Lothaire

He’d grown to like it when she called him that, because the name was theirs alone. Just as she’d grown to love being called Lizvetta in his raspy accent.

“We are obscenely rich. Befitting a king and queen. I will always provide for you.”

And only for me. Maybe she could secretly pawn some of her jewelry in the future, mail some cash to her family.

He tugged on her hand. “The water’s warm. Join me for a swim.”

Smile, Ellie. “You’ve got that look on your face. I’m about to get laid, aren’t I?”

After making short work of their clothes, he reached for her, palms landing on her ass with a measured slap.

She surprised herself by moaning throatily.

“Indeed,” he rasped, kneading her spanked flesh as he lifted her, forcing her legs around his waist. “You are about to get laid. . . .”

Some time later, with the waves crashing around them, Ellie screamed with pleasure, crying out his name like a prayer as she clung to his wet shoulders.

Directly after, he gave a brutal yell and jerked his shaft out of her. Heaving his breaths against her ear, he pumped semen between their slippery bodies.

So careful not to get me pregnant. That connection she’d felt the first time they’d had sex was missing now.

When he finally released her, she drew away to wash off his seed, her eyes pricking with tears.

“Lizvetta?” He grazed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. Such strength in him, yet he could caress her so gently. “Look at me.” When she did, his gaze seemed to burn with emotion. “Have I hurt you, love?”

How could he make her heart melt so easily? When he looked at her like this, all her defenses crumbled. “No, it’s not that.”

In a hoarse voice, he told her, “You are mine. Your life is with me. Do not fight this.”

The tenderness in his tone made her want to throw her arms around him and admit how much she cared for him.

But she forced herself to tell the truth. “Sometimes I have doubts—”

“Doubts?” Like a shot, he coiled a length of her hair around his fist, his expression altered from longing to menace. “The time for doubts has ended. This is a done thing, Bride.”

“Lothaire . . .”

“If we were ever parted, I would bring you back to me,” he rasped. “There is nowhere on earth that I couldn’t find you.”

From any other man, these words might be a promise about their future. From Lothaire, they were nothing more than a threat.

Put it with the others.

Snap!

“Nowhere, Elizavetta,” he repeated, his eyes aflame. Such a contrast to his earlier heartfelt sentiments.

It was as if two men stood before her, one who needed to love and be loved, and one who only wanted the Bride he believed was his by fate. Neither version knew how to love.

“I do understand that, Lothaire.”

Over the last couple of weeks, her rubber band had gotten so much play she had to wonder why it hadn’t broken yet.

44

She isn’t in love with me, Lothaire thought as he dropped Elizabeth off at Hag’s.

This perplexed him exceedingly.

He’d pleasured his Bride, spoiled her, protected her. He wanted to give her immortality and make her royalty. He was the most handsome male she’d ever seen.

Yet she continued to hold something of herself back.

It maddened him to no end! Why would she cling to her wretched family? To her old life?

He had no answers—because he’d still dreamed none of his Bride’s memories. . . .

In greeting, Hag said, “Thaddeus asked about you earlier.” The fey sported streaks of purple paste on her hands and one cheek. “He wants to go on your revenge mission, to watch out for you.”

“Do pizdy. He’d do well to forget he ever knew me.”

Hag didn’t disagree. “Have you tried explaining to the boy what you’re really like?”

“I showed him. I tapped his neck within ten seconds of meeting him, directly after he helped me out of a tight spot.”

And from those meager drops of blood, he’d stolen Thaddeus’s memories easily enough. Lothaire had already experienced a couple of them, had dreamed of running in the sun, feeling the warmth on his skin.

No wonder his Bride dreaded the loss. “Why does no one believe I’m evil anymore?” he asked her.

“Oh, I do. Honest,” Elizabeth said solemnly before turning toward the bathroom. “Gonna wash off the salt water. Don’t leave till I get back!”

As he watched her saunter away, he thought, She doesn’t believe I’m evil, not really.

Yesterday when he returned to Hag’s to pick Elizabeth up, she’d been asleep. Carefully he’d lifted her into his arms, and she’d burrowed her face against his chest so trustingly. He’d gazed down at her, troubled, thinking, She still has no idea what I’m truly capable of, no idea what I’ve done.

What I would do to possess her forever.

Now he exhaled a gust of breath, sitting at the dining table. In a low tone, he asked the fey, “Does Elizabeth speak of me?” Hag gave a wary nod. “And? What are her feelings toward me?”

“They vary according to your behavior.” She dropped leaves into a pot. “Amazing how that works out.”

His gaze narrowed. “Watch yourself, Hag.” Again his mood was foul. He’d spent the day uselessly dreaming his own memories once more.

“She hasn’t told me that she loves you, if that’s what you want to know.”

It was. He needed Elizabeth to fall in love with him—because only then would he trust her loyalty to him.

Yet a lesser male might suspect that she still hated him for all his sins against her and merely bided her time until she could be free of him.

And free of Saroya.

Hag asked, “Do you not see her thoughts in dreams?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “None.” Even though he continued to sip from her.

Whenever he slept, Elizabeth was like a quiet blank spot in his mind. And no matter how much he prompted, she’d never told him of her feelings.

Yet nightly, she said or did something to remind him of how much she longed for her family.

Though he felt like a petty, jealous lover, he knew that if she was loyal to them, then she couldn’t be fully loyal to him. The situation would be ripe for betrayal, because she would choose their interests over his if a conflict ever arose.

And let’s be realistic, when would I not be in conflict with those ill- bred humans?

Severing contact with them was the wisest course. News reports held that Elizabeth had been mortally wounded in a botched prison escape. Her family would believe her dead.

“You’re ceding your heart to her,” Hag observed.

He gazed in Elizabeth’s direction. “She is”—he paused, then admitted—“treasured. If anything should happen