The Pillars Of The World

made hadn’t dulled the ache in her belly. On top of that, she had a fierce craving for meat, and dinner, was going to be vegetable soup and bread. No, it wasn’t one of her better days.
    And here was Lucian riding out of the woods, and she still had no idea how women told a lover about private female things.
    Her heart beat a little quicker as he approached, but her body didn’t quicken in anticipation of being under him. Still, she made an effort to smile in order to cover her nerves and rose to meet him as he reined the horse in and quickly dismounted.
    “Is he a friend?” she asked, nodding toward the horse.
    Her question stopped him in mid-stride. “A friend?” he asked, puzzled. Then he looked at the horse and laughed. “No, he’s just a horse. He needed some exercise.”
    As he reached for her, she took a small step back. “Lucian—”
    “Later.”
    His arms were around her and he was kissing her in that deep, hungry way that usually made it impossible for her to think of anything but him. This time, his tongue felt cold and alien instead of pleasant, and the hands roaming over her body felt selfish and greedy instead of exciting.
    Gripping his arms, she pushed at him, breaking the kiss. “Lucian, stop.”
    “Why?” He pulled her against him, roughly.
    She turned her head to evade the next kiss. “No!”
    His hands clamped on her waist tightly enough to hurt her. “Why not?”
    What burned in his gray eyes was anger, not passion.
    “I can’t today.” For the first time since she’d met him, he reminded her of Royce—a man who was only interested in what he wanted.
    “Why not?” Lucian demanded.
    “I—” Feeling her face heat, Ari pressed her lips together. “I don’t know how to say this without being indelicate. I’ve never had to expla—”
    “Just say it,” he snapped.
    There was a dangerous, feral quality to his voice that made her afraid. Would he actually demand the use of her body even after she’d indicated she wasn’t willing? And if he did and then discovered . . .

    “It’s my bleeding time,” she blurted out.
    He went still. Then, releasing her, he stepped back.
    Hugging herself, Ari watched him, no longer trusting what he might do next.
    “I see,” Lucian said quietly, his voice betraying nothing of what he might be feeling.
    Stinging as much from the sudden absence of emotion as from his unexpected anger, Ari mumbled, “It started this morning.”
    “I see,” he said again.
    Was that disappointment she saw in his face? Maybe . . . “There’s vegetable soup and fresh bread. You’
    re welcome to stay if you’d like.”
    He hesitated, then shook his head. “I thank you, but no. I don’t wish to intrude upon you at such a time.”
    He cleared his throat quietly. “I apologize if my behavior distressed you in any way.”
    “Lucian . . .” In two days it would be the dark of the moon. The promise she had made on the Summer Moon would have been fulfilled then anyway. What was she supposed to say to him? That she had enjoyed knowing him? That she hoped he would visit again sometime? One sounded dismissive, and the other sounded like an invitation for more than she intended. Would she have welcomed him again as a lover? An hour ago, she would have said yes. Now she wasn’t so sure.
    She flinched when she saw him reach into his pocket. Another trinket. A Fae custom and obligation once again fulfilled. Well, she hadn’t earned this one, had she?
    When he lifted his hand from his pocket, it was empty. Resting his palm against her cheek, he leaned forward and gently kissed her. There was no emotion in that, either.
    “Be well, Ari,” he said softly.
    “The Mother’s blessings be with you, Lucian.”
    Turning away, he mounted the horse and galloped across the meadow, never looking back as he disappeared into the woods.
    She went to her room and stared at her bed. Done then. He had come for the carnal pleasure she had been obliged to give him, and he had found nothing more to interest him.
    He’s a Fae Lord. What else is there here that would interest him? But it doesn’t seem fair that he can leave without a backward glance, and yet he managed to tug on my heart enough to leave it bruised. I care about him. He never shared anything with me except his body, but there was something about him that made me care. It isn’t fair.
    Stretching out on her bed, on clean linens that carried no scent of him, she began to cry.
    Leaning against the stone wall,