He then brushed his mouth on mine and muttered, “I’ll be back.”
After that, he took off and got us dinner.
Not only got us dinner, he brought home all my favorites.
See?
I mean, what kind of superpowers were those?
Wait, I can’t endeavor to answer this now because Ash just asked me if I wanted to go to bed.
And the answer was (seeing as he’d be in it with me)…
Duh.
Hell yeah.
8 June
So, this just happened.
Ash woke me up so we could get up to a little somethin’-somethin’.
(Ash liked his morning somethin’somethin’.)
(I liked it more.)
(Ahem.)
After that, I got out of bed, deciding to carry on with my sex-induced peace of mind during a time I couldn’t carry on with the sex-induced part because Ash had to recover (at least for a bit) and thus doing it by doing my second most favorite thing that brought peace of mind.
That being baking.
And that meant making Ash some homemade cheese Danish (I had to go rough puff, I needed to feed my man and I didn’t want to take all day to do it).
While I was shredding butter and kneading, Ash strolls into the kitchen, grabs a notepad and pen, sits on the counter, puts pen to paper, turns his eyes to me and asks, “So, break it down. What’s first?”
“Say what?” I asked back, still kneading.
“First priority.”
Uh…
“First what?”
“Sweetheart, you can’t do it all at once. So, what’s first? I’d say BecBec. It’s concerning we don’t know how she’s coping as it’s been some time and we’ve had no word. And if we go to her we could kill two birds with one stone, talking her into going to the Realm to have a chat with Cystien and then you can have a chat with Cystien.”
So yeah.
A novel idea.
Assess priorities.
Form a plan.
But…
I mean…
This was getting freaky.
This was Ash’s suggestion. It was wise. Logical. Sane.
Which meant something very scary was becoming clear.
Ash was perfect all around.
“That said,” he kept at me, “while we’re seeing to BecBec, it might be good to get Mavis or Viv on planning an international Gathering. You can’t be fifty places all at once. And they all need to talk to each other. So instead of you going to them, they can all go to one place, and you can go there.”
“Priorities,” I said.
“Priorities,” he affirmed, stared at me a beat and noted this concept wasn’t computing. He then scooched off the counter, tossed aside the pen and paper and came to me, taking me in his arms, doing it ignoring my dough-and-flour-encrusted hands and everything. “You see mountains,” he murmured, then grinned. “Or walls filled with Post-it notes. But, darling, every climb begins with the first step.”
My response to this piece of wisdom?
“You’re a freak.”
His brows shot up. “Pardon?”
I squinted my eyes at him. “Have you been spelled?”
“Mathilda—”
“Like by Viv. Or Su. I wouldn’t put it past Gran or Mom or Mavis either.”
“I haven’t been spelled.”
“Okay then, how are you this perfect?” I asked. “I mean, you’re the most perfect boyfriend in the history of all boyfriends who ever existed. And I thought that all the way back to you not throwing your towel on the bathroom floor. Now I get guaranteed orgasms. You keeping your shit during shared incarceration. Kicking werewolf ass for me. Imparting sage wisdom. I can go on. It’s unreal.”
His grin got cocky.
“It’s also freaking me out,” I declared.
“I’m just a man.”
“You’re not just a man. You’re unnatural. And how do I handle that? I get pimples. I have dramas while brandishing wine bottles. My sister wears socks with Birkenstocks in the winter and you’ve seen her do that more than once. How do I live under the cloud of you eventually clueing into the fact I’m certifiable and then taking off to find some together woman who’s never considered the idea of a princess fortress, and if she knew about it, she’d think it was weird.”
“That woman probably wouldn’t know how to make Danish from scratch,” he muttered.
I slapped his arm and left a flour and dough print on his long-sleeved tee, all while crying, “I’m being serious, Ash!”
He got serious too.
“Sweetheart, I’m destined for you.”
“Yeah, destined to give me three kids and then what? Do prophesies include the ugly divorce you have when you’re forty-eight and he figures out you’re a lunatic? Or do they leave that out to make sure you have those three divined kids?”
“How about we not talk about divorce before we’re even engaged?” he suggested.
That didn’t make me feel any better.
As such, my voice could almost shatter glass when I asked, “So you think it’s a possibility they left the divorce part out?”
He gave me a firm squeeze along with a shake and said, also firm (very firm), “Mathilda, get yourself together.”
“I’m totally and completely in love with you!” I shouted. “I might survive saving the world, but I wouldn’t survive losing you!”
At that, he let me go so he could capture my head in both hands.
He then got so close, he was my world (physically, not just the usual—emotionally) and growled, “Matty, you were made for me.”
I blinked in his face.
“And I was made for you,” he carried on.
