Curse of the Troll Emma Hamm (drm ebook reader .txt) 📖

His jaw gaped open, revealing sharp, dagger-like fangs. The bear struggled with his words for a few moments before he hung his head. “I was aware.”

“And you allowed it to continue? Or did you know it was going to happen before I was here and didn’t think to warn me?”

“I had no idea…he would show up,” the bear grumbled.

She arched a brow. “Then if you know of him, who is he?”

The bear shook himself. “He’s a traveler, you could say. Someone who is now tied to the castle and cannot leave its grounds.”

“A traveler,” she repeated. Somehow, it didn’t seem likely the man was anything of what the bear claimed him to be. He was far too…odd. Too different and far too talkative for him to be anything other than a faerie. She just didn’t know what kind he was.

“Why are you asking?” the bear inquired. “It seems you have an interest in him.”

“An interest in the man who arrives in my bedroom each night uninvited? Yes, I do. I’d like to know whether or not I need to slit his throat in his sleep.”

“Has he fallen asleep? Seems unlike him.”

She narrowed her eyes at the bear. “I don’t need someone to be unaware to kill them.”

It didn’t escape her notice that the beast knew the man didn’t sleep while he was in her room. How would the bear know that unless he was speaking with the human man? Or unless he was the man himself?

Curses didn’t come and go like that. They couldn’t be removed at will except by the original curse giver, and this certainly wasn’t some kind of shapeshifter. He didn’t have the acrid scent of magic that always followed shapeshifters. Instead, she could smell the musty wetness clinging to his fur. He smelled remarkably like a bear.

She’d have to sniff the man when he came into her bedroom next time. That should give her enough of a hint. Changing shapes couldn’t hide that smell.

Again, he chuffed. He wasn’t trying to catch his breath since he was lying down. He certainly didn’t seem angered by anything she said, and he hadn’t moved suddenly. She realized that must be the sound of the bear laughing.

He was laughing at her? Or with her? At the thought that she would kill someone who had wandered into her bedroom without permission?

She glared at him.

The bear shook his head at her and bared his teeth. “Rest easy, Elva of the fae. I know courage runs in your veins instead of blood and that you would roar at the sky if it offended you. I will not tempt your blade any more than I would set myself on fire.”

“You?” she asked. “Or the man in my room?”

His gaze canted back to the ground.

“Ah,” she said, looking back at her sword. “You can’t speak about anything that pertains to your curse, can you?”

The bear did not reply.

“I’ll say it now then. I think you are cursed by one of my own kind. I thought you were a human male at first, but now I think you’re one of the many faerie species. And I think that you are the man who enters my room each night, although I cannot hazard a guess why the curse is lifted at night. Is any of that correct?”

He looked up at her then. “You know I can’t answer.”

There had to be a way around the curse. She’d never seen one before that didn’t have loopholes, and she intended to find one in this. Elva thought for a few moments, then licked her lips. “Can you tell me the name of the man who shares my bed?”

For a moment, the bear looked like he wasn’t going to respond to her. Then, he opened his mouth and said, “Donnacha.” His eyes widened in shock.

“Even that has been taken from you, hasn’t it?” she asked. “The ability to introduce yourself like a person.”

“I am not the man who enters your room at night,” he replied.

“No,” she said with a grin, “you aren’t.”

She’d solved a portion of the dilemma. He couldn’t talk about himself, but he could talk about the other version of himself, it seemed. That was a start. She’d have to ask the bear questions about the man and the man questions about the curse.

This was all rather convoluted.

Elva put her weight into cleaning the blade, trying to distract herself. There wasn’t a reason for him to be cursed. Not that she had seen yet. This man was as complicated to understand as the curse that bound him, but he wasn’t bad. In fact, she’d argue he might be the only good man she’d ever met.

No, that wouldn’t do. She couldn’t think like that when she’d been hurt so many times. He was going to do the same as everyone else did. Whether that was intentional or not, it didn’t matter. Getting close to someone was just an excuse for them to hurt her when they left. And they always did.

She swallowed hard. How could she pull back from this? She shouldn’t have smiled at him. He would take that as something it wasn’t. As an admission he could get closer to her.

Would he use that in bed tonight? Would he try to slither closer to her? To tuck himself under the covers? Then she’d have to force him to move away. What if he didn’t?

Her throat closed up at the mere thought. She knew how to protect herself in so many ways, but she’d never been able to stop him when she hadn’t wanted to be touched, loved, even thought of. And that was partially her own fault. She’d never told Fionn to stop. She’d never told him she didn’t want to sleep with him, she didn’t want to marry him, and she wanted him to treat her better.

But how could she when her throat had closed up? He’d just wanted her to love him. He was the king of the Seelie court, why couldn’t she