Chapter 9

Nine

Jaromir

I have to tell her .

“Shh, pet, you don’t want to wake the others, do you?”

Like I could sleep through the scent of Rose’s arousal wrapping around my cock. Whatever the redcap is doing to her beneath his blankets has our little mate writhing. Her muffled cries are pure, beautiful, torture.

“You like knowing they could look over and see me fucking your sweet little pussy with my fingers?” Lore’s words are not helping the situation.

He’s been playing with her for the past fifteen minutes. I know, because my wolf has been painfully attuned to every single hitched breath and muffled moan. He wants her soft and soaking beneath us, taking our cock as we mark her as ours forever.

Lore would share, I know he would. But I can’t trust myself. Kitarni’s warning—that a mating without all five of us might not take—rings in my mind as Lore wrings tiny, pleasured cries from our mate.

I’m not jealous, but I can’t do this. Growing up, my wolf was always stronger than most, but I could control him. It took work and cooperation, but we made it out of adolescence with a good bond.

Until Aiyana’s challenge.

Now, we’re more at odds than we’ve ever been. It makes us a danger to Rose.

She needs to send me away. I’ll go to Elfhame, fight honourably alongside Florian until my wolf is exhausted and the war is won. But she needs to know why, because Lore is right; I’m hurting her by keeping her in the dark.

“That’s it. Squeeze my fingers just like that. Goddess, your cunt is so fucking tight and wet and?—”

Rose comes, the scent of her arousal sharpening exquisitely as she whimpers her climax. I almost follow her over the edge just listening to her. My cock throbs in angry protest, but I refuse to touch it.

“Good morning!” Lore crows. “It’s a lovely sunny day, isn’t it?”

The effect is immediate. Caed springs to his feet, sword in hand, and I swear Drystan almost breaks his back with how fast he busts out of bed.

It would be hilarious watching them both search for the threat, if my attention wasn’t fixed on Rose’s scarlet cheeks and the glittering sheen of dust that covers the redcap.

The others eventually figure out there’s no threat and turn to glare at Lore. I see the exact moment they figure out what’s been going on, because Drystan’s glare turns smouldering, and Caed jerks like he’s been gut punched.

The low snarl that echoes out of me makes the Fomorian turn away. Good. He doesn’t deserve to see her like this, all soft, relaxed, and well-pleasured.

Those things are only for her mates. Caed doesn’t get to use that title. Not when he spat on his oath. My beast’s desire to rip his throat out is almost as strong as his need to bond with Rose. Only her charm is keeping the Fomorian in one piece.

“Lorcan,” Drystan growls. “I thought you were supposed to be on watch?”

“Why would I deny the púca his brooding time?” The redcap whistles innocently. “He’s been up in that tree all night.”

A glance up reveals Bree crouched among the branches of an ancient, crooked pine, staring out across the area with his wings wrapped around him like a shield.

Concern for him tugs at me, but Rose recaptures my attention when she moves towards the fire, which bursts back to life at Drystan’s silent command. She smiles gratefully at him—a look I never thought I’d see her level in his direction—and starts fixing herself some food.

“I assume we need to get moving,” she mutters under her breath. “Maeve wants me to do some drills, but after that, I’ll be ready.”

“Drills?” I choke.

Rose meets my eyes for a second, before flicking her gaze over to the winter lord who’s gone stock still at her announcement. The stubborn tilt of her chin makes me certain that whatever she’s about to say will piss him off before she even opens her mouth.

“Maeve is training me to fight—well, really, I’m learning to dodge. I think that’s probably something to prioritise now that we’re fighting two wars.”

“Rhoswyn…” he begins, predictably.

“No.” She cuts him off with enough imperiousness that I flinch on his behalf. “We did things your way. I ignored my instincts, played the good little doll, smiling and looking pretty, and look what happened. Prae is right. I am the Nicnevin. If I’m going to lose anyone else, it damn well won’t be because I sat back and did nothing when I knew something was wrong.” Her voice cracks, raw pain bleeding through the words until my wolf howls in the back of my mind. “That ends now. If I’d been able to defend myself—if I hadn’t given in and compromised on this after my fever—Bram might still be alive.”

The pain in her words is so sharp that I’m surprised she doesn’t draw blood, and none of us is brave enough to argue with her.

She’s right. We fucked up. Which is exactly why I need to get her alone to explain…

“Lore, are you coming to help us?” Rose asks, grabbing the redcap and dragging him away from the fire and out of the glade.

Probably for the best. I’m not sure I could take seeing anyone raise a blade to her right now without shifting.

“We owe her an apology,” Bree murmurs, almost to himself. “We failed her in Siabetha.”

Drystan’s fists tighten at his side, and he starts clearing away his bedroll rather than answering.

“I’ll talk to her,” I agree.

“We can’t bury our heads in the sand and hope Eero goes away,” Drystan snarls from across camp, strapping his gear to the saddle a little too roughly.

Good luck convincing Rose of that. She’s lost Bram, and as a result, she’s even more committed to saving Florian. I have a terrible feeling that when all her loved ones are safe, Danu’s vengeance on Siabetha will be swift and brutal.