“I know, but—”
“Do you know how boring it would be, being a man who has it together, if I had a together woman? I am as I am so I can be what you need me to be because you are as you are, and vice versa. I do not like boring. I do not like staid. I do not want every day of my life with the same woman to be the same day. No surprises. No twists or turns. No adventure. I would listen to you rant about saving the world a million times before I’d sit in front of the telly in companionable silence just once with a woman who wasn’t interesting, wasn’t amusing and didn’t challenge me. For God’s sake, even when you’re annoying, you’re endearing.”
He then did the impossible.
His face got even closer.
And he finished, “In other words, darling, I’m totally and completely in love with you too. We will not get divorced. We’ll get married, make three beautiful children and live happily ever after. The prophesy didn’t say that last bit either, but I know it’s so because I’m going to make it so because I couldn’t survive either, if I lost you.”
Yup.
He said all that.
So of course, instead of bursting into tears, I told him, “I could have done without the ‘even when you’re annoying’ part.”
Fortunately, his response was to burst out laughing, let go of my head and give me a big hug.
I may not have mentioned this, but Ash hugs are the best.
The…freaking…best.
(Yes, more proof he’s perfect.)
So, in the end, we decided to go with Ash’s plan.
I would focus on BecBec and we’d get Viv on planning an International Gathering of the Supernatural World.
And we got on all that.
After Danish.
11 June
Right, so, Ash chartered another plane to take us home, and without a bunch of company with us, we’ll just say I’m now a very proud member of the Mile-High Club.
X3
(What can I say? It’s a long flight.)
Though the high from belonging to that club waned when, upon arriving at The Acre, finding my cat to try to give her snuggles (she was having none of it, and I knew from experience the length of my absence meant at least a week of her only allowing me to touch her when she woke me up in the dead of night and made me do it by kn
eading my thigh in a position where she was almost out of reach) and climbing up to the Turret Room to find BecBec’s door was still a wall.
And it remained a wall even after I called through it for her to let me in, then called through it begging her to let me in, all of which she ignored…
I then stomped down to the Carriage House and pounded on the door.
And pounded.
Then pounded some more.
After more pounding, Sar opened it, full-body-shimmered, and that was full-bodied, since he was stark naked.
And proudly erect.
(And yes, to answer your question, what he had under his loincloth was precisely what sex cults were made of.)
I averted my eyes and he growled, “I’m in the middle of something important.”
“More important than BecBec maybe starving herself to death in the Turret Room?”
“She cannot starve. She’s immortal,” he pointed out.
Huh.
I dodged that.
“Has anyone seen or heard from her since I left?” I demanded.
He had the good grace to look a little ashamed at that.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Carry on with your orgy. It’s not like I have anything else to do. Spellbounds to look after. Supernatural wars to circumvent. Politicians to assuage. Cats to earn back their love. Worlds to save. I’ll go look after your faerie sister who you have been yards away from for weeks and who knows what state she’s in?”
After delivering that load of guilt, I did more stomping and then spent fifteen minutes with my wand trying to break the disappearing spell BecBec had on the door.
As mentioned, elfin magic was some serious shit, so I might be the SuperWitch, but I was failing.
Ash came up in the middle of me doing this.
He watched me fail for another ten minutes before he circled my wand wrist with his fingers.
“Allow me,” he murmured.
I stepped aside, curious at what I was allowing.
He stepped back, turned a shoulder to the wall…
And then slammed through it!
Holy Dust Flying, Batman!
I didn’t have a chance to marvel at Ash busting through a wall.
BecBec was flinging magic at him and I had to fling a protective shield in front of him so whatever she was flinging didn’t hit.
This I did.
I then took her in.
It was worse than I imagined.
She might be immortal, but she was still thin, wan, her hair lank, her eyes sunken, dark circles under them.
In other words, a total mess.
Man, I was going to kick Sar’s and Trae’s asses!
(Or get Ash to do it.)
“Honey,” I whispered to her.
“You were not invited in here,” she declared.
I moved cautiously toward her, assuring. “All’s well in the Fae world. Fae are free to be who they are in the human realm. Maithieliel has been, uh…” How to share? “Neutralized. Cystien had it all under control. He just didn’t, well, um…share the fullness of his plan with you.”
“You were not invited in here!” she shouted.
“BecBec—”
She suddenly got stiff, her eyes going beyond me and a dust-covered, still-hot Ash toward the Ash-sized hole in the wall.
Both Sar and Trae were squeezing through (both now clothed, fortunately (I guess)).
“And you are not invited in here either!” she shrieked.
Then suddenly Ash’s shoulder that went into the wall went into my belly and I landed with a thud on my back on the floor with my man on top of me.
He curled protectively around me, most specifically my head, but even if my eyes were closed and Ash was blocking it with his body, I could still see the blinding flashes of Fae-on-Fae magic.
“What’s happening?” I cried.
“They’re Guardians. They’ll subdue her. Just don’t open your eyes,” Ash replied.
It was then I smelled something burning.
“Oh, my Goddess! She’s burning down The Acre!” I shouted. “Get off me! I need to do something!”
I heard a sizzle, the flashes stopped, and Trae said, “All is well. She is restrained. You can get up now.”
