56. Chapter Fifty-Six
It’s deep into the night by the time we come up for air. Sex with Kyrielle is absolutely transcendent. Nothing I could’ve imagined or hoped for. Every person I’ve ever slept with pales in comparison.
Leaving her to catch her breath in the bed, I go to grab us two bottles of water. My mind is reeling from all the changes these past few weeks. I’ve never felt happier or lighter. Kyrielle might be allowed to do some surprises because the Lyriquoi was exactly what I needed.
When I return, she’s wrapped in blankets, her hair an absolute mess with a swollen mouth. She grins, taking the offered water. “Hydration is a vital part of sex fests.”
Sitting beside her, I open my bottle. “Is that what this is? A sex fest?”
She motions to us, the messy bed, and the air. “All the trappings of a sex fest.”
“So does that mean we need a round five?” I ask, grinning at the prospect.
“Duh,” she says, chuckling.
We both sip our water, lost in our thoughts for a moment. It’s a quiet, companionable silence; we’ve earned it. We’ve grown leaps and bounds since she stormed in here all those weeks — months? — ago.
Kyrielle turns toward me. “I’d like to ask one of my questions.”
I roll my eyes. “One day, some day soon, I’d love for us to know everything about one another so I never have to do this again.”
She gives me a look of disbelief. “You think I’ll never have questions again?”
“I’d rather the questions be more along the lines of, ‘Hey, Trinte, do you want to do anal tonight?’”
To my delight, her brows shoot upward. “I mean, do you?”
I stare at her. “You’re serious?”
She frowns. “You aren’t?”
Shaking my head, I take another sip of water before saying, “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
“You dicked me down good a few months back,” she stage whispers.
“Anyway,” I say loudly. “What is your question?”
“Do you honestly think you killed your mom?”
Her questions are obscenely unpredictable.
For some reason I don’t understand, the question doesn’t bother me like the others.
I sigh, slowly tearing the label off the water bottle.
“Yes, and no. I mean, when you’re told at the age of three that you’re responsible for something, then told it repeatedly for years …
it’s difficult to not make that an identity feature. ”
Kyrielle leans against my shoulder, and I kiss the top of her head before continuing. “A part of me will probably always have unreasonable guilt because of it. But also, the adult version of myself knows clearly that it’s not my fault.”
“Can I get a bonus question?”
I huff out a laugh. “Yes, but only because you did that thing with your tongue.”
She beams. “On that stupendously bad day, I came and saved your life—”
“A little dramatic and unnecessary—”
“—you said I’m probably going to die, too. What did you mean?”
I look away from her open, trusting gaze. That question is a little more complicated.
“You know my mom died, but also …” My throat tightens, thinking of that terrible, awful day. My fingers pluck at the water bottle label, trying to steady my emotions. “Rhuth was the only woman, for a really long time, who was not only a friend, but loved me in her own way.”
“Fynn’s other wife?”
I nod. “She died in a Dragxi accident, pregnant with their son. It was devastating, to say the least.” Old heartbreak resurfaces, heating my face and burning my eyes. “I guess a part of me thinks if a woman is important, she’s going to die.”
She snuggles closer, and I wrap an arm around her, hugging her tight. One of her arms lays across my stomach. “I promise to haunt you if that happens.”
Resting a hand on her arm, I give it a little squeeze. “I’d be delighted to have you around, little ghost.” I pause, then ask, “Fair’s fair; tell me about your parents.”
Into my chest, she groans. “Blerghhh. Why?”
“Because I want to know you, Firefly.”
She cranes her neck at an awkward angle to look at me. “It’s stupid.”
I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed with her deflection skills. “Well, considering we killed your step-father, and you never discuss your biological mother or father … I think there’s more to it than that.”
She burrows deep into my side, tucking her legs to her chest. That simply will not do.
Bundling her into a ball, I hold her against my chest to look at her face.
It’s drawn tight with sadness. A part of me wants to tell her it’s okay, that we don’t need to talk about it — then I remember all the times she’s pushed me into a corner and forced me to speak.
Fair’s fair.
“My dad died when I was younger. Some illness; I don’t know what because my mother refused to talk about it and I was too young to understand.” Her face flushes with anger. “So all I have is that photo at home, and some vague memories. Another thing she took from me.”
I hum thoughtfully. “And your mom? Is she alive?”
“Probably,” she mutters. “Clearly not with Huracio anymore. But after I burned down her house—”
“You burnt down her house?” I can’t help but grin. She’s so bloodthirsty; I love it. If there’s one thing Dragons can understand, it’s revenge.
