Chapter 7

Seven

Rhoswyn

“ W e should get going.” I go to pull my hand from Bree’s, then frown. “What?—?”

Lore cackles, breaking the awkward silence. “Oh, you made the mistake of touching the sticky prince. Good luck getting free now.”

Looking up at Bree, a sense of dread steals over me. I’ve been holding it together, promising myself that when everyone was safe and I got a moment alone, I’d allow myself to grieve. I’m fraying at the seams. The dam I built to hold back the pain isn’t going to hold forever, but my mates are in no state to comfort me, Bree least of all.

After what he’s just been through, putting my own grief and pain on top would be cruel. I want to be there for him, not add to his burdens.

Last time he could barely stand any touch, and now he’s sealed to me.

I get that Dare couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have any reason to assume that mates would do anything but welcome each other’s touch, but a burst of anger fizzles through me, anyway.

“I know Naris is nothing like Blizzard,” Bree mumbles, his eyes dull. “But I promise riding him isn’t uncomfortable enough to warrant that look, dragonfly.”

Shit. “It’s not you,” I reply. “Or Naris. I just… I could use some time alone.”

All of my mates freeze. I’m pretty sure Jaro jerks like he’s been slapped, even though he’s the one avoiding me .

Bree’s head cocks to one side, and I shiver, feeling naked as his eyes rake over me.

What does he see? A girl in a ruined dress with bloodied arms, who hasn’t washed in three days, still fighting to calm her ragged heartbeat after successfully breaking into an enemy stronghold? A healer who reattached his ears and then saved a banshee from iron poisoning? A killer who murdered fae to save him and set a palace ablaze?

“You won’t even know I’m there,” he promises, moving me so I’m standing in front of him.

His free hand brushes over his side, summoning the enormous cat-sìth, and I let out a little squeak of surprise as I realise he’s spared us from having to figure out how to mount the creature by conjuring it into being directly beneath us. My thighs part, settling automatically behind Naris’s prominent shoulder blades.

“Give him some head scratches for me?” Bree asks softly.

He guides the big cat into line behind Blizzard as Drystan leads us away from the blood-soaked beach. Jaro is riding alongside the dullahan, the two of them murmuring quietly to one another.

I do as Bree asks numbly, sinking my fingers in the long silky fur, then immediately pull back because, “I’ve got blood on him.”

Bree hesitates, his hand squeezing mine. “You could be filthy beyond anything the realm has ever seen, and we’d still want your touch.”

And that’s it. That kindness, and those impossible words from the male who, realistically speaking, should never want to touch anyone ever again, shatter my hold on myself.

I’m surprised they don’t hear my heart crumple.

The huge sob that breaks free shakes my entire body but is mercifully silent. I bite my lip, trying to force my grief to stay hidden, but Bree jerks in response.

“Rose?” he asks tentatively.

I shake my head, unable to answer past the huge lump of emotion constricting my airway.

Bram died yesterday. My brother, who’d only just escaped the Deep Caves and begun to reclaim his life, is gone. I’ll never get to see him reunited with the rest of our siblings. I’ll never see his silver and black fox dart around a corner or listen to him waxing poetic about rocks and the history of Faerie.

For so many years, I didn’t even know he was there, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never lived in a world without him until now.

And my Guard—the males I should be able to lean on at times like this—are broken and suffering.

“Dragonfly,” Bree tries again.

“You promised.” The two words are strangled, quiet and raw.

“I never promised to let you be miserable without doing something about it,” he counters, shifting us so that I’m secured sideways in his arms, sheltered by his jacket and able to press my face against his bare chest beneath. “Mourn. Grieve. Rage if you need to. Blame us. Blame me . I was so obsessed with finding my father that I abandoned my duties as your Guard, and I’ll never forgive myself. But I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you.”

I’m still shaking my head, but his free hand tangles in my hair, cradling me against his body in an embrace he shouldn’t have to give. After what he went through with Máel, he probably hates touching me—or anyone—more than usual. But he’s doing it. For me.

And that, more than anything else, breaks my final wall.

Bree shouldn’t have to face his demons to let me purge mine. Jaro shouldn’t have faced down those nightmares in the Spring Court, and Kitarni shouldn’t still be stuck in the Temple fighting to regain her Goddess-given position. Bram shouldn’t have died when I could’ve taken that blow and reincarnated.

“I should be dead,” I whisper. “It should’ve been me, and not him.”

Bree says nothing.

“Why would he do it?”

His hand in my hair tenses, then soothes the strands out. “Because he loved you, and he wanted you to live. I think he knew that, if you died, you would’ve chosen true death to spare him and us from torture.” He hesitates. “And because I think… he cared about Caed, and he knew if you died…”

Caed would’ve died too.

