by M. A. Grant
He slides from the windowsill and squares off against me, his chin raised, his eyes flashing, and his teeth bared in a feral snarl. “I am standing right here.”
“In body.” I reach out and rest my fingertips against his chest, right over his heart. His breath stutters and I give a short, sharp press before dropping my hand. “Only in body.”
He stretches his hand toward me. I step out of his reach. He doesn’t get to touch me now, not when every doubt I have is clawing its way out of me. My retreat shocks him to sudden, horrible stillness. He swallows hard before asking, “What do you want from me, Keir?”
Doubt and worthlessness vie for supremacy, leaving me sick from the thought of this ending. It’s strong enough to awaken the belt, which feeds on those emotions and tries to give them back to me with greater and greater strength until I give in and use the magick to escape this conversation. No. Queen Mab won’t decide what happens between Lugh and me. This moment is too important to be tainted by her presence, too painful to risk the temptation of escape. I reach down and unbuckle it, pointedly focusing on not channeling the power when I toss it away. “I want you back. We’ve spent the past week running through the Wylds without talking or touching. You won’t even look at me. If this is goodbye, at least have the courage to say so.”
“I asked you to trust me,” he counters, avoiding my challenge. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“Prove it,” I interrupt. If we get this over with now, we can lick our wounds and be composed enough for an official separation in the North. “What are you hiding from me? You’ve ridden like the gods drew a path only you could see. No visitation could last so long or be so specific. I need to know how you’re doing this. An entire people are in my care now and...” I growl and tug at my beard, hating how difficult it is to find the right words. “This is bigger than us.”
It kills me to say that. To admit Lugh can no longer be my sole concern and to stand by that decision. To ask him to prove he’s not a threat to the people he’s spent so long protecting. It’s a betrayal of the man I trust and love above all others in the world, and of the life we’ve crafted together in the Wylds.
For a long time, we stand in silent opposition. He struggles with an admission I can’t guess at. I wait and pray Lugh chooses me.
“I’ve been asking the shades for help.”
He won’t meet my eyes. There’s more to it than this.
“What do you mean, asking?”
He gives a lopsided grin that does nothing to hide his apprehension. Too bad I know his every tell and can recognize his lie for what it is.
“You’re letting them in. You’re inviting them in.”
His grin fades when my voice cracks. He takes a half step toward me, thinks better of it, and withdraws, wrapping his arms around himself. There’s no bravado left in his voice when he speaks again. “They aren’t very good at sharing what they know unless they get in here.” He taps a finger against his temple and frowns. “And, yes, if I’m not careful, they’ll share too much.”
His dark expression passes and when he looks up, he’s calm and controlled once more. “I’m getting better at it,” he assures me. “I’ve been practicing with them.”
The final threads of the story coming together. “I asked you not to take that risk again—”
“I don’t regret it.” Such determination in his hazel eyes. “If letting them in means I can protect you and stop the war, it’s worth the price.”
“So it hasn’t been you leading us through the Wylds. You’ve let them wear your skin?” I ask.
“I needed to get you away from Goodfellow,” he says, neatly sidestepping my question.
I won’t let him evade me. “Have you had any control over them?”
“Keir—”
“Answer the damn question.”
“Of course I’ve had control! I’m choosing this, Keir, and I know you hate it, but it’s my choice. I needed them and they were willing to help.”
“Is that why you haven’t let me near you?”
“No... I mean, yes, kind of, but not because of you so much as... They don’t understand the concept of space. I didn’t want them trying to reach out to you too. I didn’t want it to—” He grimaces and cuts himself off.
“It? What’s it?” I ask, though my heart already knows his answer.
For a moment, I think he’s going to deny the truth. But Lugh has never retreated from risky battles. He takes a deep breath and lifts his gaze to hold mine. “In the cottage, you asked how I defeated the draugr. I didn’t defeat it. I offered it sanctuary. I let it in and it’s been with me since. We’ve been working together, learning about each other.”
