21. Willow
Chapter 21
Willow
B odin stares at me from across the round table, tense and looking like he wants to say something. I hope he’ll open up about what’s worrying him, but he abruptly presses another berry against my lips. His gaze darkens hotly when I open, allowing his offering partly inside.
“Nibble the tip.” His gruff voice sends shivers down my spine.
We’re mere yards from the music and dancing, yet the noise and crowd melt away. Why is he so mesmerized by my mouth? It can’t be that enticing . . . can it?
“Tell me what it tastes like,” he murmurs, nudging the berry deeper.
I bite down, and juice bursts, trickling with abundance down my chin.
“Oops.” I try to catch the spill.
“Gentle,” he scolds, brushing his thumb along my chin to catch the drip. He licks his thumb and brings the berry to my mouth again. “Once more. But savor it. Yes, like that.”
My second nibble is softer, allowing the juices to pool on my tongue. There’s something in how he looks at me, eyelids heavy, pupils blown, breath shallow. I feel an echo of it myself, low and hot in my belly. Lower. Between my thighs. I press them together with a moan.
His eyes crinkle. “That good, huh?”
I nod.
“What does it taste like?” he asks.
“Sweet. Tart.”
His brows pucker. “What is sweet and tart?”
“You don’t know?”
“Most things taste like dirt to us,” he explains absently, tossing the crushed berry, licking his fingers, then finding another ripe one on the plate. “Fox plays a game sometimes to guess what it’s like for those more alive than us, but . . . ah, this one. Here.”
“Why?” I stubbornly avoid his advance. “You seem alive to me.”
“It is not the same.” He scowls. “It’s hard to explain without my memories.”
His expression shutters, and I feel like I’ve lost him. He turns his vigilant gaze to the crowd and asks, “We shouldn’t dawdle. Where has Styx gone?”
“He’s on the dance floor,” I grumble, then blush when he gives me a questioning look.
How has he not noticed Styx with his arms up, his muscular torso glistening with sweat as he stares at the stars and sways hypnotically to the music? Every female in his vicinity can’t take their eyes off him and his body. Chasers circle like sharks. Yet he’s oblivious to all of them as he sucks on that heady cigarillo, lost in his own world, nodding to himself every so often as if he’s . . . I gasp.
“Is he sneaking into people’s minds?” I ask.
“Naturally.”
I smile despite myself. Fox was averse to entering minds without consent, but something about Styx doing it makes me think he’s just curious about these people, their customs, and their desires.
The dance floor is filled with mortals. The flute and rhythmic drums keep pulling into familiar glimpses of tunes I recognize from my time in Crystal City. Rory had an old tiny brick that played music, and Nero had something he called a granniphone—no, a grandmaphone. No, that’s not right either. Whatever it was called, it recorded music for later play. The nightly shows at dinner featured music from the old world. They used old-world songs to remember humanity’s history. I liked that part of their society—they honored the beauty they lost.
Kind of like the way my mom and her friends continue to have their cocktail tradition.
Of course, Nero used our love of music as propaganda. He forced my Aunt Melody to sing certain songs so he could evoke the mood he required before grandstanding about the so-called Tainted Fae. Tears prickle my eyes, and I shake myself a little.
I have to stop blaming myself for what happened. If I hadn’t been in Crystal City, Queen Maebh would have killed me. Melody would never have met her Well-blessed mate Forrest. Multiple matings afterward wouldn’t have happened either. How can I put my suffering before the love of so many couples? Events were even manipulated so my parents would find each other because of my prophesized birth.
I was kidnapped, alone, and made to murder animals and innocent people, then bring them back to life so they could murder more under my direction. But now I’m here, searching for redemption and my happily ever after. A tugging in my chest lifts my gaze to Bodin. His eyes are closed, his brows pinched, and he sways as he did at the bar.
Concerned, I touch his hand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He tugs his hand away and resumes a listless search of the crowd, but his eyes have lost the spark they gained when feeding me berries.
I probably look like a mess. I’m sticky, covered in juice, but he seems to like that. A wicked idea forms in my mind.
“Tell me what’s making you frown . . .” I rifle through the fruit and hand him a round, plump berry that smells divine. “. . . and I’ll let you do to my mouth whatever you were fantasizing about earlier.”
The impact of our eyes clashing steals my breath. The intense wave of lust and longing from him nearly bowls me over. It smells spicy, male, and good. He slowly removes the berry from my fingers and inches closer, but I shake my head.
“You go first,” I say.
His arrogant, frustrated growl floods my lower belly with desire. That shouldn’t turn me on, but it reminds me of how he pinned me beneath him after our sparring. The way he dominated me triggered every wolfish instinct in my body.
Stay strong, Willow. He needs to learn to share. How can I help him, how can we bond if he can’t share his worries?
“Bodin?” I press. “If you let me in, maybe I can help.”
He cups the back of his neck, stares at the berry, then rushes out his words, “I keep seeing things in my head. It makes no sense and leaves me ill.”
I glance around to see if anyone is within earshot, but the music is loud enough to cover us. “What do you see?”
“Yellow feathers. Blood. In my trembling hands.”
Cait questioned Legion, Does he know about your canary?
Nero forced me to kill birds and then bring them back to life. At first, I refused. After a while, he threatened to use Rory as the practice subject. That’s how he lured me into my first kill . . . I was trying to protect her.
The death of an innocent, no matter how small, is harrowing.
My lips part to ask more, but he pushes the berry into my mouth. I’m unsure if it’s my surprise clamping down or his trembling fingers squishing, but it bursts. I groan appreciatively. It’s the juiciest one yet. He swears again at his ineptitude, but I laugh as rivulets run down my neck and tickle.
