I shook my head. “‘Healing’ is not healed. How bad are you injured? Drop your glamour.” Because I needed to know where he was hurt. Where I needed to be careful of. Geez, my hands had been all over him. Had I been hurting him and he just wasn’t letting it show until I’d crashed down on his chest in our tumble down to the bed?
The look he gave me said he would refuse. I placed a hand in the center of his chest, trying to still him even as he reached for me, his eyes still hot with desire. But I couldn’t do this knowing I was hurting him.
“Please.”
It was such a small word. But it carried a big cost. I could feel it hang between us as the word left my mouth. Falin frowned, letting his body fall back against the soft mattress. We stared at each other. We both knew I could look through his glamour if I wanted. But I hadn’t yet. I’d asked.
Falin sighed, dropping his hands from my hips. I’d already been feeling awkward, but now I was pretty sure I’d just completely killed the mood. I should probably get off him. Find some clothes . . . Except he’d apparently magicked my pants out of existence. That was going to complicate things.
“Don’t you think about leaving,” he muttered, his gaze pinning me to the spot.
I froze. Seemingly satisfied, he let his hands drop to his sides, and then he released his glamour, his gaze never leaving my face as he judged my reaction.
For my part, I gasped, and very nearly tried to scramble off him again. I probably would have, but one of his hands locked on my thigh, ensuring I didn’t try to move.
The damage actually wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. He was right—he was healing. But it had been bad.
The right side of his ribs was one enormous blue and green bruise, a thick pink line of freshly knitted skin betraying what had been a deep gash at least as long as my forearm. Various other bruises marked his arms, but most were small, nearly faded and showing more yellow than purple; they would likely be gone in a few more hours. The most distressing injury, though, was the nearly healed line just to the left of his sternum. It was small, no longer than the first two joints of my finger, but based on my less-than-stellar anatomy knowledge, it was scarily close to his heart.
My hand moved automatically. There wasn’t much bruising around that small wound, just the shiny pink line against his pale skin. My fingers hesitated above the healing wound. It was too close to his heart. And if the blade that had made it missed his heart, how would it have missed his lung? It wasn’t a big wound, but I was guessing it had been deep.
“I’m okay, Alex,” Falin whispered, his gaze still locked on my face.
“How . . .”
“It was a cheap shot. My opponent was a master not only of his blade but also glamour. Plus he had four arms. But he is dead and I am right here.”
That hadn’t actually been what my “how” was asking. I’d been wondering how he survived the blow. I knew he was resilient, and he healed amazingly fast—and no doubt even faster now that he was king—but that looked like a deathblow.
Shit. Had he died? Was that why Faerie had locked the winter doors temporarily? Death wasn’t always permanent in Faerie. With no land of the dead, decay, or soul collectors, master healers could sometimes restore the dead. But death always left its mark. Those brought back could never leave Faerie, or any soul collector who noticed them would collect them. I suspected there were other consequences to entering a plane attached to the land of the dead as well. Was Falin now among those permanently stuck in Faerie?
I’d respected his privacy up to this point. I hadn’t opened my shields to examine his wounds. But now I did. It wasn’t even a conscious thought. I dropped my shields, looking not at the wounds on his body but deeper, to the silver of his soul. It was still firmly attached to his body, anchored firmly like any living being.
“Alex?” Falin sat up, catching my face gently and tilting my chin so that I was staring into his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I thought you’d died.” I whispered the words, his face turning misty as tears gathered, threatening to spill over. I blinked them back because it was a ridiculous response, but I was almost overwhelmed by the relief I felt that he was alive, healing. Though it was coupled with fear, because more challengers would come. Hell, we were about to go make some challenges ourselves, and the idea that he could be hurt scared the hell out of me.
“I’m okay,” he said again, covering my hand with his and pressing it against the healing wound on his chest. I winced, but he didn’t.
“Are you sure you . . . I mean . . .” My gaze flickered down to the massive bruises covering half his torso. “Does it hurt a lot?”
