Chapter 27
Niamh
All I knew was that I was warm. Deliciously, perfectly warm in a way I hadn’t been in a long, long time.
I also couldn’t remember waking up once throughout the night.
Normally I woke up several times shivering, never having enough blankets to ward against the chill of this place. Had I used an extra blanket last night?
I blinked my eyes open sleepily. The sun shining bright overhead disoriented me for a moment before my gaze dipped down to the large wide chest where my head was resting.
I froze.
A heavy green blanket covered Wolfe and me. Wolfe was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling under my cheek. His heart thrummed in a steady rhythm like a drumbeat, and the fire was now nothing but orange and red embers.
I’d fallen asleep next to a fire last night. I’d fallen asleep with Wolfe. Right after I’d seen him naked, seen his long, thick cock and imagined all the things he could do to me with it. Right after I’d heard noises coming from his cabin on my way back to the castle.
Noises that sounded suspiciously sexual. Like he’d seen me naked in a pond and needed to go stroke himself suspicious.
I swallowed, thinking about those groans and grunts coming from his window that had stopped me in my tracks, made all the heat in my body flood between my legs.
It felt impossible that I’d been the cause of that, that my naked body had been the cause of that.
Not that I wasn’t confident. I knew I had curves that drew the attention of many men—I just didn’t know Wolfe had been one of them.
Then he’d come out of his cabin and swept me up—not an easy task for most men—set me down by the fire, and told me the sweetest story about his brother that had lulled me right to sleep.
My eyes shifted as far as they could until all I could see were the chest hairs peeking out of the top of his shirt. I badly wanted to run my fingers over his skin, to peel his shirt back and take in all of him.
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. This was so bad for so many reasons.
I didn’t want to move, not one bit. I wanted to stay here curled up into Wolfe’s side.
I wanted to bathe in his warmth, to bask in his grumpiness, to listen to all his stories, every one that he would grant me. I wanted him. Wholly and fully.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened, what moment my heart decided it wanted him, but it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t have him.
First of all, he might have lusted after me last night, but he’d shown no interest in returning my feelings, and that was for the best. If he did show interest, it would make it that much more painful because we could never be together.
Not with some prophecy saying I was meant to be queen, meant to marry Cillian.
Cillian. Poor Cillian. How could I have done this to him? Fallen for his brother after he’d brought me to his castle and treated me with such kindness? Introduced me to his mother and father?
I was the worst. I was the absolute worst person who’d ever existed.
“I can hear you thinking,” Wolfe rumbled.
I sat up and yelped, looking down at him as he squinted at me. His brown hair was disheveled, and I wanted to run my fingers through it. I tucked them in my lap.
He sighed and sat up. “I guess we fell asleep. Time to get you back to the castle.”
That was it? That was his reaction to us sleeping together, to my body curled into his like it just fit? This man truly was unshakable, but that was good, I reminded myself. Wolfe not returning my completely inappropriate feelings would make it that much easier to forget about them.
“What are you worrying about?” He arched a brow.
“Nothing,” I squeaked. “How do you even know I’m worrying?”
He reached out and brushed a thumb against my bottom lip, and I shuddered. “You’re biting your lip. You do that when you’re worrying about something.”
He blinked like he was realizing that he was touching my lip and setting my entire body on fire. Well, he probably didn’t realize that second part because he was absolutely clueless.
A throat cleared, and we both jumped. “Good morning, sunshines,” Cillian said, standing in front of us, his wavy hair as impeccable as always. A royal blue cloak fluttered behind him in the breeze, and his gaze took in the scene. “What happened here?”
“Nothing.” I shot to my feet. “Nothing at all. We just slept together.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Fell asleep together, I mean. Just sleeping.”
Oh godwitches almighty. Why couldn’t I stop talking?
Cillian smirked like this was all some funny game, and Wolfe stood beside me. “Niamh just needed to warm up after taking a dip in the Smithen Pond. I offered her a seat by my fire, and we nodded off at some point.”
“Sounds practical,” Cillian said, eyes twinkling in a way I didn’t understand.
Did he not see what was happening here? Did he not get that I was falling for his stupid, grumpy brother? He was almost as clueless as Wolfe, which was infuriating. The Wolfgang brothers might very well have been the death of me.
“All warmed up now,” I lied, freezing without the heat of Wolfe’s body against mine. “And actually, I need to be going. We have a party at the library tonight.” Then because my brain still wasn’t working properly, I turned to Wolfe. “Are you coming?”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No—”
“Of course he is,” Cillian interrupted. “I need my guard by my side. Lots of people, lots of opportunities for mischief.”
“Great,” I said, my voice three pitches higher than normal.
“Well, I have to get going.” You already said that, Niamh.
“No need to come with me,” I said to both brothers, holding out my hands as they moved to follow.
The very last thing I wanted was the most awkward stroll through town in history.
“I’m sure you two have a lot of things to talk about. Brotherly things.”
I turned abruptly, marching down the hill and wishing it would swallow me up.
“You’re extra jumpy today.” Morton’s tail curled around a thick maroon ribbon that stretched from one wall to the other in front of the large back window.
We were almost done decorating the library for the party. Since Wolfe had found the library, we’d had more visitors. People stopped by daily to ask when they’d be able to check out a book, the excitement in town palpable. Cillian had been right. This was exactly what Fairwitch had needed.
A book flew over my head and straight toward the shelf, lodging between two other books.
