Five Kinds of Love (The True and the Crown Book 5)

by May Dawson

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

  He presses me against the faux-marble wall, between two elaborate sculptures. His face is as chiseled as one of those statues, with his high cheekbones and long nose and beautiful, sensual mouth, but for once, there’s nothing cold about it.

  The two of us twine together, undressing each other in quick, desperate movements.

  My hands caress the muscle of his shoulders, the warm, smooth skin across his pecs, the ridges of his abs, as if I’m memorizing him.

  He kisses my neck, my décolletage, my breasts. My body throbs with heat for him. Perhaps I’m only more aroused because I never know when his teeth will scrape against me instead, when he’ll suck a bruise against my skin, marking me as his own.

  The sweet pain on my skin throbs all the way in my core, and my hips sway against his. He slides his hand slowly down the curve of my back and into my lacy panties, pushing them away down my thighs.

  When he strokes against my clit, a moan rises in the back of my throat, and I bury my face in his shoulder so no one will hear me. The growing sensation as his fingers work steadily is so intense that I can’t bear it, so I bite down on his shoulder, holding back any sound I might make.

  He inhales hard at the pain before his hand cups the back of my head, his fingers tightening in my hair. Abruptly, he spins me around, and I catch myself with my hands against the cold wall. He presses against me, his cock pushing between my thighs, and I shove myself back into him.

  He wasn’t wrong when he whispered in my ear about getting me alone. I want him as badly as he wants me.

  His arm cages me against the wall as his cock teases between my thighs, and his lips find the soft sensual spot on my neck that always makes me ache. Then he slides inside me, filling me up. His hand, still in my hair, pushes my head forward so he can press a kiss to the nape of my neck, and that firm touch sends a shiver of desire down my spine. Devlin might be a controlling bastard, but I know him well enough to know he’s trying to maintain the thin veneer of control he has over the desire between us.

  He can thread his fingers through my hair all he wants—sending delicious tugs that run my scalp down my spine, raising prickles of need—but it’s only a reminder that I’m the one in control, the one who owns his heart.

  I rock my hips back against his impatiently, and I can feel his lips against my skin as they part in a grin.

  The two of us move together, in fast, dirty sex. It might be the end of the world, and there are enemies lurking just outside the museum, and we have these few moments to make the most of our time together. My thighs tremble with desire, my toes curl against the cold floor, and his hand drops from my hair to my waist, holding me up as the two of us rock together.

  I cry out as the world around us blurs with desire, and his hand tightens against my taut belly, as if he’s never been so aroused. I murmur his name, over and over. Then the world shatters.

  With him deep inside me, I’m satisfied, swaying against the wall. He thrusts inside me one last time, his breath coming out as a sigh as he finishes. He wraps me in his arms, dropping his head to rest on my shoulder. Even though his cock is still buried deep inside me, the touch is affectionate, almost innocent and boyish.

  I reach up to caress the bare skin of his shoulder, to run my fingers through his hair. From what Rian has told me, Devlin’s had little enough affection all his life.

  When I look up over my shoulder at him, his eyes are closed, as if he savors my every touch.

  “I wish we could stay like this,” he murmurs.

  “Like this?” I tilt my head up to graze his jaw with my lips. “Naked in the museum? When that security guard comes to, he might have something to say about it.”

  His lips twist in a smile. We both know what he means, but the time for sweet words has passed for us.

  We’ll need our usual banter and fight to get through what’s coming, if we can.

  “Maybe this could be an anniversary tradition,” he murmurs, and my heart leaps to hear Devlin planning for the future at all. “Maybe I could fuck you in museums all over the world. All over the realms.”

  “Yes please.”

  We share one last tender kiss, and then he pulls away. Without the heat of his body, I shiver, cold in the air-conditioned, recycled air of the museum. Earthside is so often cold in a way Avalon never is.

  In silence, the two of us dress. I memorize his elegant, graceful movements as he pulls his shirt on over his head, as he pulls on his jeans. It’s strange to see him dressed like he lives in this world. I don’t want to lose the memory.

