Chapter Kaitlyn
KAITLYN
Linton does not go back to sleep after his night terrors. I manage some, fitfully, before the dawn breaks in through the window, and I’m thoroughly grateful for his warm wings around me.
“I hope I did not scare you, Kaitlyn,” he rumbles, his voice ragged.
“I thought that was your aim, being a Bluecap assassin.” I smile up at him. “To scare people.”
“Not you.” He brushes his hand down my arm. “You took my spicket and made it explode. You put your mouth on my mouth and made me feel like I was flying through clouds. And then you put it on my spicket…” he says with a heated breath. “I liked that very much.”
Linton half closes his eyes, his face sporting a smile which is part lust, part desire, and all memories. He slowly licks his lips, revealing the very tips of his fangs which pop over his bottom lip and stay there once his tongue retreats.
I think he has to be possibly the least scary creature I’ve ever encountered.
“My Kaitlyn, you are my first mating.” He opens his eyes and studies my face. “Now I have mated, I never want to stop.”
“Never?” I hold back a laugh.
“I want to be inside you always. You are so tight and warm,” he pants.
“What about eating and working?”
Linton cocks his head on one side and contemplates the suggestion.
“I suppose we should do that,” he says. “But when we are not, I would like to mate.”
“And what about sleeping?”
Linton dips his head so he can shove it in the crook of my neck. “I want you to sleep with me.”
I notice he doesn’t repeat the obviously false assertion he doesn’t sleep, but he doesn’t deny it either. I wonder how much he remembers from the night, but given how disturbed he was, I don’t want to push it with him.
Linton will tell me when he’s ready. He might be chaos, but I’m beginning to see why.
I run my hand over his hair and antennae, currently flat against his head, mindful of how touching them affects him.
Linton released a happy hum. It makes my toes curl and my stomach contract as my heart flips in my chest.
This mothman has stolen into my life, creeped onto my soul, and taken my heart. He’s so damn good at it, I didn’t even realise it was happening. It turns out Linton is quite the master assassin, probably even more than he thought, and Linton has a massive ego.
Or rather, Linton has no one to believe in him, other than himself.
As much as I think Linton would want us to stay in bed, we rise.
I have a cursory wash, watched by a very curious mothman, who eventually decides he needs to help and spends some time cleaning me (a long dark tongue is also involved), which means I’m hot and bothered by the time we make it to the kitchens.
Someone has kept the fires in the ranges going all night, and I set to work, directing Linton on how to knock back the dough I set aside in the cool scullery to prove last night.
Unsurprisingly, he rather enjoys it, although his attempts at rolling the rolls are somewhat more unsuccessful.
Once we’re ready, everything goes into the ovens using long boards. While I fear for Linton’s wings, he is, fearless in how he wields the boards once I show him how.
Finally, we’re able to take a seat and I make a cup of tea. Linton eyes it suspiciously.
“What is that?” he growls. “Everyone in the Yeavering drinks it.”
“It’s tea.” I take a sip of the fragrant brew, something the Yeavering does well and probably the best I’ve had outside of Yorkshire. “Do you want to try it?”
I offer him the cup. He narrows his eyes at it, as if it’s some sort of weapon. Then he takes it from me and lifts it to his lips, keeping his gaze entirely on me as he sips at it.
Linton smacks his lips.
“Not as bad as I expected.” He hands the cup back to me. “Although I prefer my usual choice.”
He gives me a dark, hungry look.
“We can’t let the bread burn,” I warn him.
“I wasn’t going to,” Linton says, taking my hand and running his long, clawed fingers down over my wrist and up my arm.
He gives me the biggest of blood red eyes.
I can’t help but snort a laugh. Linton will clearly do anything but ask me if he can feed.
I shove my wrist under his nose and take another sip of tea.
The tip of his dark tongue pokes out, laps over my skin before his mouth closes over it and the familiar feeling of bliss flows through me with the first long draughts Linton takes.
Heat pools between my legs, but I brazen it out. I’ve already been railed by the mothman once in the last twelve hours, and while I would very much love to be plundered by him once again, I have bread to bake.
And I can’t possibly fall for him, can I?