Chapter Fifty-Five
Nicole
NICOLE LAY IN THE CIRCLE OF KYAN’S ARMS, HER TEMPLE IN the warm dip at his shoulder. His eyes had closed but he still brushed her damp hair as she traced his chest – her stomach against his – then traced his features, like she was painting him.
The terrible tension in his body had eased as the shaky, ephemeral one inside her had too. When she shifted, his eyes opened and they were like sated fires – still burning, still hot, but banked. A haven in the dark.
The windows were misted with condensation, the fire having burned low. The cabin with its golden light and drowsy warmth, seemed a lambent hideaway on the edge of the mythic and mortal worlds.
And yet, she didn’t want to ignore what had happened.
‘We should probably talk about what the Druid said,’ Nicole said softly.
He didn’t tense but she could feel the resolve in him harden, the shield of time pierced and torn to reveal not just the grief, but anger.
The warmth in his eyes simmered with conflict, loss.
‘We’ll find the harp and call the goddess back,’ Nicole vowed to him, even though she had no idea if that was truly possible, if she could even wrap her mind around the scale of that divinity. ‘She can end this. You’re not doing it, you understand? I don’t care what the Druid said.’
‘You’re not doing it either.’
She puffed out breath.
Kyan shifted, body curving around hers more, bathing her in heat and intention. ‘I’m serious, Nicole. Don’t think I didn’t notice you asking questions. Just because you’re not oathed doesn’t mean your mother’s plan falls to you.’
Tears suddenly burned her eyes and she touched his chest, stroked where his heart beat steadily. ‘We’ve learned a lot, but we don’t need to make any kind of decision, okay? Before anything else, we’d need your torc and the final goddessblood item. We don’t even know what it is. Where it is.’
This, all of it, was supposed to be myth and legend. It was supposed to be safely separate from her, in paintings and objects and research.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
‘Always the researcher,’ Kyan murmured, stroking her jaw.
‘I—’
‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow,’ he said softly and leaned close enough his lips moved hers with his next words. ‘I want to do something first.’
She couldn’t help her smile and the warmth of a blush as her body awakened again at his touch.
He laughed. ‘Cook for you, Nicole. I want to cook you dinner.’
Kyan
‘HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?’ NICOLE ASKED, REACHING OUT TO trace the slightly skewed line of Kyan’s nose. Her touch was feather-soft and burning, and made him pause mid-chop as his blood re-routed.
They’d opened a bottle of red wine and the supernaturally strong alcohol had already dyed her lips slightly red.
He’d spent a good ten minutes raking his teeth and tongue along the seam of her mouth until she’d squirmed and done his favourite thing – knotted her fingers in his T-shirt to keep him close.
But when she’d palmed him elsewhere, he’d forced himself backwards before he could strip her back down and get her gasping his name again.
He wanted to feed her. Wanted them to have the rest of this night.
Seeing her flushed and pleasured in the bed they’d been in – gods, he could smell their scent.
She’d looked so peaceful and lovely and satisfied that the overwhelming love threatened to crack his chest open.
The thought that Logan had tried to hurt her …
the room blurred at the edges as he battled the rage, his breathing choppy.
You killed him, he reminded himself.
She’s safe.
He focused on the food, glad he’d thought to stock the rental car with a cooler so he could remake the meal he’d first made for her in Estwood.
But that hadn’t stopped her watching him with an appetite that forced him to use every inch of his willpower, even if his body still hadn’t got the memo.
Not since she’d wrapped her fingers around him in his townhouse and he’d been …
remade. There was no other word for it. He’d spent most of his life ignoring any desires that didn’t serve the hunt.
And then Nicole had marched right into the middle of it.
Kyan smiled and glanced at her. She was dressed in a short pyjama set of white cotton and little straps that hugged her form.
He had to force himself to stop touching, despite how her body was screaming at him what she was feeling.
Her hair fanned out around her shoulders and that fascinated, attentive look on her face reminded him she’d asked a question.
I’m in love with you, he thought.
‘Ah.’ He cleared his throat, focused. ‘It happened during the Battle of Cooley, the one talked about in the Táin. My – one of my foster fathers punched me in the face and broke my nose.’
She sat up, eyes flashing with outrage. ‘It better have been an accident.’
His smile turned rueful. ‘No, actually. Do you remember my uncle, King Conchobar?’
He needn’t have checked, there was no way his mate, with her knowledge-eager eyes, could have forgotten. He was proven right when she nodded.
‘The modernisation of his name would probably be Conor today. Queen Medb started a war against him – over much more than cattle, despite what the legends claim.
‘I had a chance to kill her, and I thought I could do it. I thought it would end the war.’ His throat worked, images of blood and dead horses replaced by the swinging weight of a weapon.
‘But I hesitated. It gave Fergus – my foster father – a moment to intervene. He’d been bewitched by her, I think, because he’d turned to her side.
He punched me. Broke my nose in one swift blow.
’ Kyan clamped it now between his thumb and forefinger. ‘It never quite healed straight.’
Worry shaded her features. ‘That would have been upsetting.’
How long had it been since someone cared for him like this? In such an intimate but fierce way?
‘It was a long time ago,’ he said, throat tight.
She made a thoughtful, unhappy little noise.
He resumed chopping. ‘Are there any more family members of yours I have to meet?’
‘Not really.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘My mother had a sister, but we don’t know much about her. She betrayed her in some way a long time ago.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I never met her; she doesn’t know about us. We have each other, that’s all the family I need and they taught me all I need to know about love and home and loyalty.’
He’d thought his king had taught him the meaning of loyalty.
The Wake had then given it a new bedrock that slowly encompassed his soul.
Loyalty became the quality by which he measured himself.
If he was loyal to others who knew better, knew more, like his Empyrean instincts, then he couldn’t make mistakes.
But then he’d met Nicole, and loyalty transformed again. Loyalty became the bloodied knife of his protection; the recesses of his morals and his lost magic.
I love you, he nearly said again. I’m going to do everything in my power to get you what you need. To keep you and your loved ones safe. To make sure you can live without fear.
‘Tá mé sa bhaile leat cheana féin,’ he’d said to her in the forest.
I’m already at home with you.
And as the night deepened and the storm calmed, he proved it to her.
Again, and again, and again.