  When the two of us are dressed again, it’s time to go. But we both hesitate.

  “We could kill your mother’s magicians and we could run,” I remind him.

  His lips tilt in a smile. “You’ve become a bit more dangerous since I first met you.”

  “Whatever it takes to protect my family,” I say lightly.

  His eyes widen slightly before his mask slips back, but he gathers me into his arms, pulling me into a hug so tight it takes my breath away. I cling to him just as tightly.

  “I can’t come with you,” he murmurs into my ear. “I’ve got my own battle to fight in Vasilik. But I’ll do my best to come back to you, Tera.”

  “Please don’t break my heart.” The words come out as a whisper.

  His lips part, and he hesitates instead of answering. Then he gathers my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it.

  He doesn’t have to say anything else. I understand why he can’t promise, and he doesn’t want to lie to me.

  The quest for the Crown breaks hearts.

  And lives.

  Chapter 26

  When Devlin and I meet up with my men, three of them look surprised. But Rian reaches out and hugs Devlin’s shoulder, one of those side-hugs that men do, but it’s full of intense affection. And Devlin hugs him back.

  “Good to see you, brother,” Rian mutters.

  Devlin smiles faintly and doesn’t say a thing, but knowing the two of them, he doesn’t have to.

  “We’ve got to move,” I say. “I’ll fill you guys in. We need to give his magicians the slip for now.”

  “Probably best not to murder another set.” Devlin says, then shrugs. “Though no harm if we must.”

  For once, at least, my men don’t argue with me. The six of us move quickly through the dark city streets and clamber into the car. I’m about to swing up into the seat beside Devlin when Mycroft catches my shoulder, and I turn back to him.

  “Sure this isn’t a trap?” he asks shortly.

  “Promise,” I say.

  He nods. “Good.”

  Gratitude spikes through my chest at his trust in me, and then he adds, “Also, your shirt is inside out.”

  I roll my eyes to cover my embarrassment. “Thanks.”

  Mycroft’s eyes crinkle at the corners faintly as he holds back his smile. Well, he certainly doesn’t seem jealous, at least. Now the whole car knows that Devlin and I took a sex break from the end of the world, and no one seems to care. That bodes well for the future, if we have one.

  I slide into my seat and buckle my seatbelt—I don’t plan to die Earthside and Airren’s driving is the one spot where his usual easy competence fails him—and then, between Devlin and me, we fill them in on what we’ve seen.

  “We’re bringing him with us back to Merlin’s house?” Cax whistles. “Merlin should appreciate that.”

  “Given that he left me as a lawn ornament for four hours last time we met, it doesn’t seem we’re on the best of terms,” Devlin admits.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “We’ve got Arthur’s great-grandson here.”

  “Let’s not keep talking about that,” Airren says. He shakes his head. “Lord, I never would’ve heard the end of it at boarding school if people had known.”

  Cax’s lips curve up in a smile. “Don’t worry. You’re never going to hear the end of it now either.”

  “Or we could talk about the fact t
hat the Donovan family is descended from the queen Guinevere, if you trace the family lineage far enough,” Devlin says off-handedly.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “Why do you know that? How do you know that?”

  “I’ve done my research on all of you, of course,” Devlin says.

  I shake my head. “Weirdo.”

  “I might actually like having him around,” Airren muses.

  “Amazing,” Devlin deadpans.

  I smile to myself. It’s good to have them all together, and no one dying this time.

  It’s a short drive to Merlin’s house, half-hidden among the trees. We park the car on the street, ready for a quick departure. Merlin is friendly, but wizards are notoriously unpredictable. When we get out of the car, Penny jumps from the back of the car where she’s been napping and out into the cool night air.

  Devlin stiffens. “That’s a big dog.”

  “Are you scared of dogs?” Airren asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “I’m not particularly fond of them,” Devlin admits. “My parents like to set their enemies free in the woods and then go out on a hunt. Their dogs have been trained to tear people apart on command.”