“Oh no!” I marched to the book and yanked it out.
“I told you, you’re not a romance.” It kept putting itself in the romance section.
“Yes, you have a romance, but you can’t call yourself that if both characters die at the end. ”
“Spoiler!” Morton yelled.
I shot a stern look at the book. “You are a tragedy. Accept it already.” The book rustled in my hands.
“Well, I’m sorry, but you haven’t been read in a long time, so you don’t realize how rabid romance readers are.
If they pick you up, they’ll be expecting a happy ending.
They might get so angry they throw you.”
The book shuddered, going still.
I walked toward a shelf in the back, squinting at all the little numbers and letters Morton and I had used to label the books, then found the right spot and put the book where it belonged.
“Now, promise me you won’t move again.” The book rustled but didn’t attempt to fly out of the shelf, so I turned and walked back into the large main area of the library, plopping into one of the cushy chairs we’d recovered with a nice soft green fabric.
Weeks of work had come together, and now it was officially time to open. I was both excited and nervous.
“Are you avoiding me?” Morton’s head poked up over the side of the chair, and I jumped, putting my hand over my heart. “See?” Morton’s black eyes widened and he pointed his tail at me. “You are jumpy!”
“Well, she’s probably tired.” Margaret appeared in one of the newer paintings we’d hung, books stacked on a table with a bowl of fruit, Margaret’s upper half now blocking the lovely image. “She didn’t come back to the castle until early this morning.”
“Thank you, Margaret,” I gritted out.
“What?” Morton asked. “Where were you all night?”
“I heard she spent the night at Wolfe’s cabin. Poor thing got cold and had to be warmed.”
I rolled my eyes. “Margaret, don’t you have other things to be doing right now?”
She frowned. “Not really. I’m just a painting, you know.”
I sighed and rubbed my temples.
“You spent the night in Wolfe’s cabin?” Morton yelled.
“It wasn’t in his cabin,” I hissed. “And it was an accident. I was cold, and we were by the fire—”
“You were by a fire?” Morton yelled even louder.
“What?” Margaret asked. “What’s wrong with a fire?”
I groaned. “Wolfe is trying to help me overcome my fear of fires, and so we were sitting by one, and I was practicing breathing and chanting and Wolfe was telling me a story—”
“Wolfe told you a story?” Morton yelled even louder. “That oaf uttered enough words to make a whole story?”
I flicked him. “Will you stop doing that? Yes, he told me a story, and I fell asleep, and then I guess he fell asleep, too, and we woke up this morning and I came back here.”
Margaret chuckled. “It must not have been a very good story if you fell asleep during it.”
Morton laughed too. “Well, that part checks out.”
I remembered Wolfe telling me about Lor, how close they’d been, and it made so much sense why losing his brother affected him so deeply, so much more than the rest of his family.
“No,” I said softly. “It wasn’t boring at all. I guess I felt safe and warm, so I drifted off.”
Silence settled over the library.
“Interesting,” Morton said.
“Very,” Margaret said back.
I shot a gaze between them. “Are you two done?” I straightened and stood, bustling behind the counter to make sure we had plenty of parchment and ink for tonight. “There is nothing interesting about it.”
“You’re going to have to tell him, you know,” Morton said.
I glanced at him as I straightened the pieces of parchment on the desk. “Who am I telling what?”
“Cillian,” Morton said gently. “You’re going to have to tell him you have feelings for his brother.”
My mouth dropped open. “No, no I don’t. I-I—don’t, well”—I fiddled with my hands—“I maybe do, have some feelings, but I can hide them. Wolfe doesn’t return them, and it’s a stupid little crush. I’ll get over it.”
“Are you sure about that?” Margaret asked, tilting her head. “I’ve never heard him say more than a few words at a time. No one has. He told you an entire story? Not to mention fell asleep next to you? I didn’t think he had a warm bone in his body.”
“Because he owed me,” I said, exasperated. “He didn’t do it because he wanted to.”
“Niamh.” Morton slithered up the desk, settling right in front of the parchment. “I know you, and I know this will eat you up. You’re already getting all squeaky and restless.”
“I’m not squeaky.” I bristled.
“You’re a little squeaky.” Margaret pinched her fingers together.
“You have to tell Cillian,” Morton said again, and I bit my lip, knowing he was right.
We had less than a week left to earn our keys, and part of me was hoping this big party tonight would be it. That the castle would see how I restored its library, how I had brought people here to read and learn, and it would appreciate all my hard work so much I’d get my key.
And then Cillian would propose. My stomach sank at that part of it all.
“What if I tell him and the castle decides to throw us out?”
“What if it does?” Morton asked. “We’ve survived this long. We’ll keep surviving. Like we always have. And don’t you think it might be worth it?”
“What?” I asked.
“Finding out whether Wolfe returns your feelings?”
A heavy stone settled in my stomach at the thought of admitting all of this to Wolfe, of him looking at me with a stone-cold expression, no emotion, of how much it would hurt. I’d already lost so much in my life, and I wasn’t sure I could lose him too.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “I’ll tell Cillian. Tonight. But I’m not ready to tell Wolfe. It would just make him uncomfortable.”
Morton patted my hand with his tail. “Well, you know what’s best.”
I clearly didn’t. I was fumbling my way through all of this, but tonight, I would tell Cillian the truth and hope that I didn’t lose everything that mattered to me in the process.