Married by Wind (Arranged Marriages of the Fae #0) Read Online Angela J. Ford

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Arranged Marriages of the Fae Series by Angela J. Ford

Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 37928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 190(@200wpm)___ 152(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)

A cursed lamp, a mortal woman, the god of wind, and an arranged marriage that could devastate their hearts.

When sand devils attack Ulika’s tribe and destroy her home, she travels to fae mountain to ask for help.
When she arrives, she accidentally traps the Wind in a lamp and binds herself to him.
In his fury, he takes her to the hall of the gods to ask the spirits to sever the bond between them.
The spirits aren’t keen to help and decide the binding is a perfect opportunity to teach the Wind a lesson.
He and the mortal girl are bound together until he helps her rid the desert of the sand devils.
Obstacles arise as the two work together, but as time passes, they discover one truth.
Even though a mortal and an immortal don’t belong together, perhaps their love can break all curses.



The God of Wind

White sand stretched like a path pointing to the river, which sparkled under the pinkish hue of sunrise. Rays of golden light graced the spiked cacti, rugged bushes, and stunted trees, warning the nocturnal creatures that it was time to return to their burrows. Sunrise was my favorite time of day, not only because of the riot of colors that swept across the sky, but also because it was when I saw her.

She sat cross-legged on a multicolored rug, the light glowing on her brown skin. Her white scarf had fallen off her shoulders, leaving her arms bare. Pots of dyed ink sat in a neat row in front of her while she held up a strip of white wood and painted the colors of the sky.

In other lands, I’d seen artists paint with brushes on smooth paper, and in comparison, they’d view her work as rudimentary. It wasn’t her skill I admired, but her actions. The way she wrinkled her nose when concentrating, using her fingers to blend each color until they mirrored the sky. Her brow furrowed while she worked, and she had a habit of staring up at the sky, contemplating, as though she saw something I didn’t. Impossible, for I was the god of wind, and she was a mortal. A mortal who drew my attention.

I blew over her painting, making it dry, and teased her silky black hair out of its braid. Tucking loose strands behind her ear, she laughed. “You’re relentless today.”

She always spoke to me, which buoyed my ego, especially since mortals didn’t know I existed. I wanted to reveal myself to her, but it was better to stay invisible and watch.

I swirled in a circle, and she sat up straighter, then shielded her eyes as she stared across the desert. The look in her deep-brown eyes was wistful, speaking of desire and unfulfilled dreams. I could not look at her for long without the finger of guilt poking my mind, so I returned my attention to her painting.

Beneath her fingers, a new shape took form. My heart swelled with pride as she painted the silvery mountain where I dwelled, what the mortals called Fae Mountain. They weren’t wrong. I’d come from the halls of Val Ether, where the fae lived, sent to bring wind to the desert. The gods had warned me against my detrimental fascination for mortals, and they’d be furious if they discovered what I’d done.

“Ulika!” a voice hailed from the direction of the river.

The hungry joy of creativity evaporated. With a sigh, Ulika gathered her pots of paint while I sent her skirts dancing around her legs. An ache swelled in my chest, that old, familiar hollow of loneliness and longing. It wasn’t natural to be jealous of mortals and all they had, but she made me want more.

To dispel my souring mood, I hurled myself toward the river. White tents and clay homes dotted the shore, for most of the desert tribes lived near water, but not all of them. I slowed to waft my winds over an old man floating on a raft, waiting for fish or death, who knew.

“Thank you, wind,” he croaked, waving a suntanned hand.

At least he expressed some gratitude. Not all did. Some cursed my winds when they blew hot, as was often the case in the desert of Iscaria.

On the curve of the bank, curly-headed boys floated tiny clay boats with sails made of cloth. I blew over them, sending the boys shrieking and splashing into the water, clamoring to see which boat would win. For half a moment, I toyed with sinking them but, with a chuckle, left them alone.

I rushed through the camp, overturning pots, spreading the ash of campfires, and tangling loose hair, chortling as a series of shouts followed in my wake.

In one of the larger tents, shadows kissed, then intertwined. I paused, my mood for mischief vanishing. I was a powerful god with the ability to blow my winds across the desert and send myself to any location in the world I wished. Yet I was alone.