Falin made a sound that was half chuckle and half groan. “Woman, I’ve been dreaming of getting you back in my bed for so long, I could be missing limbs and it wouldn’t hinder me.” Whatever look I gave him at that response made him laugh again, the sound low and masculine. He pressed a quick kiss against my frown before adding, “Last night it might have been a problem. This morning, my ribs are a little tender is all. Nothing else is bothering me. It will be fine. Though I’m putting back on my glamour. When you look at me, sympathetic pain and worry are not what I want to see in your eyes.”
True to his word, the bruises and pink scars vanished a moment later, his skin once again pale perfection. Nothing else changed, though. He hid the wounds, but I knew that every line of muscle was real—and fairly earned. My hand was still covering that spot where I’d come far too close to losing him. His fingers pressed against mine, holding me there, feeling his heartbeat strong—though perhaps still a little rapid—against my palm.
He watched me for a moment, and then his other hand lifted to cup my face, drawing me closer again. He kissed me, and it wasn’t as frantic as the kisses we’d shared before, but there was more desperation in it. My free hand moved to his shoulder, clinging to him as if afraid he’d be ripped away from me. I kissed him with everything inside me. Relief he was alive, fear of what could have happened and might still in the upcoming duels, a need to keep him safe and terror that I had no idea how, desire because that had not lessened in the least, and . . . love.
That last one hit me harder than the rest because it wasn’t something I’d ever admitted to myself. He’d first told me he loved me months ago. At that time, I would have said I cared about him. I enjoyed being with him. I trusted him despite all the reasons I shouldn’t. I worried about him. I certainly lusted after him.
But love?
As I kissed him as if he were oxygen and I’d suffocate if we broke apart, I had to admit, while it had snuck up on me, and while we had known each other only seven or so months—most of that time just being friends—it was undeniable. Even to my commitment-phobic self.
And that was terrifying.
“You’re shaking,” he whispered, pulling back slightly.
Was I? Maybe. I didn’t care.
“I love you.” The words came out in a single rushed breath, as though if I didn’t say them now, I’d miss the chance. Or maybe because I knew I’d chicken out and never say it if I waited. I hadn’t said those words since my mother died when I was five. Not aloud. Certainly never with the heat and passion I now felt them.
For half a heartbeat, Falin’s eyes went wide, shock and surprise evident in the sudden stillness of his body. Then a smile broke across his face that was pure pleasure. He pulled me tighter to him, kissing me with a devouring ferocity, his tongue claiming possession of my mouth.
“I love you too.” The words were a low and sensual rumble spoken directly against my lips, and the desire in me intensified.
His hand grazed over my ribs, down my waist, and over my hips, lighting up my body with heat. I broke from his mouth to kiss a line down his throat, to his shoulders. My own hands explored his body, my touches light. As his fingers slid into the hem of my panties, the skin over my pelvis—and a lot of places a little lower th
an that—tightened in anticipation. I squirmed in his lap, and he groaned as I rocked myself against the length of him.
“You still have too many clothes on,” I said, letting my teeth graze ever so lightly over his collarbone. “Let me fix that.”
He probably could have magicked his pants away, like he had mine, but I couldn’t do that. It would have been more efficient to let him, but our brief respite had broken through the more frantic, rip-each-other’s-clothes-off moment, and now I wanted to slow down and savor this. I’d been blind the only other time we’d had sex, and now I wanted to see all of him. To unwrap him slowly, and take him all in.
I pushed on his shoulders again, letting him know I wanted him to lie back. He resisted only a moment, then surrendered to my request, his heated gaze locked on me as I kissed a line down his body. I kept my touches light, my kisses soft and mindful, as I slid downward, aware of the bruises I couldn’t actually see. I reached the spot below his navel, where his pants hung low over his hips. I fisted my hands in the band, and he lifted upward, allowing me to drag the material down. I took my time, letting my lips trace over the flat muscled skin beside his hip bone, down the taut line that led down to his groin. He wore no underwear under the sleep pants, and I paused for a moment as I revealed him, hard and very, very ready.
