“Everything all right?” he asked.
She flinched at the sound of his voice, then tilted her head toward him. “I didn’t think you would be here so soon.”
He hadn’t either. The change from bear to man had happened quicker than usual tonight. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. The Troll Queen had something up her sleeve, as usual. It was torture to try to figure out what she had planned. Thus, he didn’t even try.
Donnacha strode toward her. “How was your visit?”
He didn’t like that Scáthach had been here, but it wasn’t his right to say she couldn’t visit her protégé. Elva had spoken of the woman like some kind of goddess. She’d said Scáthach had given her everything she had needed to become something more than the fragile faerie woman she’d always been.
Fragile? Donnacha had nearly burst into laughter when she’d said the words. He highly doubted she was ever a fragile woman.
Even now, he could easily picture her as she used to be. A golden flower in the middle of a field. A symbol of what a woman could become once they were sure of their strength, a woman to be reckoned with.
He’d met her kind before, the Seelie women who were so beautiful they were intimidating. As a boy, he’d wanted nothing more than to see them just a few more times, to catch a lock of their golden hair so he could remember the vision as they strode past.
Of course, the faeries had never let him close enough to do that. But he’d stolen a lock of her hair while she slept.
Was it unfair that he’d stolen from her? Perhaps. But the strand had been cast aside as if she didn’t know how lovely she was. Someone should keep it.
He’d wound it around his thumb and wore it as a ring. She hadn’t noticed it yet, likely wouldn’t, considering she couldn’t see him in the dark. It was better that way. Elva would easily realize he was growing far too attached to her.
Donnacha couldn’t explain the feelings in his chest as he knelt in front of her. She was more than just a woman. More than just a faerie who had strode into his home, threatening his way of life.
She was strong, capable, and so unsure of herself that it made his heart break. She didn’t see herself the way he saw her. She didn’t see the way her inner light lit up the world wherever she walked.
“Elva,” he said quietly, swallowing hard. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t want everything to change just because Scáthach had been here. He knew it might. The warrior woman had a hold over her charges like a queen in her kingdom.
He had just hoped it wouldn’t change so much that she wouldn’t even talk to him.
Donnacha sighed, then stood. He wasn’t going to change her mind by kneeling at her feet like a supplicant at prayer. No matter how much he would have sang the hymns for her happiness.
Rounding the bed felt a little bit like going to his grave, and pulling back the covers and getting in felt like burying himself. He’d known this would happen. Few women could remain interested in someone who was a bear during the day. The hope that had bloomed in his chest was a fool’s errand. How could he not be disappointed?
The furs on the other side of the bed shifted as she joined him in the warmth. He flipped onto his back but hesitated a moment. Staring down at the shadows of his hands, he wondered what he could have done differently.
Should he have not let Scáthach in? That would have only made her hate him. She wasn’t a prisoner here, damn it.
He tugged the furs up to his bare shoulders, perhaps a little too harshly. She’d know now he was upset, and the last thing he wanted was to make things more difficult for her. Scáthach had helped shape her into the person he so admired. That had to mean something.
Was this jealousy? Donnacha forced his hand to remain still under the furs even though he wanted to scrub his face vigorously. He had no right to feel jealous over someone from her past. Hell, she was older than he was in faerie years. She’d done more in that time, and more people, than he could imagine. After all, faeries weren’t chaste like humans.
Jealousy had no place in their relationship. He’d run her out of the castle with that thought process. But the mere idea of someone else touching her, someone else having her respect and trust… It cut him to the bone.
“Donnacha?” Her voice floated out of the darkness.
“Yes?”
“Don’t move.”
“Okay.” He hoped his voice didn’t show how much his heart had lifted at her mere words.
Elva shifted in the bed, drawing closer to him. He had thought she wanted to hold his hand again. That had been nice. It was the only way he could think to describe it. Nice because it made his lungs cease to breath, his stomach tie in knots, and his throat close up because he had been the one to help her get to that point.
He’d helped. All he wanted to do with anyone was to help.
She slid closer, and then he felt heat blanket his side. It wasn’t much really, just a woman resting her head on his shoulder. But gods, it felt like he’d moved the earth.
Donnacha remained as still as he could. Her body was stiff as a board against his, but that was all right. She could warm up to him slowly; he wouldn’t rush her.
Finally, he felt a warm exhale against his neck. “You’re very short.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Well, I am a dwarf.”
“I expected you to be…”
“Like a faerie?” He shrugged. “Not quite. Does that make a difference?”
Donnacha lost his breath when her hand came up to hesitantly
