The savage and the swan

True magic.

Opal laughed and pushed at my shoulders, trying to remove my lips from her neck and failing.

She’d bathed, but nothing would ever remove my scent from her. I would make sure of it.

“Stop,” she said, her laughter falling into a tiny moan, her touch at my shoulders too weak for me to believe she truly wanted me to stop. “You’ll make me all disheveled before we even arrive.”

“That’s fine,” I murmured, and tilted her head back to capture her sweet mouth.

She opened for me, whispering, “If you don’t quit mauling me, we might wind up in a rather compromising position that could alert the drivers.”

“Darling swan…” I licked her upper lip, gri

Memories of the previous night, those early morning hours, hadn’t left, and neither had she. By some miracle, I’d drawn her a bath in my rooms, and she’d stayed, only leaving to dress after we’d washed one another in the giant bathing pool.

I’d followed, of course, fearful she’d slug me in the chest with venomous words laced in regret but also just needing her near. It was instinctual, not of this world, a compulsion within the bone and blood, to make sure this creature of mine never roamed too far from me.

In her dressing room, I’d sipped tea that’d been delivered while she’d perused the many gowns hanging before her. Somehow, I’d convinced her to spend the day, what remained of it anyway, with me by tempting her with another trip to the city of which I knew she was already fond of.

Her fingers had brushed over the yellow, stalling briefly. “Why not choose that one?”

Opal’s shoulders had stiffened. “My mother says yellow washes me out.”

I’d nearly choked on my tea. “How can a color cleanse you?”

She’d laughed, turning to look at me as though I’d told a joke, and she was waiting for me to deliver the punch line. When I’d waited, sipping more tea, she shook her head. “It means it does not suit my complexion.”

“Anything would look good on you,” I’d stated, setting the tea down and tugging her between my spread knees. “But nothing more than me.”

I’d managed to steal her into my lap as well as a kiss between her bouts of giggling before she’d wriggled off me, leaving me hard, aching, and with that damned feeling of soaring while not moving at all.

She’d settled on a midnight green gown that had no bodice, floating from her shoulders to her ankles with jeweled beading in the neckline and flowing sleeves. I approved. I’d have approved of a sack, nothing at all, really, but this gown made easy work of accessing those creamy legs.

And hopefully what waited and wanted for me between them.

The carriage lurched, and she snarled, the cutest fucking sound I’d ever heard—kissing me once hard on the lips and then pushing me away with adorable force. “Where are we going anyway?” she muttered, combing her fingers through her gentle curls.

Leaning back against the window, I watched her right herself, wondering if she knew the effect she had on others, on me, and raised my brows when she scowled.

“Dade.”

“Yes?”

Her face creased with displeasure. Again, adorable. “Did you hear me?”

“Couldn’t hear a thing thanks to that beautiful face of yours.”

She tried to appear miffed, but her lips wriggled. “Savage.”

“We’re visiting the art gallery,” I said, smirking and then straightening when we bounced over a boulder. An indicator that we were almost there.

“You have an art gallery?”

I fixed my sleeves and pushed my hair back. “You do not?”

“I, well,” she started, and I peered over to find her staring out the window to the warehouses beyond. “We make and sell art.” She looked at me then. “And now I suppose your lot are selling it for a higher price?”

I didn’t deign to answer. A poor thing to do, as it would surely ruffle her feathers, but I had to select my words carefully. “Some of your people, Opal…” I scratched at my cheek, my stomach coiling as the carriage rocked to a stop. “They don’t burn or get slain in battle.”

I made myself meet those fiery eyes when she hissed, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I nodded to the driver when he opened the door, climbing out first to ensure that I was the only one helping my swan down, “some surrender. They aren’t slaves, though they do live and work here now.”

Opal refused my help, and I half-thought she’d shrink back inside the carriage in one of her rages. We walked down the street in silence, and I forced myself to wait, to give her time to absorb what I’d said. Though I did steer her around muddied puddles from the storm, and down a narrow alleyway that cut through to the riverfront gallery on the other side.

“But you loathe us,” she said finally. “You loathe us and you kill us.”

“I kill those who resist and who are owed death for what they have taken from me.”

“You seek to conquer us all, to force us into lives we do not want. You burn our homes and our livestock and our people, and you care nothing for what you have done.” Her words grew harsher, lower, and twice I kept her from tripping. “Now you mean to tell me that is not true? That my people willingly leave us to create a life here with you and your fellow savages?”

I let her rant for a few minutes longer, then pulled her beneath the shade of a willow tree alongside the one-story cottage. “Finished?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks heated with ire. “I watched you.” Her eyes glossed with tears. “I watched you murder my father and his soldiers. I watched you tear into his heart with your teeth and end his existence.” She closed her eyes, and when they reopened, the tears were gone, but I knew what I’d done would forever remain. “I watched you,” she rasped.

“Opal,” I clipped when she turned on her heel and headed to the door of the gallery.

Inside, I nodded to the owner who was at the front desk. He tipped his head to a hall on his right, telling me she’d gone that way, then bowed.

I nodded, thankful I’d had him ensure the gallery was closed to the public until our visit was done with. I had a feeling it was going to end rather prematurely.

I found her at the end of the hall, admiring a painting of a burned out village. Weeds sprouted around a water well, grew in patches by collapsed doors, and charred earth birthed new wildflowers along the long-unused road.

Indulge her in the things she likes my fucking left testicle.

Fang was an asshole.

“If you say this is beautiful, I might actually stab you this time.”

Shit. Still mad then. I shifted on my feet, sighing. “I know you will never forgive me.”

Opal turned to glare fire at me. “Of course I’ll never forgive you.”

I looked behind us down the hall, the owner pretending to busy himself with menial tasks at his parchment-strewn desk, then stole Opal’s hand.

She cursed, tugging it free by an alcove around the corner. “You dare touch me? This building is riddled with the pain of my people.”

“While that may be so, it’s also healing for them—”

“Healing?” she spat. “Oh, right. You stole those creatures for your arsenal too.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” I said calmly, and was proud of myself for keeping my beast at bay. “They had the choice. Fight or leave.”