  For a beat, we all pause, digesting this information.

  “They sound like lovely people,” Cax mutters. “My parents disowning me doesn’t seem so bad now.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” Airren offers, “she’s actually a dragon.”

  Devlin brightens. “That does help, actually.”

  The six of us, totally normal people all, head up Merlin’s stone walkway.

  Merlin steps out onto his porch. He doesn’t look like an ancient wizard, with his blazer sleeves pushed up and his wiry gray hair ruffled. He looks like an absent-minded college professor.

  But his keen eyes are anything but absent.

  “Why are you all back again?” he demands.

  “We sent the shield back to Avalon to the princess Alia.” Airren tells him. “And it went awry.”

  “Of course it did,” Merlin mutters. “Never seen a quest go easy.”

  The way he talks about our life-or-death mission as if it’s just yet another quest, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, is odd. I can’t tell if it’s grating or comforting.

  “You can come in and have tea and tell me about it,” he says. “But first, I need to know who that one is.”

  Devlin’s jaw tenses. He doesn’t like being that one.

  Airren starts to answer for him, but Devlin interrupts.

  “My name is Devlin, heir to the Vasilik throne,” he says, his voice bored and disaffected.

  That’s not the tone I’d take with Merlin, but that’s just me.

  “Wonderful,” Merlin says, his tone just as dry. “But who are you, really?”

  Merlin steps forward and—though Devlin pulls back as Merlin reaches for him—he presses his hands to either side of Devlin’s face. Devlin freezes. Merlin presses his forehead against Devlin’s.

  “I’m glad we got to skip this particular getting-to-know-each-other step,” Mycroft says flatly.

  Suddenly, Merlin releases Devlin’s face, stepping back. Devlin gasps as he’s released by the spell. For a second, his eyes seem to shine with tears, and then he blinks and they’re gone.

  Merlin nods approvingly as he looks at Devlin. “A pure heart in his own way, and true. A good addition to your band.”

  Devlin looks away in embarrassment. I’ve never seen him look quite so undone. But his voice is sarcastic as ever when he asks, “Must all you old magicians talk that way?”

  “Do you know many old magicians like me, boy?” Merlin asks, amused instead of offended. He steps back from the doorway. “Come inside. You could probably use some real food with your tea after that.”

  As we head inside, I step close to Devlin until my shoulder brushes his.

  “What was that? What did he do to you?” I whisper.

  “You know how some claim your whole life flashes before your eyes right before you die, in seconds?” he whispers back.

  I nod.

  “It was like that,” he says flatly. “And I didn’t care for most of it the first time through.”

  My fingers twine with his.

  Together, we all walk through Merlin’s strange anteroom and back into the warm, cozy kitchen. He points to the row of stools at the long kitchen island. I could have sworn there were only two stools that fit at the island when Airren and I sat here, but now there are six, and the island seems quite long enough for us all to gather around comfortably.

  While Merlin flits about cooking and brewing tea, we tell him what’s happening back in our realm.

  “So do you think the princess Alia betrayed you?” he asks as he leans over the table, pouring tea into a mug for each of us.

  “No,” Rian says, at the same time as Devlin says, “Yes.”

  Rian shoots him a dirty look. “That’s my sister.”

  “You two are rivals for the crown,” Devlin reminds him.

  “You don’t know Alia,” Rian says. “She would never do that to me. To Avalon. All she cares about is her country.” He considers for a second, then adds, “And her cats. Alia does love her cats.”

  “Eat.” Merlin gestures at the plates and tiered trays he’s slid in front of us, filling the island with little sandwiches and quiches, with cookies and cakes, with scones and clotted cream and jam and chocolate-dipped fruit. “You’ll need your strength to return to Avalon.”

  I’m never one to pass up a chocolate cupcake. I mean, strength.

  “If you return home without the shield, your mother will murder you,” Merlin says casually.

  Devlin pauses in the middle of a cucumber sandwich, then manages to swallow anyway. “Yes, I imagine so.”