Ash got off me and pulled me up.
The room was a state.
And the bedspread was smoldering.
Last, BecBec was indeed restrained. Golden ropes wound all around her body so you could see nothing of it but the outline from ankles to shoulders. A golden gag in her mouth.
“Undo her,” I demanded.
“Uh…pardon?” Sar asked.
I pointed at BecBec and screeched, “Let her go!”
“We are immortal, you are not, beautiful Mathilda,” Trae stated. “She is using very angry magic and she is uncontrolled. We cannot free her. It is not safe for you, this home, anyone in it or anyone for about five furlongs.”
Furlongs?
“I think Mathilda’s concerned about the restraints considering she’s concerned Bellabeccabec’s state has to do with the fact she was confined in the Realm,” Ash explained.
“Oh,” Sar mumbled, then turned to study BecBec.
“Well?” I pushed.
BecBec was staring daggers at Sar and Trae.
“Okay, at least ungag her and let me talk to her,” I suggested.
Sar looked at Trae.
Trae looked at Sar.
They both looked at BecBec and the gag disappeared.
“They must leave,” she stated immediately to me, snapping her head Trae and Sar’s way.
It hit me then that I could understand her.
“Hey! I can understand you!”
She glared at me. “If this is so, you must make them leave.”
I began an approach but didn’t get very far before Ash’s arm snaked around my stomach and he pulled my back into his front.
“They—” I started.
She lifted her chin and declared, “I denounce being Fae.”
Sar and Trae sucked in so much breath, I felt lightheaded.
“Shit,” Ash muttered in my ear.
Okay then.
I had a feeling this was bad.
“BecBec, honey, listen to me for a bit,” I urged.
“I was betrayed by my king,” she stated.
Well, yeah…sort of.
“That’s what I want to explain,” I told her.
“And after I was rescued, my own left me to rot.” She again jerked her head at Sar and Trae. She then turned her attention to them. “I see the shimmer, including the sheer amount of it. It would seem you’ve been taking keen advantage of being freed among human females.”
Hmm.
Okay, maybe leaving her to rot was a bit dramatic.
But I felt her seeing as one could say it was not cool the dudes were having a sexathon while I was out trying to find peace and understanding and BecBec was up here, dealing alone with some Fae PTSD.
That said, I wonder what that shimmer was about. The boys had had it since the first time I saw them.
“King Cystiennien would like you to come home,” I shared. “He wants to—”
“I will never go home,” she spat at me. “I have no home.”
“BecBec—”
Again, I could say no more.
“No. I am wrong. I have a home. You freed me. You came to the Realm and freed me. You spoke for me at my trial. They may have helped you free me,” another jerk of the head to Sar and Trae, “but only because they want to lay with you. I have been forsaken. By my king. By my people. By everyone. But you. So my only home is with you.”
“Although in a way, you’re right, you always have a home with me, the rest isn’t exactly true,” I said quietly.
“I have not sensed you in this house,” she returned. “Thus, I suspect you have been busy doing what you must in regard to the Prophesies. The moment I sensed you here, you came to me. I have sensed them all this time. And they didn’t even so much as knock on my wal
l.”
I aimed narrowed eyes at Sar and Trae.
Trae was studying the ceiling.
Sar was studying BecBec broodingly.
I kept my eyes narrowed on them.
Trae looked at me and said, “Well, we did not know we could break through the wall.”
“Lame,” I retorted.
He looked back to the ceiling.
He knew it was lame.
Since we weren’t getting very far, and BecBec was clearly in no mood for us to get much further, I decided to try to get what I could get.
“Right, promise not to burn down the house or accidentally annihilate anyone in this furlong or the next,” I began, “and also promise to eat something and not lock yourself away again. And if you promise all of that, they’ll let you go, they’ll leave, and you can nurse your snit for as long as you like. When you’re done, you can let me know and we’ll have a good gab. With wine. Or other beverage of your choice. Or beverages plural, which I would recommend.”
She glared at Sar and Trae.
We all waited.
She glared more.
We waited that more.
Finally, she said to me, “I will make these promises to you, Mathilda.”
I turned to Sar and Trae. “Okay. You heard her. Let her go and then you boys have to vamoose.”
“We have not been free for centuries,” Trae said to BecBec.
“I served my king and did not like what it got me. You serve your cocks, and your shimmer declares quite well you like what it got you.”
More brooding from Sar, more eye avoidance from Trae.
Whatever.
“Boys,” I prompted.
The golden ropes disappeared and so did the male Fae.
“Now I will eat,” BecBec stated.
Then she was gone.
I got that.
If I didn’t eat for months, I’d take up residence in the fridge.
I turned to Ash.
“What’s the shimmer thing?”
“No idea, though if I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with sex.”
That’d be my guess too.
“Have you ever busted through a wall?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
“You think that might be a Fae thing?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
The Rise of the Dark Lord Page 17
