Conall
Game night at Layla's with Ivy was actually pretty enjoyable. Watching Ivy act out random animals was adorable. Everything grew even funnier when she banned magic. Laz looked like he might cry.
Walking home, Ivy keeps falling behind, eyes wandering to the stars and the trees.
Her arms are crossed in front of her, squeezing close to herself like she's cold.
After we got the desserts, I noticed she felt off, quieter than usual, her smile not quite reaching her eyes, even as she played along with the rest of us.
I fall back to walk beside her. "Anything wrong?"
She glances at me with a hard expression I've never seen before. "Where are the children?"
I come to an abrupt stop, breath catching, surprised by the unexpected question. For a moment, confusion mixes with concern. She takes a few more steps before turning back to me. "You've been talking to Nick."
"Maybe. Why aren't there children, Conall?" I close my eyes. This won't go well.
"The wards Laz set up about twenty years ago," I say.
"After the monster killed Amy's mother?" Her voice drops, as if Amy might overhear even though she’s all the way back at the house.
I tilt my face to the sky and inhale deeply. "Yes. When he reinforced the wards to make them stronger and more discerning, they became overly selective."
She lets out an aggravated sound and stomps closer, now just inches away. "What does that mean?"
"It means that when Laz reinforced the wards to keep more monsters off the island, the wards interpreted that as barring any new monsters."
She glares at me, weighing my words, then her eyes widen, and she steps back.
"No one can have children on this island because of the wards?
" Ivy asks softly. There's a break in her voice, exposing her heartache and making my own chest squeeze.
Instinctively, I step closer, drawn by her pain, and she doesn't move away.
The fireflies pulse around us. An incomplete moon hangs above in the night sky, with a million points of light.
A soft breeze whirls, tossing her hair, strands drifting across her face, one catching on the single tear trailing down her cheek.
Nothing about me can be cool or aloof when Ivy is crying in front of me.
I step up to her slowly, giving her time to pull away if she's uncomfortable.
I'm careful of my claws as I gently push the hair from her face, then rest my knuckles against her chin and use the pads of my thumbs to wipe her tears away.
Her large brown eyes look up at me as though I were the axis of her world. As though she finally trusts me.
Then her brow furrows, uncertainty flashing in her eyes. "Why didn't he just change the wards? Adjust them or whatever? Why keep them like this? No kids, for twenty years?"
I sigh, feeling a weight settle between us, one hand passing through her curls, the other smoothing down her arm.
"Remember what I said about Laz? He lost his memory. And he lost it a long time ago. He doesn't entirely know what he's doing, not with the wards. He couldn't adjust them. Ursula, one of the last living witches, could have, but no one trusted her to."
"Why?"
I sigh. It's a lot to explain here. I glance around. "Ursula had lived for over five centuries, several of them on this island. In that time, she'd caused her share of trouble. She'd also opened the wards for that last family. The one who attacked. No one trusted her judgment."
"So instead they just live here and never get to have children if they want them? That seems horrible. Why don't they just leave?"
I raise my hand, flashing my claws in front of her. “Laz hid these when you arrived, but they're part of me. People would notice. Anyone who stays here can't safely live outside.”
A quiet pause follows my words, tension settling over us after the weight of our admissions.
She stares at the claws and then leans forward.
Her breath is warm against my palm. I reach forward, gliding my fingers along her jaw, and rest the pad of my thumb on her bottom lip.
She doesn't pull away. Her eyes flick up to mine from beneath her lashes, deep brown and shining in the moonlight.
The way she looks at me makes something deep in my chest tighten with want I shouldn't feel.
Somehow I end up closer, lower. My mouth brushes hers, my thumb replaced by the slow swipe of my tongue. She tastes warm and soft and a little salty from her tears. I want her so badly it hurts.
"Conall," she gasps, hands fisting my shirt and trying to pull me closer even though there's no space left between us.
The sound of my name on her lips cracks the last of my restraint.
My mouth presses to hers, and she opens for me, eager and trembling.
My hand slides into her soft hair, gripping the back of her neck, while the other grabs her hip and pulls her flush against me.
Everywhere we touch sparks, and not in the way things feel electric when you finally kiss the person you desire more than anyone you've wanted before. These are literal sparks. Green ones.
Ivy pulls back just enough to look at me, still in my arms. "What is that? It doesn't happen all the time when I'm with you, but it doesn't happen with anyone else."
My arms are still wrapped around her, and God, I want to stay that way.
But I know what she'll do the moment I tell her.
So I move my hand from the back of her neck into her hair, threading the soft curls between my fingers, and lean forward until my forehead rests against hers.
Her eyes close, leaning into me, but mine stay open, taking in everything from the scatter of freckles that mirror the stars above us to the slight pout of her kiss-bruised lips.
"Because," I breathe, everything in me bracing, "you're my mate."