  “I believe I can form a good duplicate of the sword for you to return with,” Merlin says. “I can imbue it with enough magic so that, bolstered by your own, it should be able to heal a small rip. But you won’t be able to create new ones.”

  “Perfect,” Devlin says without hesitation. “No one deserves to wield that kind of power.”

  Merlin fixes him with a sharp look. “I think you might.”

  Devlin ducks his head before he shoves the rest of his sandwich into his mouth rather than answering. Merlin seems to rattle Devlin.

  “I’m going up to my workshop,” Merlin says. “Try not to touch anything and get into trouble, hmm? There are dangerous things in my house.”

  Merlin gazes around at us as with an expression somewhere between affectionate and exasperated, as if we’re a bunch of troublesome children he’s fond of anyway. Perhaps to him, a half-Fae born sixteen hundred years ago, that’s all we are.

  Cax rises eagerly from his stool. “Do you mind if I come with you? Your workshop looked incredible, and I’d love to see how you work.”

  “He’s our resident nerd,” Mycroft says.

  “I’ve always got time for a fellow ‘nerd’,” Merlin says. He gives Mycroft a long look. “You should appreciate him.”

  “I do.” Mycroft frowns. “I’d love to come along as well, actually.”

  Merlin claps Cax’s shoulder as the two of them head out of the room, already deep in conversation.

  “I really do,” Mycroft mutters to no one in particular.

  I rest my hand on his corded forearm. Merlin is a powerful ally, but he isn’t exactly an easy man to spend time around.

  A few hours later, we stand in Merlin’s foyer. Cax carries a leather satchel full of what he’s mysterious termed, “spare parts”. Apparently, he’s won Merlin over.

  Devlin carries the false Shield of Everlach, slung over his shoulder. And Airren carries a sword which seems to shine whenever he draws it from the sheath, glowing with a strange light.

  “Is this… Excalibur?” Airren asks, frowning.

  Merlin’s voice is amused. “You think you rate Excalibur?”

  Airren’s face is momentarily abashed. “No.”

  “Oh, odd, because t
hat is Excalibur. Take good care of it,” Merlin warns. “Arthur will need it when he returns.”

  Warring emotions flicker over Airren’s face. He manages to sound nonchalant when he says, “Excalibur. Alright.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair to send the rest of you off without gifts as well,” Merlin says, eying us all.

  “You’ve already done so much for us,” Airren says.

  “Spoken like someone who already got his gift,” Cax points out, his tone light, as he shifts his bag on his shoulder.

  Merlin waves his hand. “Indulge an old man. I’m practically a hoarder at this point. And it’s time to begin disposing of my estate. I do hope to be dead within the next millennia.”

  Can’t argue with that.

  Merlin moves down the line of us, speaking quietly as he gives each gift. Although we’re standing close together, I can’t quite hear what he says to any of the others.

  When he reaches me, he smiles. “I see so much of Guinevere in you.”

  “She doesn’t have the best reputation these days,” I say lightly, even though his statement fills me with wonder. We’ve all heard those stories. But being with Merlin, knowing there’s truth buried deep in those stories, and now lost to time, makes the world feel more magical than it ever was before.

  “Well, neither do you,” Merlin returns. “But she was quite bright—smarter than Arthur, which is not necessarily all that great an accolade—and charming in her own frank way, and just…unstoppable. I always thought she had a touch of the Fae in her bloodline.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, and after an awkward second, I realize I should say, “Thank you.”

  He nods. “This was hers. She would want her great-great-you-know grand-daughter to have it, I imagine.”

  He passes me a tiny dagger—the blade no longer than two inches—with a wickedly sharp, gleaming edge. The scabbard is encrusted with jewels, and it glitters under the moonlight.

  “It’s pretty,” he says, “but no one else will be able to appreciate it. When you wear the dagger, it will be invisible. Not even a spell will reveal it. Like your great-great-great-greatest grand-mother, Tera, you are always armed with your wits and often, that’s enough—but sometimes a blade will help too.”