WREN
I cry out and drop to my knees. “Talon!” What have I done? I thought Talon was Lord Yelling. I said so many mean things to him. “You’re not pathetic Talon. You make me feel real like I’m not just someone’s toy. You give me hope that I can love myself instead of loathe who I’ve had to be. Come back. Please. Come back.”
I bury my face in my hands. What if he doesn’t come back? His shift is the reason I came back to my senses. It’s like my brain snapped back as soon as Talon shifted. Lord Yelling can’t shift, so I knew who was who in that moment.
“Come back, Talon. I’m sorry.” I curl into fetal position, hoping to witness his return. My eyelids droop, it’s been so long since I’ve truly had a good night sleep and I drift off.
Someone caresses my head when I come to. My head’s in a large lap and I look up.
“Talon,” I whisper. “Is it really you?” I push to my knees and take his face in my hands. Some of the tiny flowers stayed in his beard, but his flower crown’s gone. “I’m so sorry for saying all those things. They weren’t for you.”
“I know.” He kisses my palm before taking it in his hand. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore. His Majesty of theWinter Court bound his ability to come to the human realm ever again.”
“Oh, thank fuck.” I bury my face in Talon’s chest. “And thank you.” I have no idea how I can repay Talon for saving me. “Sorry for being stubborn. This all could have been avoided if?—”
“No, I understand. You wanted to try your way first. I get it.” He nuzzles my head and we rock back and forth. “There’s something else,” he says and pulls away from me.
“Yeah?”
“His Majesty said he saw the error of his ways. You’re not banished anymore. He said to give you this to break the banishment and you’ll be able to walk between worlds again.” Talon hands me a piece of yellow ribbon.
My hands throb and my magic sings through me again. “I can feel it again. The fuzzy underwater feeling is gone.” I wrap my arms around Talon and press my lips to his.
We melt into each other, slow kisses, hands roaming across each other.
“We should go back to the festival. We have work to do,” Talon says, but he kisses me again and again. The silk robe he wears barely contains him.
“You need proper clothes if we’re going back to work.” I chuckle and bury my face in his neck while he lifts me in his arms.
“Good thing we’re right next to my house.” He nods towards his cottage and we’re there in a blink. He sets me on top of his kitchen table. “Stay right there otherwise I’ll get distracted.”
I smirk and try to pout, but he slides the robe off as he saunters away and I get a nice view of his shapely ass. “No fair, you’re playing dirty,” I call out.
When he’s back in view, he’s wearing a matching outfit to what he wore this morning. Jeans and a t-shirt with the logo for Warwick’s Wicked Bakery.
“Your arms are what dreams are made of.” I squeeze his bicep as he walks by again.
Talon flexes his arms, and I fake a swoon. “Come on, Wick’s probably wondering what happened.” He takes my hand and, like before, we’re at the booth in no time.
“You’re going to have to tell me all about the griffin teleporting. It feels different from what I do.”
“You’re back!” Wick says. “Is everything okay? We all heard a ruckus then you disappeared and now you’re back.”
“Everything’s perfect,” I say. “Just perfect.”
Wick eyes us both with that knowing smirk of his, but he doesn’t push. “Perfect timing. The afternoon crowd’s hitting and we can use more hands.” He gestures toward the line forming at our booth, where the scent of cinnamon and caramelized sugar hangs thick in the humid summer air.
Talon squeezes my hand before releasing it, already moving toward the display case with that gruff efficiency I find so endearing. But I catch the way he glances back at me, just once, his intense blue eyes softening when they meet mine.
The afternoon unfolds in a blur of laughter and sugar covered fingers. We sell out of the peach tarts within the hour, and Talon’s famous honey-lavender scones shortly after. Between customers, he teaches me how to create the perfect caramelization on the crème brûlée cupcakes, his large hands guiding mine as we torch the sugar tops together.
“You’re a natural,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
“Only because I have a good teacher.”
Wick snorts behind us. “Get a room, you two. Or at least wait until we’re not drowning in hungry festival-goers.”
But he’s grinning, and so am I.
