One minute, we're swimming through magical underwater kingdoms and battling ancient girl drama, and the next, we're back in the land of smartphones, luxury real estate, and gas-guzzling SUVs. It's like being yanked out of a high-fantasy novel and dropped into an episode of "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous: Supernatural Edition."
I can't help but feel a little disoriented, my mind struggling to adjust to the jarring shift in reality. My brain is a rusty gear, grinding and rattling as it tries to switch between the different settings of the multiverse.
"Is it just me, or is this whole realm-hopping thing starting to feel like the world's most fucked-up case of jet lag?" I muse, my fingers tapping restlessly against the countertop. "I love a good adventure as much as the next girl, but sometimes I just want to sit down and watch some mindless reality TV without worrying about the fabric of the universe unraveling around me."
"I know what you mean, Angel. We don't get the luxury of a normal life."
I sigh, leaning my head back against his chest. "I know. And I wouldn't trade this life for anything. But sometimes, I wish we could take a break from the chaos, you know? Just be a regular couple and do regular couple things. Like arguing over what to watch on Netflix or fighting for the last piece of pizza."
Rhyland chuckles, spinning me in my chair and kissing my forehead. "Well, we might not be able to escape the chaos completely, but I think we can manage some normalcy now and then. How about this? After we deal with this werewolf situation and make sure the realms aren't going to implode, we take a day just for us. No magic, no monsters, no impending doom. Just you, me, and a lot of junk food and trashy TV."
I can't help but grin at the thought, my heart swelling with love for this man who always seems to know what I need. "That sounds perfect," I murmur, tilting my head to capture his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. "And you still owe me that date, mister," I remind him, my voice a playful purr.
"Ahh, yes, the date," Rhyland growls, his beautiful blue eyes darkening with desire and amusement.
He grips my waist with his large, calloused hands, effortlessly lifting me onto the kitchen island. Now at eye level, he steps between my parted thighs, his body a solid wall of muscle and heat.
I flashback to that first time in my apartment in this position when he sat me on my kitchen island and worked his magic fingers and tongue until I was a writhing, moaning mess. The memory sends a bolt of liquid heat straight to my core, and I squeeze my legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
My hands wander up his muscular chest, appreciating how his black tattoos beckon my fingers on his godlike physique—the gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. It should be a goddamn crime for him to look this good in loungewear.
And speaking of crimes, the way his monster cock is just swinging free beneath the thin fabric is practically a felony. I lick my lips, my mind flooding with all the filthy things I want to do to him. Again.
"You're doing it again," Rhyland smirks, his gaze roaming over my face, knowing I am practically drooling. "Have you decided yet on who won that bet, Angel?"
I smile at him, my fingers toying with the back of his hair. "Hmmm, I do recall winning that bet fair and square. And to the victor go the spoils, right?"
Rhyland's hands squeeze my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh in a way that makes me want to purr. "Mmm, I think it was a tie, baby—a team effort."
I arch a brow, my lips curving into a challenging grin. "Oh? Because last time I checked, that nasty creature was all up in my head, not yours. It reached out to me telepathically, which means I'm the one who had to deal with its creepy-ass voice invading my brain. Therefore, I am the victor, and you, my sexy Viking, owe me a date of my choosing and a whole lot of sexual favors."
Rhyland throws his head back and laughs, the sound so deep and rich that I swear I can feel it in my bones.
Damn, he should laugh more often. It's like auditory porn, sending shivers of desire racing down my spine and straight to my already aching core.
"Fuck, Angel, you drive a hard bargain," he rumbles, his eyes gleaming with amusement and hunger. "But I know when I'm beaten—I concede, baby. You won fair and square, and I'm man enough to admit it."
He crushes his lips to mine, his kiss fierce and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs. After our shower, he trimmed his rustic beard, and now the slight tickle of his facial hair against my skin drives me wild. His hands rove over my body, caressing, squeezing, claiming every inch as if it’s his own personal playground.
I moan into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his short, silky hair and tickling his beard as I give myself over to the sensation. Kissing Rhyland is like being consumed by a force of nature, wild and untamable and so fucking intense that it makes my toes curl, and my brain short-circuit.
I'm lost in the heat of Rhyland's kiss, my mind hazy with desire, when suddenly, a memory flashes through my brain like a lightning bolt. It's so jarring that I pull awayfrom his lips, my brow furrowed in concentration. "Hey, remember when I asked Calypso how long she'd been cursed?"
Rhyland blinks at me, his expression of confusion and frustration. "Seriously, Angel?" he grumbles, his voice rough with arousal. "That's what you're thinking about while I'm trying to devour you? Fucking hell, woman, you're killing me here."
I can't help but grin sheepishly, feeling a flush creep up my cheeks. "Sorry, it just came to me out of nowhere. You know how my mind sometimes wanders, especially when I get stuck on a thought. Maybe it was the caffeine boost?"
Rhyland's expression softens, his eyes crinkling at the corners with fond affection. "Yeah, I remember," tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Why do you ask?"
I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his calloused fingers against my skin. "You stiffened up when she said how long," I murmur, my gaze searching his face. "I noticed it the second it happened, but everything was so crazy, I never got a chance to ask about it."
Rhyland's tattooed hand falls away as he drags it down his face, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Fuck, you don't miss a thing, do you?" he mutters, his eyes distant and pensive. "Yeah, her answer threw me for a loop. Because the length of her curse? It was exactly a hundred years after the year I was turned."
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, my mind racing with the implications. "Wait, you mean the year you were... turned? Like, when you became a vampire?"
Rhyland nods, his jaw tight with tension. "Yeah. It was 867 AD. And Calypso said she'd been cursed for nearly that long. That's the same time everything went to shit—when the Darkness retreated because your father closed off the realms."
My brain feels like it misfires, the gears grinding to a halt as Rhyland's words sink in. "Wait—what?" I blurt out, blinking rapidly as I try to process this bombshell he's just dropped. "You've never mentioned any of this to me before. How is it possible that your turning as a vampire was connected to the sealing of the realms and the retreat of the Darkness?"