“It’s evil,” I whisper.
“It’s not,” Lugh argues. “It’s angry and violent because of its death. Because of its murder. Goodfellow was responsible. They’re tied to each other, and if we want to defeat Goodfellow, the draugr’s memories may help us.”
Was that what happened during his fight against Goodfellow?
“You nearly fell when you fought him,” I say. “How much of that battle was you?” When he doesn’t answer, I press, “Was it you, or was it the draugr fighting Goodfellow?”
“It was both of us,” Lugh says.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Oh?” Lugh tilts his head up to glare at me. “You’re telling me that when you transform, there’s no piece of you left in the bear? That you disappear and only the animal remains?”
“What? No, Lugh, that’s not... It’s not the same and you—”
“Is it still you under all the fur and teeth and claws?” he interrupts.
I can’t answer. Don’t know the answer. All my doubts about Queen Mab’s influence, about the things I’ve done when using her magick, seize my thoughts and leave me speechless.
“Oh, Keir.” His expression softens and the gentleness in his voice when he speaks nearly undoes me. “Why were you so angry with me for hugging you the first time you transformed?”
He’d been fearless, running forward to clasp his arms around my neck despite Cybel’s warnings to wait. “You put yourself at risk.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I could have lost control. I could have hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.” My voice cracks on the last bit and all the guilt and fear I’d felt those long centuries ago surges back up. “Why did you rush in like that? You didn’t even hesitate to reach for me.”
He smiles. “Because it was you. Because those were your eyes staring at me. I trusted you. I always have. Just like you trust me?”
I suck in a breath. I want to be angry with him over this. I want to hold him responsible for his rash decisions, but I can’t, not when I know where he’s going with this.
“Yes, Lugh.” I can give him that.
This entire time, he’s been trying to keep me safe. From Goodfellow. From these shades. From his magick. What a noble, misguided gesture.
Like my accepting the belt. Like all the time we spent dancing around each other and the truth of where our hearts lay.
“Enough that you would risk anything, even losing yourself to the belt, to stay beside me?” he asks.
I nod.
“Then you have to understand why I did this.”
He doesn’t speak again. He waits patiently, assured enough in his beliefs that he doesn’t need to defend himself further.
Eventually, I gather my thoughts. “I do understand, Lugh. I can’t blame you for doing what you think is necessary, not when I’ve done the same. But what’s happening between us now... This has to stop. I’m frightened by the risks you’re taking,” I admit, “but watching you pull away from me this week is far worse, especially after what happened between us at Krigsmöte.”
He makes a low, sorrowful sound. Explaining how my heart works is a struggle, one I�
�ve never dared face until now, when the thought of Lugh walking out of my life scares me deeply enough to try. “When I claim the Iron Crown, Queen Mab will separate us to maintain neutrality. I’ll lose everything. The Winter Court. The Hunt. You.” He tries to protest, so I talk over him. “I’ve accepted that cost. It’s the only course left. Without the Sluagh at our backs, Goodfellow will destroy all of Faerie.” I swallow against the burn of rising tears and allow myself one selfish moment of weakness. “But I don’t want to give you up until I have no other choice.”
He reaches for me and I reach back, until we collide and cling to each other in the face of this storm. His fingers dig into my back and his lips move against my collarbone as he promises, “I’ll never leave you.”
He says it again and again, until the words lose their coherency and nothing but his unbreakable intent remains. He says it when he tilts his face up toward mine to close the gap between us. Those beautiful words rest against my lips with the divine promise of a future we’ll never have, and I don’t care about anything outside these walls anymore. I want to believe Lugh when he says we’ll be together. Perhaps all I have to do is choose it, and we can make it true. If anyone can, it’s us.