“Yes, but she’s also right about the threat from Elatha,” I concede, throwing a sideways glance at Caed and Prae, who have their heads pressed together.

What are they plotting?

Whatever it is, I don’t like it.

“Fomorian,” I snap. “Tell us about whoever it is Eero’s allied with.”

“Draard?” He rolls his eyes and gives me a half-shrug. “He’s a dumb, vicious brute with an attitude problem that rivals the headless grump’s. It’s a miracle he’s gotten as high up the ranks as he has.”

“Not a miracle,” Prae corrects, rolling up her own bedding. “He has a strategy that works for him—attaching himself to someone smarter. It was Lev and Reyna before Caed and I killed them for assaulting Rose; now it’s Elatha. Obedient muscle is still dangerous.”

Assaulting Rose? My wolf’s teeth gnash in the forefront of my mind, and I know my eyes are flickering gold.

“He’s got a temper,” Caed continues, brushing aside the fact that some now-dead Fomorians assaulted our mate like it doesn’t matter. “You can use that against him if you ever lock blades. His death is mine, though. It’s been a fucking long time coming.”

“What exactly happened to her in Fellgotha?” Drystan snarls, evidently just as riled by this news as my snarling wolf is.

Caed stands. “I protected her.”

“She wouldn’t have needed protection if you’d left her alone!” I snarl. “The fae would’ve?—”

“The fae tried to kill her, too.” Prae glowers at the flames. “Her own people tried to ‘save’ her by assassinating her. Does that shock you?”

No. But it does scare me. How bad was Rose’s treatment that the fae would rather sacrifice their Goddess than watch her suffer more?

“What did you fuckers do?” Drystan growls, his attention still trained on Caed. “No normal fae would risk harm to Danu unless the alternative was worse.”

Prae moves between the three of us, looking at Bree like he can back her up.

The púca shakes his head. “At this point, I think letting them fight it out would be easier,” he murmurs. “What happened beneath the mountain is past.” He stands, brushing moulted black feathers from his lap as he spears Caed with a haunted look. “Respect her, treat her well, earn her forgiveness, and I will consider giving you mine.” He turns to Drystan and me. “We have already discussed my feelings on the matter, so I won’t repeat myself. I won’t even tell you to make it easy on him, because I’m aware your high fae pride needs him to grovel. If you’re smart, you’ll realise that your maltreatment will only give Rose more reason to pity his sorry hide.”

He leaves the fireside, heading after Lore and Rose without another word, but his cat ears swivel, staying trained on us long after we’re out of earshot.

Drystan curses and stands, heading for his horse with a glower.

Shit. Bree’s right. If we’re too horrible to the Fomorian, Rose’s big heart will only forgive him faster.

I’ve seen a hundred visions of him murdering our Nicnevin, and my wolf has unsurprisingly deemed him the greatest threat. Providing he doesn’t fuck up, Rose will let him in to her circle. When that happens, I don’t think I can watch him touch her, love her, without my beast snapping and killing him.

“You don’t deserve her,” I spit at him. “She’ll forgive you, because that’s who she is, but you will never, ever deserve any of it.”

There’s a sparkle of vulnerability in his turquoise eyes for half a second, a flash of pain in the stiffening of his shoulders, but he shrugs and levels a cocky grin at me.

“Aww, wolf-boy, it almost sounds like you care.”

It takes all of my self-control not to pummel him into the ground where he stands. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he showed so much as an ounce of contrition, but outside of that short, earlier apology to Rose, his sarcastic walls remain sky high.

And, no. The fact that he brought her along on a fool-ass rescue mission that somehow went off without a hitch is not working in his favour. I would rather have gone mad in that cage than put Rose in danger.

He should be on his knees, grovelling at Rose’s feet. Begging to be in her presence. I turn away in disgust before I can try—and fail—to deck him.

It would be easier if he wasn’t such a smug prick, but I am a knight of Elfhame. I have some dignity. I cross to where Drystan already has a map of Faerie open and pressed against Blizzard’s saddle.

“What route are we taking?” I ask him. “The coastal road is out, obviously.”

He nods, tracing the main northeast road we were planning to take with a thoughtful grimace.

“We avoid the roads.” He traces a route through the forests, connecting the tiny dots which represent shrines—none of which were on the original route. “And she can’t bless every single shrine. That will give us away.”

“Agreed. Just a few until we reach the Autumn Court.”

Eero’s reach is far, but attacking the Nicnevin outside of his own court would bring down the wrath of Cressida. That’s a line even he would be hesitant to cross.

“As soon as we cross the Apporas, we’ll have to turn our attention to Fomorian patrols.” He traces the long border river with a finger, and I grimace.

The Autumn Court has probably been hit hardest by this war. Unlike Winter, with their harsh, unforgiving mountains, the trees of the forest are easily burned down or felled to make more Fomorian death machines. The fae there have suffered more than any others in the realm.

And now we’re going to ask them to accept Rose as high queen with one of the culprits at her side.