The Last Fae Princess

13_What's Your Answer?

Nia POV

I am on the verge of losing my mind by dinner time. I have pondered my situation and still do not have an answer. I have slept for hours, showered, and even shaved my legs – something that has not happened in a year. I told myself I did not shave for Master because I have not made up my mind, but I think I am lying.

I will suck up my pride, pay the price with my body and be free. I am not sure what exactly the pleasures of the flesh entail, and I hope it is less painful than Dean’s fists. But! I do have questions and conditions before I say yes.

One thing that keeps bugging me is why me? Why would any man want me when I look like this? With my head shaved, I look like a scarecrow. How in the world can he find me attractive? And judging by the bulge in his pants this morning, he finds me attractive.

My alarm clock finally strikes seven o'clock, and I stand at the door, ready for whatever is waiting for me. Olga enters the door, and her eyebrows furrow when she sees me standing at attention.

“Follow me,” is all that she says as she turns around, and I obey.

My heart pounds rapidly, and my mouth goes dry as we walk to the dining room. I am nervous to see him, but also a little excited. Every time, when I think about this morning, my stomach dips, and a rush of excitement jolts through me. He, on the other hand, does not seem phased to see me at all. Which deepens the question – why me?

I expected all the warriors to be present, but it is only Master sitting at the table, waiting for me.

“Thanks, Olga,” he says, his eyes fixed on me.

Olga leaves, and Master stands up, pulls out a chair and motions for me to sit.

“Thank you,” I mutter, sitting down. “Where’s everyone else?”

“I requested privacy tonight,” he answers while pouring us each a glass of wine.

Dumbstruck, I stare at the rich red liquid when he offers me a glass. I am – was – a law-obeying wolf, and I have never tasted alcohol before.

“I … I never had wine before,” I admit. “I don’t know if …”

“One sip won’t get you drunk,” he chuckles, placing the glass in front of me, picking up his own, and taking his seat. “Besides, I have no intention of taking advantage of you.”

“You don’t?” I raise my eyebrows. “You’re practically blackmailing me to get what you want.”

“It’s not blackmail,” he says, taking a sip. “It’s a choice.”

“Sure,” I roll my eyes. “Your toy or Dean’s punching bag. A delightful choice, indeed.”

“I didn’t say it was an easy choice,” he shrugs. “But it’s still a choice.”

I look at the wine and decide what the hell. I need the encouragement, and I am already serving time for murder. So what if I am guilty of underage drinking?

I reach for my glass, take a sip, and Master chuckles softly when I pull a face and put it down.

“It’s horrible,” I complain. “And bitter.”

“Red wine is something you must get accustomed to,” he says. “You’ll get used to it.”

“No, thanks,” I shake my head and look at my fingers when an uncomfortable silence settles between us.

“So,” he breaks the silence. “Have you given any thought to my proposal?”

“Yes,” I admit softly. “But I have questions. Like, what if I change my mind? And for how long will this last?”

“You can change your mind,” he replies, slowly putting his glass down. “But if you do, I’m sending you back to Darkwood. As for the duration … well, for as long as I like.”

“That’s unfair,” I scoff, indignantly.

“Compared to life imprisonment?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, and I exhale deeply, sounding like a deflating balloon. Let’s face it, I am screwed either way.

“I want to finish school,” I blurt out. “I didn’t get the chance and would like to do so.”

“That can be arranged,” he agrees with a soft smile. “Anything else?”

“Will I see your face?” I ask.

“No,” he answers brusquely. “And you don’t ever get to ask me about it. That’s the first rule.”

His voice is suddenly so stern that I almost lose my courage to continue the conversation. I did not mean anything when I asked – I was only curious, but I will no longer ask why he is wearing it.

“One last question,” I finally muster the courage. “Why me? Why not another woman who actually has a wolf?”

Declan POV

Her question catches me off guard but also confirms that she does not have the slightest idea that she is my mate - which is good. I am in no mood for a clingy woman who wants to start a family.

“Second rule,” I say, taking another sip of the Pinotage. “You’re not allowed to ask me any personal questions.”

“Wonderful,” she answers, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Nothing personal, only intimate.”

“Take it or leave it,” I shrug nonchalantly. There is only one answer – you’re my mate – and I am not prepared to admit that to her, or anyone else, for that matter.

“Fine,” she exhales, and reaches for her head as if she wants to rake her fingers through her hair and her mouth pulls downwards when she remembers she has none. She tilts her head, and the light reflects off her skull … and that is when I see it.

“Nia,” I say, frowning as I try to remember how she looked this morning. “When was your head shaved?”

“Right before we came here,” she grunts, visibly still upset about it. “A final act of humiliation from Dean.”

“Interesting,” I mutter, standing up and walking towards her. She jumps slightly when I touch her skull and glide my fingers over the soft stubble.

“What’s … what’s interesting?” She asks, her voice barely audible.

“Your hair,” I answer as I sit down again. “It has grown almost a quarter of an inch.”

“So?” She frowns. “Hair grows back, you know.”

“Not that fast,” I smile patiently. “And not without a wolf. In fact, I haven’t seen fur grow back that quickly.”

“Do you think my wolf’s emerging?” She asks, her eyes wide and sparkling with hope.

“I honestly can’t say,” I reply. “It depends on many things. Were you subjected to wolfsbane before your eighteenth birthday?”

“No,” she answers, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. “But I’m not sure about my birthday. I was left on the packhouse’s doorstep as an infant and grew up in the foster system. So, nobody knows when I was born or where I’m from. Believe me, I’ve tried finding my parents, but nothing. Maybe I’m not eighteen, yet.”

I look intensely into her vibrant blue eyes, and suddenly I do not have the guts to burst her bubble. If anything, she would be older, not younger. She does not have a wolf, but she has something. I just do not know what it is.

First, her body recovered miraculously fast, and now her hair. I have been in fights and battles long enough to know wolves’ recovery period, and I have never seen anything like it.

“Maybe,” I smile, hoping I am convincing.

“But let’s get back to business,” I say, changing the subject. “What’s your answer?”

She lowers her eyes and chews on her bottom lip. A gesture that drives my wolf insane, and my fingers tighten around the glass. He wants his mate, and I hope I can control him if she declines.

“Okay,” she finally says softly.