Lugh
Keiran kisses like it’s our last time. He surges forward, stealing my breath, only to hold back a moment later so I can regain control. At the surrender, I take his mouth as I want. I take and take and take. Nip his lower lip until he moans. Brush my tongue against his and try to erase every minute of the time I kept us apart. It was stupid to think distance would make any of this easier. He’s been suffering because I didn’t trust him to understand, when he’s the only one who possibly could. I run my hands up and down his back in apology, tracing his musculature from centuries of memories of baths and swims and sharing rooms as we dress. I try not to press against him and give away how needy I am, how my body refuses to slow down, because the last thing I want to do is push him away from me again.
Maybe that’s why his hands at my hips, his urgent tug, and the shocking, mind-blanking press of his thigh against my erection nearly undoes me. Heat suffuses my belly and spreads up my spine. I bite the tendon cording in his neck and release some strangled sound, but don’t tip over the razor’s edge of release.
The sensation lingers, tingling in my palms and through my bones in a moment of soul-stealing resonance. Keiran’s voice is little more than a rumble when he asks, “More?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes.”
He reclaims my mouth with a vengeance before dragging me down to the bedrolls. Every sensation is perfect and newborn like this. He straddles me, his knees on either side of my thighs, and cups my face in a hand as he gives me one more kiss, this one sweet and tender. I don’t want it to end, not when his fingers tangle in my hair and I spread my hands wide against his ribs to feel every hitch in his breathing. He looms over me, a steady, warm weight tugging insistently at the bottom of my shirt. The blankets shift and bunch as I rise up on my elbows and try to struggle free of the offending garment, almost mindless with the urge to offer him my bare skin.
He tosses my shirt to the side, just missing the guttering candle, and reaches behind his head. He draws his tunic up and over before throwing it away too. He’s thicker than me, his rough-hewn muscle covered in a fine dusting of dark hair and riddled with scars. Those marks declare his humanity and I take advantage of his momentary distraction to sit up and press light kisses to the pale lines. He gives a deep sigh and, encouraged, I trace the scars with my tongue, making him shiver.
“Fuck,” he growls. A moment later, he grips my shoulders and pushes me back down. His hair falls forward and his eyes are dark with lust and affection. He brushes fingers down my chest to my stomach, pausing at the waist of my pants.
“Yes,” I say again, the only word I know anymore, and he obeys with a smile.
Every frantic need ignites with the hot clasp of his fingers and callused palm around my cock. His grip is gentle, coaxing, and I whimper and arch against him as he takes me apart. I know nothing except the tickle of his beard when he nuzzles close and bites down the column of my neck, the mixture of his panted breaths and my whines in my ears, the brush of his lips against mine when he whispers, “Please, Lugh.”
He swallows my cry and the sudden hot slickness between us only makes the glide of his hand better. I try to drag myself out of the blissful haze weighing me down and reach a trembling hand to his laces. He notices and stops me, squeezing my hand with gentle apology as he whispers, “Not yet.”
“What do you want?” I murmur. He stills, like he’d never given it any thought, and I pull my hand free of his, resettling it over my head where he can see it. “Anything, Keir. I’ll give you anything.”
He licks his lips. “I want to kiss you—”
I lift my head and press my lips to his. A moment later, his knuckles brush my hip when he works to free himself, but I focus on his mouth. I want him to share in my bliss, however he desires to go about it. His kisses grow more desperate as he strokes himself, until he’s unable to do anything but pant and press his face against mine. I hum my encouragement and brush fingers through his hair, kissing the corner of his mouth. His brow. His cheek. His scars. I hallow his flesh and treasure every moan he can’t contain. His hand moves faster and faster, until he gives one final gasp. His release takes him, leaving him shuddering and spilling over my stomach, and I send up a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess for the love of this good man. Now that I have it, I won’t let anything—my own stupidity, Goodfellow, my mother, or this damn war—separate us ever again.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lugh
The next morning when we rise and prepare to leave, Keiran surprises me by asking, “What were you watching out the window last night?”
“There’s a shade waiting to speak to me,” I tell him.