Kyrielle cringes, spreading her mouth wide in a comical grimace. “Uh, yeah. Right before I gave Huracio that scar.”
Pressing a loud smacking kiss to her forehead, I chuckle. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
“Don’t piss me off.”
I roll my eyes. “Did your mother know about Huracio?”
Kyrielle’s face transforms into a furious snarl. “My mother loved playing the victim, but I’m almost certain she did.”
“Why?”
“When I was fifteen, I tried to tell her what he was doing. She told me I was making it up and married him anyway.”
“I’m surprised you’ve let her live.” I’m half-joking, but after everything I’ve learned about her, I’m a little surprised.
“She has to live with herself,” Kyrielle says simply. “What a burden that must be, to know your daughter loathes you.”
Brushing one of her messy strands of hair from her face, I say, “It’s definitely her loss. Because her daughter turned out magnificent in spite of it all.”
Suddenly shy, Kyrielle looks away. I see her lower lip quiver. “Thank you.”
My heart expands from this moment of connection with her. It makes me want to know her even more. “I have a question.”
Her orange eyes find mine again. “What is it?”
After taking a moment to consider the merit of asking, I say, “Why do you have so many locks on all of your doors?”
Kyrielle lets out a whine, snuggles onto my chest, and kicks out dramatically with one foot. “Do I really have to answer?”
“Fair’s fair.”
She sighs. “Fine. It’s something I started when I moved in with Talia and Orliana.
When I asked for a lock, she bought me one.
After a nightmare, I would ask for a new one.
” Her voice softens. “I guess I thought it would help lock out real and imaginary dangers.” Kyrielle huffs out a bitter laugh.
“I could light up anyone dumb enough to break-in, but …” She taps her temple with a finger.
“… it doesn’t fix what’s in here. I couldn’t lock my door as a kid, so now … every door is locked tight.”
The ache in my chest is almost unbearable. “If you want, I’ll go buy more locks.”
She cranes her head to look at me. “You would?”
“Of course. I’ll go right now, if you want me to.”
Her lower lip wobbles. More tears shimmer in those wildfire eyes. “Thank you.”
I hug her tighter, loving the way she fits in my arms. She looks on the edge of being well and truly upset, so I hope what I’m about to say cheers her up. “I have a surprise for you.”
The tears dry quickly. “You do?”
My heart races. What if she doesn’t like it? No, she’ll love it. “So I was talking to Fynn about when we went to the homeless shelter. And …”
I pause, building suspense on purpose. Unlike me, she likes surprises. She’s almost rattling with anticipation. “And …?”
“We’re starting a program to offer free Dragxi rides to people staying at the homeless shelter.”
She stares at me, expression blank. When she says nothing, I crack a nervous smile. “Yeah, so they will get special identification, so when they call in, the ride is entirely free.”
Kyrielle stares and stares. My heart races and my stomach churns. She hates it. That expression, or lack thereof, means I’ve done too much. Taken it too far. I’ve ruined something again.
Panicking, I rush out to say that I’m sorry, that I wasn’t trying to upset her. “Kyrielle, I—”
“I’m so deeply, completely in love with you.”
Now it’s my turn to startle. Watching her mouth shift into the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. My heart leaps, and I can’t help but release a surprised, abrupt laugh. She loves me. Someone actually loves me.
So this is what it feels like.
Love feels like soaring as high as possible in the air until the oxygen’s thin and the air’s frigid.
When you finally stop climbing, you just …
let go. It was a game Fynn, and I used to play as kids.
The amount of times we almost died. The rush of it all.
Landing, after avoiding death, and laughing about it all with a mix of terror and relief.
That’s how loving Kyrielle feels.
She shifts to straddle me, bringing hands to my face, squishing it. Her bare breasts brush against my chest, and my cock twitches. But her serious, earnest expression refocuses me. “Trinte Gleanscale, I want to ask my fifth question.”
I’m not afraid anymore. With a squished face, I ask, “What is your question?”
“Will you be in a relationship with me?”
I frown. Words garbled from how hard she’s pressing my cheeks, I ask, “What about your rule about being a battle bunny?”
“Fuck the rule,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We’re so beyond that rule, it’s not even funny.”
While I hadn’t been fully aware of how much this limitation affected me, the release is instantaneous. She wants me in her life that much, that she’s willing to endure some possibly shitty comments from the men. She’s choosing me.