Instead, dread made her stomach churn. She wasn’t going to like any part of this journey. Every step felt like she was going toward something that would change her life forever.
And that was a foolish thought. It was just a man cursed as a bear, but that didn’t mean he was going to hurt her. He couldn’t. She was a faerie, and he was just a human man. If she wanted to tear his head from his body, she could.
Step by step, she made her way toward the castle. It was a rather beautiful structure. The stained-glass windows looked like something out of a fairytale, the human kind of course, not the faerie ones.
Elva looked up every now and then, pausing to adjust the straps on her shoulders and wondering why she wasn’t getting up the stairs faster. She started counting each step. Sometimes she stopped to count the steps ahead as well.
It seemed as though for every ten steps up, she only traveled one.
Gods, she hated cursed places like this. The bear wasn’t the only one under a spell then; it was the entire kingdom. She should have guessed that from the cold air. Something didn’t want her to make it to the castle.
The bonds she’d promised to Scáthach tightened around her throat. She had to make it to the castle. She’d said that she would, which meant she had to.
So she continued up and up. Her thighs started to burn. She grit her teeth against the discomfort and decided it was good to work the muscles of her body. Elva had trained an entire lifetime, it seemed, in that camp with Scáthach and the other warrior women. Now, she got to use that to her benefit.
Finally, there was only one step left. She took it two at a time, counting until ten was over. When her foot reached the top of the stairwell leading into the castle, she let out a breath of relief. One more step down. Now, all she had to do was find the bear.
A deep, rumbling voice interrupted her. Inhuman in its quality, it was equal part voice and growl as it burst through her thoughts. “So, you made it. Impressive.”
She looked up, hands squeezing the straps at her shoulders so she didn’t draw her blade. The bear stood in front of her. His head was tilted to the side as he watched her, and his shoulders were hunched as though he was trying to make himself smaller.
He needn’t try. No matter how curled into his body he drew himself, he’d always be something monstrous and terrifying in size.
The brown hair covering his body appeared much less coarse this close up. It almost appeared soft, although she didn’t want the thought to linger too long. He wasn’t a creature she could find fascinating. He was an animal she needed to watch and make certain he wasn’t evil.
Her grip made the leather at her shoulders creak. “Wasn’t that much of a struggle.”
“Most find it to be.”
He was watching her, as if he expected her to react somehow. What did he want? Her to run screaming from his visage? She wasn’t that kind of woman.
Elva waited for him to say something more. Or stand aside so she could enter the castle. Instead, he stood in the doorway, staring at her.
Say something, she wanted to shout at him. He couldn’t remain quiet the entire time, staring at her like some kind of fool. He had thoughts in his head. She could see them dancing behind those dark eyes. He had words since she’d already heard him. So why was he just… staring?
Elva cleared her throat. “My name is Elva. Scáthach sent me—”
“I know.”
She started. Had he just interrupted her? “She sent me to—”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
An angry breath escaped her before she could suck it back into her lungs. “Then perhaps you can tell me why you sent for me?”
“I didn’t send for you.” He shuffled his feet, the long claws scraping the ice.
“You asked for someone who looks remarkably like me then.”
“Perhaps.” The bear finally tore his gaze away from her. He looked down at her feet, then at his own before a ragged chuff escaped him. “Remarkable, indeed.”
Was he looking at her boots? Surely he wasn’t one of those men who had a ridiculous fetish, and all of a sudden he’d be asking to smell her shoes. She’d already dealt with one of those at the palace, not the king of course, but a lesser known fae who had been known to sneak her slippers out of the room for “private time.”
Disgusted at the thought, Elva looked down at her boots and blurted out, “My shoes?”
“Well, yes. They are rather remarkable, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.”
He blinked a few times at the ground then looked up at her. “I know very few women who would have the wherewithal to affix nails to their shoes.”
Heat rushed to her face. He was talking about the nails? She’d never been more embarrassed in her life and more thoroughly pleased she’d learned how to keep her mouth shut. “Ah.” Elva cleared her throat. “Right. The straps.”
The bear’s eyes glittered with mirth. “The straps,” he agreed.
Oh, god, she was going to melt the ice if her temperature went up any higher. She hadn’t been embarrassed around a man in… She couldn’t remember. Elva made it a point to always put her best foot forward with them. To be an intimidating woman who let no one through her barriers. Not even those who were closest to her. And here this man had already made her think about foot fetishes.
“You asked me to come here,” she started