He gives a slow, thoughtful nod. “Do you want me to stay in here while you do it?”
“Honestly, I’d rather let you see,” I admit. “I don’t want to hide anything from you again.”
He follows me outside. I hold up a hand in warning for him to wait and move closer to the tideline, where the shade continues to drift as it looks out over the sea. It turns at my approach, its eyes dark, its skin pallid and sodden, and lifts a hand to me.
Rather than feeling nervous with Keiran witnessing this moment, I’m steadied by the same calm I felt last night. I lift a hand back to the shade and ask quietly, “What do you need?”
Its wrinkled fingers trail over my skin, leaving a phantom wetness in their wake. Its memories are short and surprisingly normal. I pull myself out of them without much struggle, grateful its death isn’t at all tied to Goodfellow.
“Lugh?” Keiran hasn’t moved closer to me, but the worry in his voice warns he wants to.
“He’ll help us with the crossing.” I point down the beach toward a distant, weather-beaten structure. “He’ll even help us navigate the boat.”
“Are we going now?” Keiran asks.
“It says a storm’s coming.” I glance back to Keiran and shrug. “I can’t explain how I know, but he knows.”
Whatever misgivings he has, Keiran doesn’t voice them. He just looks out across the water, then to the sky, and finally says, “Then we’d best go.”
We find the boat where the shade said it would be, recovered from the beach and put away by the same people who buried his body after it washed up on shore. It’s small, but serviceable, and with Keiran’s help and the shade’s directions, we’re soon on the water.
Keiran waits until we’re almost halfway through the crossing to ask, “Are all the shades you’re holding victims of Goodfellow?”
“No.” I let our current phantom guide take control of me long enough to adjust the sail before continuing, “A lot of them are, and I’m hoping they’ll pass through the veil once they’re avenged against Goodfellow.�
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“And the others?”
The sea spray rises up and hits my face. I lick my lips, briefly lost to the memory of the familiar taste, of how many times I’ve tasted it over the years crossing between small villages with supplies to trade.
“Why are the others with you?” Keiran asks. His voice snaps me from the shade’s memory, and I’m grateful he doesn’t say anything about my becoming lost for a moment. He doesn’t act like I’m not still here. He acts like I do when he’s transformed and his effort wipes away the last of my doubts about his trust in me.
“They’re Mother’s,” I say. I don’t want to call their attention, so I only add, “I was too young to know how to keep them out. There’s no way of giving them peace, not while Mother’s alive, so I’ve learned to live with them.”
Keiran doesn’t ask for more than that. Instead, he changes the subject and asks me to share what I’ve pieced together about Goodfellow. He listens with the same grave expression he uses when villagers tell us the details of a new quest, and he doesn’t seem bothered when my explanations are interrupted by the shade adjusting our course. I’ve exhausted all the memories I’ve been carrying by the time we finally make landfall in the Northern Realms. Keiran deals with the boat while I deal with our ghostly helper. The shade melts back into the sea after I promise to tell his sister of his death in a storm. When I turn away from the waves, I find Keiran behind me, watching me thoughtfully. I expect him to continue our talk about Goodfellow, but all he asks is, “Any other shades waiting for you?”
“No,” I tell him. “There’s no one here but us.”
He takes my chin in hand and kisses me, smiling as he licks the salt from my lips. “Guess we should hurry before they find us again.”
We clamber over slick rocks and work our way off the jagged beach to find a layer of wet snow blanketing the land. The harsh coastline has melted into uneven fields, dotted here and there with trees. Our boots leave obvious tracks, which worries me until Keiran points at the stormy sky. It’s early, and since we made the crossing mostly in the dark, trusting our shade captain to warn us of hidden dangers, I’ve no idea where exactly we’ve landed or if the shade’s pointed finger indicated a friendly village. Keiran and I have pushed hard to reach the North quickly, but I’ve no idea whether others—allies or Goodfellow and his forces—have made the crossing ahead of us.