“It’s fine.” I lick around my lips. “It’s just juice.”
“I hope so,” he grumbles, wiping his hands on his shirt. “I don’t recognize this delicacy.”
“It was an accident.” I grip his arms to stop his fussing. “What are you worried about?”
“What if I poisoned you because I—” He bites off his words and frowns at my lips. “I should . . . taste it to see. Maybe.”
“You’re going to poison yourself too?” I laugh too easily.
His mood is anything but amused as he dips and swipes his tongue along my lip. Warm, wet, male. He tastes— oh . His tongue pushes into my mouth, and now he’s kissing me, slow and deep. I am dazed and disoriented when he breaks away.
I chase his lips, but he mutters darkly, “It won’t kill you.”
“What won’t?”
“The berry,” he explains, still close, breath warm on my face. “It’s not going to kill you.”
“You sure?” That was dumb, Willow. Use your words. “Maybe you should check again.”
A glint in his eyes. His lips curve, lighting up his face in a way I’ve never seen before. Butterflies riot in my stomach as he leans in again but hovers an inch from my mouth. The heat of his body, the smell of leather and spice mixed with male—it turns my insides liquid. His hand curves around my nape and controls me so I’m pinned as he drives his tongue in deep. His plundering kiss is dizzying, drugging, and it fries every cell in my brain. He kisses nothing like Fox. Fox was enticing, seductive. Bodin is taking, claiming.
I exist as the object of his fascination, and I’m okay with that.
More than okay.
I fist his shirt and tug him closer. He growls, hand slipping up into my hair and clenching tight, holding me still so he can finish how he wants. When he pulls back, we’re both panting hard. My lips are swollen and tingling. A pleasant warmth has spilled through my body, loosening my limbs and heightening my awareness of every hot, mouthwatering inch of his square jaw, thick neck, and taut tendons. Fuck, that vein—that smooth, velvety skin. It reminds me of a hard, rigid cock, and now I want to see what his looks like. My eyes dip down to the bulge in his pants. No one will notice if I get on my knees now.
A low, appreciative growl rumbles from the base of my throat. My knees weaken, and I try to drop, but he holds me steady, a concerned look in his eyes.
“What was in that berry?” he muses.
“It’s likely a grape from a faerie vine, not a berry.” Legion appears like an apparition at our table. Whoa. I blink. He’s also looking mighty sexy with those brass spectacles framing his long-lashed eyes. Such beautiful, soulful eyes I can get lost inside.
Styx arrives also, all lazy, puffy-eyed, and messy-haired. He searches the tray. “Any left?”
“Styx!” I squeal. He gives me a dubious look. I tug myself from Bodin’s arms and throw myself onto him. “I’m so happy to see you.”
“The effects are mild,” Legion drawls, steadying me when I stumble. He holds me at arm’s length and searches my eyes. “More a loosening of the body than the mind. Still, don’t eat another.”
“I feel fine.” I grin, all warm and fuzzy. “This is nothing like what Milford drugged me with.”
Someone snarls viciously, but I can’t tell who. They’re all suddenly furious.
“Lighten up, guys.” I toss a grape at Bodin, the scowliest. “Or we’ll never get out of here alive.”
He catches it before his face. Styx’s lips twitch. Legion’s gaze hardens as he scans me from top to toe. “This is problematic.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
“You smell like a berry.” He frowns. “Instead of . . .”
“You?” I boop his nose, grinning when his frown deepens.
“Precisely. You need to smell like us.” His nostrils flare. “Fae have heightened senses.”
“I’m well aware of that.” I point to my ears.
“So then you’re on board with us covering you with our scent.” This coming from Styx surprises me. I partly think he’s mocking me, partly testing me.
I shrug. “Actually, I think that would be comforting. I’ve been secretly stealing your clothes . . . Especially Fox’s.”
“Agreed,” Legion nods. His eyes already tell me he’s formulating the best way to have them all set up a roster for who marks me and when. Whose shirt can I borrow next. I have to admit, I was teasing them at first, but now they’re staring at me so Well-damn seriously.
Wolves have glands on their paws. They also mark by—ew. “No one is allowed to urinate on me. Got it?” I scold a little too loudly. “Just in case you were confused.”
“No confusion here.” Legion’s eyes glimmer with amusement. He gently directs me back into Bodin’s arms. “You are the first queen we’re biologically compatible with.”
“Not a queen,” I correct. Wait. “Biologically compatible?”
“Yes,” he says simply.
A thought occurs to me. “That means I should probably go on some kind of birth control, right? Do they have that pink elixir my aunts take here?”
Legion tenses. He takes a noticeable step away from me, but I don’t think I offended him. He seems to be composing himself. It’s good to see him get affected by the same things I do. The more I see these little genuine tells of emotion, the more my old, misguided thoughts about the Sluagh disappear. These little moments, these little looks cast my way, remind me of the fondness shared between my parents. I can only be good. Right.
“Cait is honoring her deal with Fox,” Legion notes, returning to business. “She leaves tomorrow.”
“That’s good news,” Bodin replies, eyes flicking to me with thought. “What is this elixir?”
Legion stares at me. Something like longing flickers in his eyes before they turn cold, and he returns to Bodin. “I will ask her about the elixir.”
“Um. Thanks?” I wave my hand. They’re talking about me like I’m not here.
All eyes land on me. Stare.
“You have juice all over you,” Legion notes, and I laugh.
This feels good. I like it.