart. And it’s as easy as drinking a conjurer’s spelled elixir,” he muses, clearly impressed. He makes a fourth half-hitch. With ten lines of rope, there’s enough that I can see the design now. With each pass around my bent leg, the knots move up on a diagonal line toward my shin.
“Not quite as simple as that,” I say. “All magic has a checks and balances system. The only way acquiring an advantage as powerful as permanently day-walking is by sacrificing one they already have.”
He pauses, realization dawning on his handsome face. “That’s why they can’t compel. Damn, that’s one hell of a magic trick to give up. He could’ve just compelled the humans into believing it wasn’t weird dealing with him in the middle of the night. Seems strange to give up that kind of power just to semi-tolerate the sun.”
“Not if you already refuse to use compulsion. For Dmitri, it was an easy choice.” He opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, but I stop with a shake of my head. “Nope, it’s my turn now. And I wouldn’t waste your next question on that, either, because it’s not my story to tell.”
“Fair enough.” He tucks his fingers beneath the rope in several places, testing the tension. “How’s it feel so far? Anything too tight or pinching?”
I shake my head. “No, it feels fine.”
“Good. I can stop here if you want, or I can add the next rope and keep going.”
“Keep going.”
Finn gives me a crooked smile that flashes a single dimple. Then he sets to work unraveling the bubblegum pink coil and anchoring it to the existing rope on the inside of my calf. We sit in silence for a while—him methodically wrapping, threading, pulling, and wrapping again as I observe his movements and enjoy the multitude of sensations and sip my whiskey.
The experience so far is pleasant and not anything like what I thought it would be. I expected this to be a utilitarian exercise, something along the lines of how a shop manager dresses a mannequin for a floor display with quick efficiency.
By now I understand the pattern. I could easily do it myself and do it much faster, but it’s clear to me now that shibari isn’t about the end result as much as it is the process of getting there. With each pass, the fingers of his right hand drag along the double strand as he pulls it around while the flat of his left hand follows behind, smoothing and tightening the slack along the way. It’s intentional, sensual. And with the sparks of desire I can’t seem to quell around him, it’s easy to imagine this as an incredibly erotic activity.
“You’ve run out of road,” I say. The rising diagonal line of half-hitches that started on the side of my upper thigh has reached my shin, about midway to my knee. “Or do you continue around the inside of my leg?”
“No, now I’ll reverse the direction so the line goes up toward you instead of away. And I’m almost out of this color, so I’ll add the last rope and the finished look will be an ombre effect with a sideways V pattern. It’ll be great.”
He looks at me in such a way that feels perilously close to seeing beyond my mask. Whenever someone wanders too near to my truth, I grow uncomfortable and automatically shore up my defenses. But the reason for my current discomfort is the continued realization that I’m surprisingly comfortable with Finnian Verran.
Which is all the more reason to keep him at a distance.
“I believe it’s my turn to ask the next question,” he says finally.
“That’s debatable since you brought up the day-walking, but I’m pleasantly buzzed right now, so I’ll let it slide.”
“What made you decide to leave Faerie?”
The question slams into me like a kick to the chest. It steals the air from my lungs and cracks the mental barrier holding back the memories of that day, allowing them to infect my mind like an all-consuming virus.
I drop to my hands and knees, doubling over from the pain. Gods, the pain! Lightning courses in my veins, my heart pumping bolt after bolt of fiery currents through my body until I’m burning alive from the inside out. It’s killing me. I’m going to die. I want to die…
“Taryn! Hey, are you okay?”
The rich timbre of Finn’s voice interrupts the memory and brings me back into the great room of the penthouse. My chest is still tight, and my breathing is ragged. Turning my head away, I close my eyes and try to will my muscles into relaxing their painful grip on my bones.
“Taryn—”
“I’m fine,” I manage through clenched teeth.
“Hey, come here, look at me.” A large hand cups the side of my face and guides it back to him, but I’m afraid he’ll see my nightmares reflected in my eyes if I look at him. “Otkroy svoi glaze. Poshaluysta.”
Open your eyes. Please.
Whether it’s his use of my adoptive language or the ‘please’ that does it, I draw in a shaky breath and do as he asks. “Good girl,” he says affectionately as he studies my face to get a read on me. I try desperately to hold my mask in place, but my trembling body betrays me.
“Take some deep breaths for me, sweetheart. In through your nose, and out through your mouth. Good. We’ll just breathe together for a bit. That’s it.”
Keeping his left hand cupping my face, Finn rubs comforting circles on my back with his right as I continue taking slow, deep breaths in time with his. I patch up my mental barrier and focus on the golden light in his eyes and the gentle caress of his thumb on my cheek.
Soon, the tightness in my chest eases and my heart rate returns to normal.
“Better?” he asks in a low voice.
I nod. “Sorry,” I say, embarrassed anyone other than Dmitri saw me so vulnerable. “It’s rare that that happens. I guess it just caught me off-guard.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have pried into something so personal like that. I wasn’t thinking.”
Concern is etched into the lines of his face, and I’m surprised at how badly I want to smooth them away with my fingers, my lips. Instead, I settle for words and a reassuring squeeze on his knee.
