“Like marriage vow?”
His throat clenches and I hear him swallow. “Not today. But perhaps you’ll do me the honor someday?”
His desire for me dispatches the beats of my heart into every corner of my being and ferries a smile to my mouth that glosses his eyes with new emotion. I raise my arms and curl themaround his neck. “I be yours as long as I exist, Cathal of the Sky Kingdom.”
His breath clips past his trembling lips. “You will exist forever.Forever.”
I’m not certain how he will go about convincing the Mahananda to make me immortal, but I like the dream of this always he promises, so I reword my vow. “I always be yours, Crow.”
Though no magical dot singes my heart, my skin blazes all the same. I once heard Phoebus say that he burned for his lover. I hadn’t understood what he meant, but I do now. Cathal has ignited my body and warmed my heart to the point of melting. If he pressed his chest to mine, I’m not entirely convinced our bodies wouldn’t weld together.
“But only if kiss me again.”
“Always,” he murmurs, his voice trembling like his big body. “Always, mo mila Sífair.” He must sense my devouring curiosity for the new word, because in Shabbin, he says, “Always, my sweet Serpent.”
He aligns our lips, but before he can press them to mine once more, he jerks back with a low snarl.
Chapter 25
Zendaya
My heart has missed every beat since Cathal rumbled and vaulted out of bed. I prop myself up and scrutinize every last inch of him as he stalks into his living room. He doesn’t seem injured or worried, which is somewhat reassuring. What he does seem is furious.
“What wrong?” I ask, as he pounds back toward me holding a sheath of stone-gray satin, the same hue as his bedchamber.Ourbedchamber. “Lorcan and Fallon want to meet with us now.”
My frown grows because, although their timing is inopportune, their company isn’t. “And why this make mad?”
“Because I didn’t exactly feel like getting out of bed,” he mutters, the hollows of his cheeks as high in color as the harsh bones forever casting them in shadow.
I smile. “Soon as meeting over, we come straight back. Deal?”
A small smile jumps onto his lips before jumping off. Does he doubt I’ll still want to, or is he worried Priya will cart me off to Shabbe?
I climb to my knees and seize his shoulders. “Cathal, where you go, I go. And where I go, you go.” I cant my head. “Yes?”
He expels a harsh, “Yes,” on an even harsher exhale.
“Even to Shabbe? In case Taytah send me?—”
“Even to Shabbe.” He presses his mouth against mine as though to seal his promise. And then we are kissing again, and my head feels light, light, light, as though it’s filled with air bubbles. “You need to get dressed,” he murmurs against my lips.
I nod and pull off the shirt he lent me. His eyes flare, the brown burning a fiery red around his shrunken pupils.
“Actually, fuck them.”
My brow rumples. “What meanfuck them?”
“It means that they can wait.” His palms shape my waist before gliding over my ribs and up to my breasts, which he cups in his rough hands. He leans forward, his face angled toward one of my very sharp nipples but halts his approach with a new snarl and a snap of his neck. “Oh, how I will cockblock him. Just he wait. Just he fucking wait.”
I’ve no clue what Cathal is going on about, but he’s even more livid than before. He pecks my lips, then tosses the gray satin over my head and helps guide my arms through the sleeves that stop mid-forearm, unlike the hem, that breaks past my ankles. The material is soft but stiffer than I’m used to, and grows even more so when he laces a wide strip of black leather around my navel. A glance into his bathing chamber mirror widens my eyes, because I discover I resemble a seasoned warrior instead of a delicate princess.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, coming to stand behind me, and my heart gambols at his compliment.
He tucks my hair to the side to kiss my neck, then must realize the strands are in dire need of brushing, because he seizes a wooden comb and runs it through the waist-long mess. Once he sets aside the comb, I recline against him and burrow my face into his corded neck. A deep pull of his scent—warm musk and wild moss—has my nerves quieting. I wonder if the fragrance ofmy skin is as alluring. What if I smell like a beached shell, or worse, like a dead fish—briny with a side of seaweed rot?
“What?” he murmurs.
I blink out of my musings.