The pants in my hands, which were still around his thighs, suddenly vanished, magicked out of existence as he sat up, drawing me up with him, back into his lap. His mouth closed on mine and his hand trailed down my body. I knew my panties must have also vanished as his fingers slid down, between my folds, to tease across my most intimate parts.
I gasped, and he drank down the sound, kissing me harder, his fingers dancing over me in a rhythm that made me squirm in pleasure and a need for more, for him, inside me. Which he wasn’t doing. I reached down, wrapping my hand around his thick length and stroking hard, but slow. He groaned, the sound sending a shivering delight through me.
My body was on fire with need, his fingers setting a maddening pace of pleasure and desire. I lifted my hips, guiding him inside me. I arched back as he slid into me, filling me. His fingers stilled for only a moment. Then they danced over me again, his other hand at my hip, urging me on.
Our pace was fast, almost frantic as I moved against him. The orgasm that crashed over me hit fast, hard, wracking me with pleasure. I screamed, though I wasn’t sure what, my hands locked on Falin’s shoulders, my body shuddering as pleasure rippled through me.
He held me close, his lips at my throat, sliding over the soft hollow above my collarbone. But he only gave me a moment to recover. Then he rolled us, his body never leaving mine as he positioned himself on top. My limbs felt loose post-orgasm, but as he moved inside me, that need began burning again, pleasure slowly building, and I arched under him, my hips lifting to meet his thrust for thrust.
My hands slid down his back, cupping his ass as we moved together. There was no more air for long kisses. Our pace increased, my body throbbing with pleasure with each movement, until I once again reached that precipice. I hovered there a moment, on the tense edge of a second orgasm, and then Falin’s next thrust sent me hurtling over that cliff. Pleasure pulsed through me in waves, my body shuddering with the release. Falin’s fingers curled in my hair, his rhythm faltering as his own orgasm swept over him.
We lay there, clinging to each other, gasping down air as aftershocks of pleasure rippled through me. Then Falin pushed onto his elbows so he could stare down at me.
“I love you, Alexis,” he whispered, his gaze ablaze with emotion.
I typically hated my given name, but when he used it, something inside me swelled. I pulled his mouth to mine and kissed him hard, deep. We broke off quickly, both still out of air, but the smile I felt claim my lips was reflected on his. He pressed a quick kiss on the tip of my nose, and then rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so that my body tucked along his side, my head nestled against his chest. We fit like that as if we’d been made as a set, and in that moment, my body heavy and relaxed from pleasure, nothing else mattered. I wished we could stay that way, even as I knew that pretty soon someone would come looking for us, summon us back to the crisis that was likely not waiting patiently.
I sighed, the worries of reality already crawling back under my skin. Then I looked up, and my eyes widened, the worries once again temporarily forgotten.
“Did you do that?” I asked, nodding upward, toward the ceiling, or more accurately, toward the snowflakes that always seemed to fall and vanish just above our heads everywhere in the winter court.
Falin looked upward, and I knew the moment he spotted what I had by the sudden stillness in his chest, his breath catching in surprise. Above us, the typical geometric shape of the snowflakes had changed. Now it appeared that hundreds of tiny ice roses were drifting down above us.
“I . . . Not consciously if I did,” Falin said after a small hesitation, and while I wasn’t looking at him, I could hear the frown in his voice.
“Maybe Faerie did it. She certainly sounds happier.” The mournful distant music that had been constant since Dugan dragged me into Faerie had changed. It wasn’t joyful exactly, but it wasn’t sad either. More like hopeful of future happiness.
Falin reached out a hand, snagging one of the falling ice roses. “I guess Faerie approves of our coupling.”
He held out the rose to me. I managed to get two fingers on the icy stem before it vanished, like a soap bubble popping. I laughed and lifted my hand to try to snag one of my own.
Then I froze, not even daring to breathe.
