“I thought we were.”

His straight, strong teeth snapped together with an audible clack before he spoke with a near growl. “Fine then, let us compromise. We can be handfasted instead.”

“Handfasted?”

“Yes,” he said with exaggerated patience. “We join hands and pledge our commitment to one another. To the fae, a handfasting is as good as marriage. The only difference is that a handfasting has an end date. It is a way for a couple to see if they would truly enjoy being married. If they do, they’ll take marriage vows.” His expression grew shuttered. “If not, they part.”

“And…” Eliza licked her dry lips. “What would our expiration date be?” She could not believe she was even considering it. Nor did she want to examine precisely why she wasn’t running from the room and his offer.

Adam pursed his lips. “Three weeks. Just as you promised me before.”

Dully, Eliza nodded, not agreeing to his terms but his logic. She flicked her gaze back to his, catching the way he’d tensed, and then relaxed when her focus was on him. He must not want her to see how much this agreement meant to him.

“How does this benefit you?” she asked.

He seemed to solidify as if turning to stone. Oh, but his eyes. So many thoughts running behind those strangely beautiful eyes of his, calculating, weighing odds, possible scenarios. It was right there, for anyone to see, and yet he wasn’t an open book of a man. He chose to let others see this, that was equally clear. He let one know that he was thinking things through. Which somehow made it worse. For it was equally clear that, when he reached a decision to act, he’d have the upper hand.

When he spoke, his voice was a deep well of sound within the quiet. “It benefits us both. The chains.” His nostrils flared a bit as he glanced at the irons in distaste. She understood, far too well, his hatred of them. “Just as the chain I used on you was unbreakable by anyone save those who had my magic within their blood, so is this enchanted to prevent an easy escape. These chains are worse. Not only do they leach my strength, preventing me from healing at my normal rate, but…”

He cleared his throat, his fists rhythmically clenching upon his lap. Oddly, for once, she did not resent him in this, but empathized. Especially when his tone grew tight. “Mab wants me to be hers. And only hers.” A flush worked its way over his sharp cheekbones. “Therefore…” A strangled sound of sheer embarrassment broke from his lips, and he ducked his head, the chains clanking as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Bloody hell. They cannot be broken by anyone but my bride, aye?”

It was her turn to utter a strangled sound, as an odd, twisted warmth bloomed over her. Embarrassment for him. Incredulity and a simmering rage toward Mab. “Are you saying,” Eliza got out, “those chains are some twisted version of a chastity belt?”

An abrupt, awkward nod was his answer.

Eliza found herself leaning against the slick, icy stones of the cellar. Numbly, she gripped her bent knees as though it could somehow anchor her. “You had to have known this from the beginning.”

Adam’s wide shoulders bunched. But he raised his head. “Aye.”

“So then, you knew your only hope of escaping those chains was to somehow convince me to be your bride.”

His mouth went stiff. “If I had said this to you when we first bargained, you’d have turned tail and run. Am I manipulating your emotions?” Again he nodded. “I learned my lesson, coming at you with brute force. Now I proceed with caution. And Eliza?” He leaned in. “Never forget that my endgame matters most to me. But that does not mean we cannot work together to get what we both want.”

“Well,” Eliza said, a little unsteady, “you certainly do not sugarcoat your words.”

“I can no longer afford to.” Adam did not move. “Will you accept my offer?”

Eliza’s gaze drifted to her lap. The truth was, she’d been hedging by purposely needling Adam. She knew it. He most certainly knew it. The ire that sparked in his golden eyes said he’d played her game long enough.

Damnation, but her insides twisted and clenched. Her heart beat a hard pace against the base of her throat. “Always bargains and deals with you,” she muttered.

His large body shifted, a nearly imperceptible move of his lean hips. She was too attuned to him to miss it, and her skin tightened in response. Fight or flight. She’d done both. His stare held the weight of the world, and her shoulders ached under the strain.

“When will you realize, Eliza? You have the power. Between us. You always have.”

Licking her dry lips, she took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to his. The face that looked back at her was hard and so very masculine that, taken in parts, his features were almost too blunt, too large. Put together, they created a tableau that took one’s breath and stirred one’s blood. He’d belong to her. This bold, charismatic creature who incited lust in nearly every being he came across.

A heated dizziness threatened to send her crashing down. He claimed to be her other half. She, who’d crept through life, escaping notice of everyone she could.

Husband. She would call him husband. It wouldn’t mean anything. Merely an arrangement.

His deep voice rumbled. “Tick-tock, Eliza.”

“Do not rush me,” she snapped, her breasts heaving against her bodice in her agitation. “You are always rushing me.”