48. Legion
Chapter 48
Legion
B y the time I return to our chamber, an ugly feeling has taken root in my belly, growing and multiplying with each step. Madness circles my mind like a hungry predator. There are too many variables and too many ways this could go wrong. I need Varen’s insight, Bodin’s strength, Emrys’s wit, Fox’s cunning, Styx’s stealth, and gods-damn it all, I need the fucking Wild Hunt.
I tap on the door and wait, my heart pounding against my ribs.
No answer.
The crawling thing inside me expands, threatening to consume me whole—my heart races. I wasn’t gone that long.
I tap again, harder this time. “Willow,” I call, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.
Silence.
“STYX!” I bellow into the darkness with my mind. “Come here now. STYX!”
He materializes from the shadows beside me, a disgruntled look marring his features. From his shirtless attire, mussed-up hair, and puffy eyes, I’ve clearly disturbed him from sleep. The helpless feeling inside me, the incapable thoughts whirling in my head, they give that crawling feeling a name I refuse to repeat.
“She’s not answering,” I say, gesturing at the door, hating how weak I sound. “It’s bolted.”
I said I would wait for her to wake up, but what if she’s . . .
“She’s fine,” Styx projects into my mind, his mental voice tinged with annoyance.
“How do you know?”
“I checked on her three times already. She’s asleep.”
Something eases inside me, a knot of tension I hadn’t realized existed. Then it tightens again. I didn’t ask him to check on her. He’s either very curious, murderously obsessed like Emrys or . . .
He flickers away before I can finish the thought. Inside the room, the bolt lifting grinds. The door opens, and Styx gives me an unreadable look before disappearing again. A little too quickly.
I’ll deal with him later. For now, I ensure the door is closed and bolted behind me. Then, as quietly as possible, I slip off my jacket and unbutton my collar. My boots are subsequent, set carefully by the door. The spectacles stay on, always.
Her soft, rhythmic breathing is a lullaby to my fear. By the time I reach the bed, ease down and lay beside her, I’ve forgotten the name of that ugly, crawling thing. Bathed in moonlight, her face is all I see. I stare so long that at some point, I can’t tell where the light comes from—her face or the moon.
She was right. I could have requested separate rooms. It would have made things easier. The decision to keep us together came out before I could stop it. I tried to reason away the choice, but the truth is, I want a night of indulgence. One night to lay beside her. One night for me when every other night will be for them. At least until our hive is united.
Only then will I unleash the force of my longing on her.
I shuffle closer to her but stare at the geodes glittering on the ceiling. I try not to use my lungs lest the noise obliterates hers and that ugly feeling returns.
She stirs.
I suck in a breath, holding it like a lifeline.
“Legion?” she mumbles, her voice husky with sleep.
Perhaps if I close my eyes, she will?—
“What are you doing?” Her dubious tone turns my head. She leans on an elbow, golden eyes narrowed on me, silver hair looking as soft as the dandelion seeds filling our pillows.
“I was sleeping,” I grit out, then return to glaring at the ceiling, my brows pinched together in a futile attempt at nonchalance. “Is it not obvious?”
Her soft snort hits my cheek like a caress. My insides quiver, and I want to touch her so badly that I tremble with the effort of restraint.
“Did Styx let you in?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Hm.” The blankets rustle, and her unique floral and musky perfume blooms around me. It grows stronger every day. Harder to resist. I shuffle an inch away from her, but it makes no difference. The movement sends the wrong message to my body. It says it’s time for action—pump the muscles with oxygen. My heart races. Blood rushes south. My cock hardens and throbs. Aches. Demands.
I should sleep on the floor.
I won’t.
“Did you just get in?”
“Go to sleep, Willow,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended.
Another snort. She settles, but after a few minutes, when her breathing fails to even out, I know she is still awake. And thinking. Even as a child, her thoughts were filled with open- minded curiosity. It had been easy for us to slip into her mind, to relate to her naivety with our own. As she grew, so did her natural ability to block us out. We slipped away, let her grow on her own, and tried to do the same . . . despite the darkest parts of us begging for us to do the opposite.
We are not good creatures, despite her hopes.
The enchanted spectacles weigh on my face. If I remove them, will my conscience disappear? That I’ve started considering this option is a sign I should move to the floor.
“Legion?” she asks, her voice soft in the darkness.
“Yes, Willow.”
“We’re mates, right?”
I nod.
“So why are you avoiding me?”
It hurts to exhale. That crawling feeling is back. In my gut. Churning and twisting.