“Falin . . .” My voice was a strangled gasp, and his muscles bunched as his arm tightened around me, responding to the sudden terror in my voice. A dagger appeared in his hand as he sat up, searching for danger.
Danger he didn’t spot in his quick sweep of the room. He twisted to glance at me.
I’d sat up when he had, but I wasn’t staring at a threat in the room. I was staring at my own hand. The same hand I’d lifted in my attempt to grab one of the falling ice roses. A hand that suddenly wore a ring I’d never seen before, with a gleaming band and a very shiny stone shaped like a snowflake. I couldn’t tell if the stone was a diamond or just really sparkly ice, but one thing was certain, it wasn’t mine, and it was on the fourth finger of my left hand like a freaking engagement ring.
“What is this? Is this glamour?” I asked, thrusting my hand toward him.
Falin’s eyes widened and the dagger vanished. I wasn’t sure where the blade had come from or gone, as he was still completely naked in the middle of this enormous bed, but right now, that was the least of my concerns. I was too busy freaking out about the ring on my finger.
Falin took my hand, staring at the bit of jewelry. His lips pursed, his eyebrows moving toward each other, but he shook his head. “I don’t think I did that either. Not . . . directly, at least.”
“Then what the hell is this?” I’d admitted I loved him, but that didn’t mean I was ready to get engaged. Hell, didn’t he have to ask me first anyway? Not just magic a ring onto my finger.
“Faerie appears to be acting very pushy,” he said, which didn’t answer anything. “We should probably shower and eat.”
He released my hand as he turned toward the edge of the bed. My mouth opened and closed at least twice, my thoughts too jumbled to come out in coherent words. Falin stood and then turned, holding out a hand to help me up. I had the ridiculous urge to grab the sheet and cover myself.
It must have shown on my face, because Falin frowned at me. “I’d let you shower first, but I doubt we have time for you to hide in there for a couple hours, so I’m voting a joint shower.”
I cringed, just a little, because it was a fair remark—the last time we’d had sex, I’d fled to my bathroom when we woke the next morning and stayed there as long as possible in hopes he’d leave before I came back out. He hadn’t. He’d made pancakes
for me instead.
Today I wasn’t feeling awkward about the sex, nor regretting that I’d told him my feelings. It was the damn ring on my finger. I was totally not ready for the level of commitment it indicated, though in fairness, he hadn’t exactly asked me for any commitment. Faerie, on the other hand . . .
In the last half year I’d faced down zombies, creatures from the depths of the land of the dead, desperate witches, and power-mad fae. I could handle one tiny, unexpected ring, right?
Maybe.
I accepted Falin’s hand, letting him lead me off the bed and toward the bathroom tucked away in the far corner of the room. It seemed wrong somehow to be surrounded by ice and yet have the shower deliver the most deliciously warm water, but I wasn’t about to turn down the chance to wash up. In fact, as I tried to untangle my curls, I seriously wished I’d showered before sleeping with Falin—I wouldn’t have had sex with me with my hair clumped with splatters of mud. He watched me struggle for a moment, as I seriously regretted not having my usual shower comb, and then his hands moved to my hair. It had to be some form of magic that allowed him to effortlessly work the snarls out of my curls, his fingers massaging my scalp as he rubbed sweet-smelling conditioner into my hair.
“So, what, did Faerie just make me a ring because she was happy we had sex?” I asked as I relaxed into the feel of his hands in my hair. He had it detangled far too quickly—I was enjoying the attention.
“Not exactly,” he said, taking a step back and grabbing a bar of soap.
I liberated it from him, because he’d been taking care of me, it was my turn to care for him. I motioned for him to turn, lathering it over his back—and enjoying the excuse to put my hands all over his broad shoulders, trim waist, tight ass, and muscular thighs. In fact, I let that non-answer hang between us longer than normal simply because I was distracted by his body. Eventually, though, my gaze began catching on the glittering stone on my finger instead of his sudsy skin.
Grave War Page 31