My breath comes in shallow little pants as I struggle to calm myself. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

It takes a long while and several attempts, but eventually my tears dry. The lump in my throat turns to a raw ache that throbs in time with the hollowness in my chest. I’m all cried out, but he doesn’t stop holding me, stroking my hair and comforting me. Leaning on him like this feels so selfish after what he’s been through, but I helplessly soak up his affection as the rest of us ride hard, away from Siabetha.

Unfortunately, no amount of distance or tenderness can silence my thoughts.

By the time the sun sets, my fae healing has fixed the rawness around my eyes, and my tears are long since spent. Tension has wound my shoulders into knots, and I think Bree knows it, because he hasn’t let up comforting me, or even tried to separate our hands. The others haven’t tried to talk to us either, but that changes when Drystan halts Blizzard at the head of our group.

“We camp here.” He dismounts, tugging the horse over to a tree. “Everyone, get set up. Bricriu, there’s a spring a hundred yards to the east; take Rose there so she can get cleaned up. Fomorian, you’re on first watch with me.”

Naris disappears, but instead of stumbling and falling as I expect, Bree cradles me, landing lightly on his feet.

This is the most skin-to-skin contact I’ve had with my púca… ever. But he’s not complaining.

“How can you bear this?” I ask, voice scratchy. “You shouldn’t have to. Máel?—”

“Is dead.” Bree shoulders his way through the undergrowth. “I killed her. Do you know how many years I prayed for the chance to do that? You gave me that gift.”

Gift isn’t what I’d call it, but I see where he’s coming from. He’s slain his demon.

After I took him into her den in the first place, I remind myself. He never let on that she was one of his abusers. Never even said a word, and that hurts even though it has no right to.

I know why he did it. Our aim in coming to the Summer Court was to get Eero’s vow and leave. If I’d known about any of this, I would’ve lost control of Danu, just as I have every time I’ve come across his former ‘patrons.’ Máel would’ve died, and Eero would’ve declared a civil war. Ironically, all of that happened anyway…

“I’m not healed.” Bree sets me gently on my feet by the serene pool of water. “I’m not stupid enough to think killing her will undo the decades of damage. I’m also not sure why you still want someone so tainted in your Guard, but I’ve given up fighting you on this. I don’t have the willpower. If you say I am worthy, I will become so. If you say I am no less than the others, then I will do whatever it takes to prove you right. I don’t have the strength to exist without you, and I’m so sick and tired of my scars standing between us.”

I duck my gaze, looking at the water to escape the intensity of his words. “I want you to want those things for yourself.”

“I do.” His hands drop mine, tracing up my arms to cup my shoulders. “I want them for myself because I want you for myself. It’s an entirely selfish, dishonourable motive.”

Dimly, I realise we’re no longer stuck together, but I don’t make a move to touch him.

He might be determined, but I’m equally so. I won’t hurt this beautiful male. He’s suffered enough.

“Awww,” Lore pouts as he blinks beside us. “I thought Rose might be naked by now.”

Bree rolls his eyes, and I sigh, unbuckling the sword belt from my waist and ripping my ruined dress over my head as I head for the water.

Lore sighs. “Best mate ever.”

I think I hear Bree’s grunt of agreement before I dip beneath the surface and scrub at my skin, grabbing handfuls of the sandy silt beneath me to scour the blood away. A splash alerts me that I’m not the only one using this opportunity, and I burst from the water with a huge breath, expecting to see Lore.

But the redcap is gone, and the púca is in the water next to me.

He takes my hands and holds them in his, flipping my palms over to expose the slightly reddened skin surrounded by patches of blood that I’ve missed.

“Let me.”

“You don’t have to.” I push away. “I know touching?—”

“You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” He halts me before I can escape. “If you weren’t here, I’d have lost it the second someone freed me. I almost did lose it when Lore blinked you out of the dungeon. I know it’s wrong… just… don’t send me away.”

I choke out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.

“I can’t get the blood off,” I whisper.

His head jerks down in a nod, and he takes my hands again. “I can help.”

It’s strange, being washed by a male. I think my Guard helped me after my fever, but I was so out of it I barely remember. Now, I’m attuned to every swipe of his fingers against my flesh. Not in a sexual way—we’re both too exhausted for that—but there’s comfort in the touch. Intimacy.

It distracts me from the knowledge that some of what he’s undoubtedly rinsing away is Bram’s blood.

“I can wash you, if you like,” I say, as he finishes gently running his fingers through my hair and helps me stand.

He doesn’t hesitate, placing my hands on his chest. My fingers curl against his pale skin and his tattoos swirl in answer.

“Wash her off me,” he pleads. “I can still scent her, dragonfly.”

Using the same sweeping soft strokes he treated me with, I slowly and methodically wash his chest, working my way around to his back. The cat-sìth tattoo follows me, shoving aside knives and instruments in his quest to ensure I’m always petting him, though Espen and Lox both shove him away, jealously guarding their own territory when he gets too close.

