“Like Crow blood, then?”
“Somewhat, but saltier.” His nostrils twitch. “I had to drink a filled goblet to activate Mórrígan’s spell.”
I wrinkle my nose at the idea of drinking blood. “Does Crow blood have any magical properties once outside the body?”
His eyebrows bend. “No.”
“So let’s give him a pint ofmy”—I add air quotes around the preposition—“blood. We’ll just add some salt, then you’ll taste test it, andvoilà.”
“You crafty female.”
“How did the idea not cross your mind?”
“My mind was busy deciding how best to murder Tavo without using my beak or talons.”
“Or hand, since you’re not to leave your kingdom.” I kiss the scar on his chest, the one on his right pec, and his nipple tightens when my lips meet skin. “Right?”
His molten eyes have slipped to mine, to the narrow space between his pebbled skin and my parted lips.
“Right?” I repeat, running my mouth along his sensitive skin before flicking his nipple with my tongue.
The gold in his eyes flares in time with his pulse.
“Lore?” My hot breath wafts against the bead of dark skin, sharpening it some more. “You will not leave these walls, right?”
He glares at my lips as though they’re tricking him into striking oaths he doesn’t care for. In a tremendously grumpy tone, he grunts, “Right.”
“Good, because if you did, I’d never put my mouth on your body again.”
His gaze narrows. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Like you said, I’m crafty.” I shoot him a dark little smile. “Perhaps I should have you ink the terms with a quill, like you—”
He flips us around. “I’ve no need for a quill.” He binds my wrists with his fist and holds them over my head, then proceeds to compose his promise on my chest with his tongue.
Moans and giggles alternately escape as he scrawls his invisible words. When he reaches my navel, he cranes his neck to peer at my flushed, wide-eyed expression. I’m no longer laughing.
“I’ve run out of space to sign my oath,” he murmurs, his cool breath skimming the loops of damp he’s left behind.
I stare and stare, mind full of lust that transforms into anticipation at the wicked rise of his mouth’s corners.
“Oh . . . wait.” He spreads my legs and lowers his head, his nose dragging through my curls. “I’ve found the perfect spot.”
There, on the throbbing intersection between my thighs, he indolently tongues his full name.
Sixty-Three
I’m awoken by pangs of hunger, which is a first. Then again, considering my recent nocturnal exercise regimen, it’s entirely unsurprising. As my stomach gurgles again, I stretch out and groan, then turn to ask Lore if he has time to have breakfast with me, only to discover a lone sheet of paper discarded on his side of the bed.
I trace the wordsyour matewith a fingertip, a smile cleaving my face in half. How incredible that I, Fallon Báeinach, possess a mate. A king, no less.
I reread each pretty word before reverently folding the note and hunting my sun-soaked bedroom for a place to store it. My nightstand has no drawers and neither does the low table in front of the hearth. I consider placing it in my closet but I assume someone enters it from time to time to replace the clothes I slide into the wash.
I wonder who it could be and make a note to ask Lorcan so I can not only thank the person, but also accompany them to the magical laundry room. Now that I’m well again, and settled, it’s time I pick up some slack. Perhaps I can help tidy more rooms than just my own. Or perhaps, since I know my way around a kitchen and bar, I can give Connor and Reid a hand at the tavern.
Deciding the safest place for my note will be my underwear drawer, I hop out of bed. At least, that’s how I imagine myself moving. In reality, I unpick my carcass bone by bone from the sex-rumpled sheets and totter toward my closet, muscles throbbing.
After slipping the folded paper beneath underthings made of white lace and selecting a pair for the day ahead, I scan the row of clothing, settling on brown suede pants and a white cotton blouse that ties at the neck and wrists with silk ribbons. Instead of silk slippers I choose sturdier footwear—tall boots polished to a high shine. Like everything else in the closet, they must never have been worn because they sport not a single crease.
