Friday, January 18, 2008

Excerpt 3 - How Faerie Dust is Made

As promised, here’s another excerpt of How Faerie Dust is Made.

“I said, remove yer gown.”

Mayhap it would be best to humor him just now. She’d show him that she would obey him. Slowly untying the laces at her bust, she shrugged the sheer fabric off her shoulders. Conall stood motionless, staring as the gown slid to the floor with a soft hiss. Seeing the hunger in his gaze, she moved toward him.

“Conall, please let me explain.”

“I dinna wish to hear yer lies.” His voice was hoarse.

“I havena lied to ye.” She took another step toward him. He hadn’t moved, but his eyes continued to travel her body as she approached. “Ye are my life-mate, Conall. I knew it the first time ye touched me.”


“Aye. The Gods choose a mate for every faerie. ’Tis fate. Ye are mine.” She was gradually coming closer and closer to him. A few more steps and she would be able to touch him.

“Just how do ye know this? Why should I believe ye?” His words were tight and clipped. He wanted her. She could feel it.

“A faerie always knows when she has met her life-mate. ’Tis instinct.” Standing before him now, she reached for the ties on his tunic. Conall stood very still until she had released both sides. Then he pulled the tunic over his head. He said nothing as he carelessly tossed the tunic in a nearby chair. Aisling reached for the laces on his shirt.

Grabbing her hand before she touched him, he squeezed just enough to make his grip ncomfortable for her. “Ye willna cast yer spells on me, woman. Is that clear?”

Yanking her hand free of his grip, she took a step back. His hateful attitude was testing her patience. “I havena cast any spells. Ye are as mad as yer father was if ye believe otherwise.”

As quick as lightning, his hand shot out, capturing a mass of her hair and painfully wrenching her head back. He towered above her as he held his face close to hers. “Ye willna speak
ill of me father.” He was growling every word, anger spitting from his gaze.

Tears filled her eyes. Whether from pain or frustration she wasn’t certain. “Conall,” she managed.

“Nay, I willna listen further.” Lowering his head he claimed her mouth in a punishing, bruising kiss. Holding her still with his hurtful grip on her hair, he pulled her against him and cruelly forced her to open her mouth.

This was not the tender kiss Aisling wanted. Nay, it was not even the demand for surrender he had issued in the forest. This kiss tasted of anger and betrayal. When he suddenly released her, she staggered back, tears freely falling, her hand covering her battered lips.

“Lie on the bed.”

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