When I hesitate at the dimples above Bree’s ass, he hisses out a breath. “Everywhere. Every part of me belongs to you, dragonfly. Only you.”

I don’t know what to say. This isn’t a situation I know how to deal with. I have no experience to draw on, no idea if this is helping him heal or just making me into his crutch.

The second he changes his mind, I’m ready to stop and give him space. But he doesn’t. I get the sense that this is a reclaiming of sorts. A way for him to choose which touch he allows. All I can do is keep the sweeping motions of my hands compassionate instead of erotic as I finish up and gesture for him to crouch so I can wash his hair.

His cat ears twitch, flicking water as I run my hands through the silky black fur. My fingers coast down to the base of his neck, switching from washing to working out the tension.

When his tattoos start to swirl, I think nothing of it.

Until an inky black mist forms beneath my fingers, settling into his skin.

Bree stretches his neck, gasping, as a shape forms, forcing other tattoos out of its way. Even Naris jumps back, watching with wide catlike eyes as the ink coalesces into a double-flute in the shape of an upside down ‘y’ along his upper spine.

“What is it?” Bree asks, his voice resigned. “Another knife?”

“No.” I stroke the skin softly. “It’s a flute.”

Bree stiffens, his fingers searching for the spot. The flute appears in a burst of darkness. It’s made of a beautiful ebony wood with a rose pattern inlaid in shimmery gold.

“Do you know how to play it?” I ask, still holding his shoulders as he turns it over in his hands.

He shakes his head. “This is the first one. The first instrument Danu has gifted me in two centuries.”

His fingers trace the raised designs with reverence before letting it disappear into ink again.

I don’t have time to blink before he turns and presses his lips to mine.

Goddess , I sway a little as his hands wind into my wet hair, fusing us together as he kisses me with a kind of desperate adoration that makes my heart melt and my sex clench with interest.

A stronger female would manage to stay perfectly still under the onslaught of her mate’s touch. I, on the other hand, melt.

His kiss, his touch, all of it strips away reality until I’m clinging to him carelessly, knees weak in the water. The urge to kiss him until I can’t think, can’t breathe, is all-consuming. I want to drown in him, lose myself to his touch until I don’t have to think anymore.

Our breath mingles, tongues dancing as all the pain and heartache I so desperately don’t want to feel becomes little more than background noise.

“Bree,” I murmur, dazed, as he pulls back. “I want—” I cut off, forcing myself to take a step back as the real world crashes in. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Why?” he demands, then his expression falls. “Never mind. I get it. I don’t blame you for not wanting Máel’s leftovers.”

“That’s not true!” I protest. “I would never! The only reason I want to stop is because I’m using this—us—as an escape. I want to forget right now, and you deserve better.”

I don’t think I’m the only one trying to bury my feelings in sex, either. He was just freed from a nightmare situation.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get there soon enough to stop her.” I step into him. “But I will never think less of you for what?—”

“Well, I do!” His chest heaves. “She touched what belongs to you, and I let it happen.”

“Did you?” I ask. “Really? You mean to tell me she gave you a choice?”

“Of course not?—”

“Bree.” I catch his hand, then drop it, grimacing. “Sorry. Look. I hate myself for saying this, but now…Now is the wrong time. Bram is dead. Jaro is acting like I’m dirt under his boot. My Guard is falling apart. And trying to use you to hide from all of that makes me no better than her.”

He takes my hand with his, his free hand coming up to cradle my jaw. “You and she are nothing alike. That’s why I can do this. That’s why I want to do this.”

“It will kill me if I hurt you,” I whisper.

His green eyes narrow as they meet mine. “I’ve survived much worse than you.” A long pause. “But perhaps you’re right. We’ve both had a few… difficult days, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you a little longer.”

My shoulders sag, and I nod, snuggling closer into his chest. I try to pour all my gratitude into the embrace. If we had a mating bond, I’d be able to make him feel how happy I am that he’s my mate, but that’s not possible yet. Instead, I press tiny kisses to his heart, caress his tattoos and the softness of his ears, and show him without words how much I love him.

Strangely, I think he understands, because he returns each and every gesture of quiet comfort with his own.

“As romantic as this is…” Lore says, breaking the intimate moment.

My neck cracks as I whip round to find him lounging in the branches of a tree.

“The wolfie is trying to eat your Fomorian.”

My heart thumps in my chest, and I let out a low groan. “He’s not my Fomorian. He’s just…”

I turn back to Bree to find him studying me intently. If he’s trying to figure out how I feel about Caed, I wish him luck. I don’t even know where we stand right now.

He came for me, a traitorous part of my mind whispers as Bree releases me. I trudge up the bank, grab the pile of clothes from Lore, and jerk the leggings and tunic over my dripping skin.

“It’s time we all had a talk,” I mutter. “Come on.”