“This might sound weird,” she continues, “but is it something to do with a canary you once had?”
My breath catches. “How do you know about that?”
“Cait mentioned it. Then Bodin said something about the bloody golden feathers he kept seeing in his head. And I saw one of his dreams. I thought it was a pet bird, but . . . there was a queen involved.”
The sound of her plucking blankets fills the silence, a nervous habit I’ve noticed before. As a child, she would shift out her claws and pluck and pluck and pluck. She would ensure her bedding was just right, and then she would slip into sleep.
“Are you aware of how the transfer of power works within the Sluagh?” I ask, still facing the ceiling.
“Maybe,” she mutters. “Remind me.”
“When any fae creature dies, their magic is reabsorbed through the Wellspring into the Cauldron, returned to the deities from which they originated?—”
“Wisps. Manabeeze. Blots.”
“Yes. But for us original sons of the Morrigan, we have evolved enough to return to our hive first.”
She nods. “I think I remember Fox saying something like that. Or reading it.”
“Did he explain why we have a rank?” At her head shake, I venture onward. “When our minds meld in the hive state, we think collectively and act as one. However, there are occasions where discord occurs. Rather than being thrown out of the state, potentially risking our survival if we are in battle, the decision travels up that chain of command until it reaches a tiebreaker.”
“You.”
“Yes. But also—” I swallow, the words sticking in my throat. Since the hierarchy of power inevitably falls to me, it also works in reverse. “I can slip into any of my hive’s minds or bodies, controlling them.”
“This is why you’re called Legion.” More plucking of blankets. “I don’t understand why this means you reject me.”
“I do not reject you.” That muscle in my chest squeezes. Her shaky exhale cuts short on my next word. “However . . .”
“However?”
I clear my throat, pushing past the lump forming there. “I was not a good leader. Our Seventh died because of it.”
“Oh, Legion.” Her voice is soft, filled with misplaced compassion. “So now you’re punishing yourself?”
“No. I’m correcting my mistake. I am the First. So with you, I must be the last.”
At her silence, I roll to face her and wish I hadn’t. Now, I have the picture to accompany the alluring smell. She is perfection, from her tiny scars to the sprinkle of freckles on her nose to her golden eyes and tiny fangs. I want them on my flesh. I want them biting hard, cruelly, and possessively. I want them making me feel only one thing.
Her eyes dart between mine, searching for something. She nods. Her jaw sets with determination. “I get it. You need them to trust you. It’s admirable.”
Rolling to her back, she tugs the blanket to her chin and contemplates geodes in the ceiling. I almost see her thoughts ticking over in her expression. What does this all mean? Why won’t I tell her more? How much pressure have I laid at her feet?
She glances at me, her eyes shining with determination. “I’ll help you.”
“With what?”
“With helping you keep your vow. I won’t ask about the distance between us again. I won’t ask why you won’t make love to me. I respect your vow and trust this is what you need. Thank you for telling me.”
“I’ve hardly told you anything.” Not really.
“I know there’s more.” She frowns. “But it’s clearly too painful to speak about. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
She tries to shove me away, and my heart wrenches. But it quickly becomes apparent she’s tugging the blanket from beneath me. I lift my hips to allow it freedom. She raises it to make space for me beneath the shadowy warmth.
“I’m your mate,” she yawns. “And . . . I can still hug you, even if I can’t fuck you.”
That word on her tongue. My lashes flutter. A wave of hot, hungry need hits me. Oh, what I’ll do to her when she’s finally mine. The pleasure I’ll give her. The devotion I’ll show her. The worlds I’ll burn for her. Unable to resist, I slip beneath the covers and gather her to me. The Cauldron itself sighs as her body presses against mine. I frown when my palm runs down her bare back.
“Willow,” I growl, my lips brushing against her hair. “You’re nude.”
She wiggles closer, sighing contentedly.
“I can see why you’re the First. So clever,” she mumbles sleepily.
My lips twitch. My fingers flex on her back, savoring the feeling of her warm skin against mine. I should really leave. Now.
“Relax,” she breathes. “Punish me tomorrow.”
“Now there’s an idea.”
Tomorrow will come sooner than we realize. The small reprieve from my vow will be over, and that ugly crawling feeling will return. Perhaps she is right. Perhaps this resistance of mine is a form of punishment. But she will agree it is warranted when she learns my crime. For now, though, I simply hold her, listen to her steady breathing, and feel a sense of peace for the first time in my very long life, knowing it won’t last.