Chapter 9

9

In the long sleep, he dreamt of Molly.

The long sleep was an odd sort of place, outside of temporality, full of wisps of memory and tendrils of ideas. Dreams usually played no part, a fae mind so closed off and shut down that there was little happening beyond the barest of senses.

Still, through the purple clouds and knitted hopes, Allarion dreamed of her, or if not dreamed then thought of. Dreamed in the allusive sense—dreamed of her lying beside him in this big bed, the silk sheets gathered at her waist. He dreamed of what she would feel like, tucked into his side, safe and warm and just where she belonged.

What would it be to be held in her arms? To feel the weight of her limbs and beat of her human heart? What would the puff of her breath feel like against his skin, or the fine silk of her hair through his fingers?

What would it feel like to slide into the wet heat of her body, to be welcomed inside her, a needy moan on her lips?

He longed to know, so desperately, the ache found him even in the long sleep.

He’d never be free of her now, if she haunted even his sleep.

Good. He never wanted to be free of her.

Allarion woke from his long sleep refreshed—and with a stiff cock. The sight was almost amusing, though the fierce, hard ache tempered any humor. It’d been a long while since he’d woken with a demanding cock, and his hand was out of practice.

It took several exploratory pumps to get the right rhythm and grip, but once he did, it wasn’t long before he spilled into his own hand.

He was left with an empty sort of relief—not satisfaction, just the absence of immediate discomfort.

It’s not her.

Indeed not. And although he’d had the privilege of her company over the past days, he feared he was still quite a ways from earning a place as her bedfellow. The thought of how, even after days at Scarborough, she still looked at him askance, wariness lining her eyes, cooled any of the residual ardor lingering in his blood.

Hauling himself from the bed, Allarion cleaned himself up and slipped into his attire for the day. Although it was far less than he’d wear in the faelands, forgoing a tunic or coat to cover his shirtsleeves, he was growing more comfortable with the less formal customs of everyday human life. Even the Darrows didn’t stand on ceremony that often.

And, it’s my own house. I should dress as I like.

Feeling more at ease in his informal layers of clothing, like a second skin, he swept from his chamber. On the narrow table he’d placed by his door, he found the vase and bouquet he’d asked the house to make up before taking his long sleep. It pleased him to see the bursting yellow sunflowers, and even more to leave it before her door.

It gave him great pleasure to give her beautiful things.

His Molly was more reticent than he’d expected. Still, she was slowly beginning to accept his gifts. Flowers were nothing to what he could and would give her, but it was a start.

Filling her room with bright, beautiful flowers, taking care of her, offering her a fine home—well, a home that would be fine one day soon—fulfilled his most basic needs as a male fae.

Although the males of his kind were large and physically imposing compared to the females, it was the latter who led them. Blessed with a magic more intrinsic than the males, it was female fae who ruled and governed—they were the monarchs, the scholars, the healers, the politicians. To be sure, there were male academics and male physicians. Males outnumbered females almost two to one, so there were many roles they had to fill.

For the fae, though, it was a matriarchal society. Females were to be cherished, valued, worshipped even. They were life-bringers, magic-singers. If a male desired a female and was blessed with her favor , it was his duty and his honor to take care of her every need, to protect her with life and limb, and to ensure she knew only comfort and happiness.

It was what he wanted to give Molly, if only she’d let him.

Finding his way down into the kitchen, the house creaked as if waking itself from slumber.

“Yes, good morning,” he greeted. “Nothing of note happened while I was asleep?”

The top half of the split kitchen door opened with an ominous creak.

Allarion’s attention snapped, his senses sharpening. “What’s happened?”

The house fell silent, so that Allarion could clearly hear the pounding stomps of his azai coming downstairs to join them.

Although the house’s warning unnerved him, he donned a smile to hide it, expecting a wary greeting from Molly.

What he got was an angry hellcat.

Molly burst into the kitchen in a plume of petals and snapping, angry eyes. She slammed the vase of flowers down on the butcher block, turning that glare onto him. The force of it nearly sent Allarion back a step.

“You!” she shrieked.

“Good—”

“What in all the hells is this?”

Allarion looked between her and the flowers, now missing many of their petals. “Sunflowers. I’m the one who has left you flowers in the mornings.”

He knew immediately that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, the red of her cheeks deepening to an alarming shade and her eyes flashing dangerously.

“I know that, Allarion. What I mean is—where were you?”

Ah. He’d failed to warn her of his upcoming sleep. In his defense, he was unsure, given her wariness of him still, just how much to tell her of his nature. He worried one misplaced fact would have her barricading herself in her bedchamber again.

“You must forgive me, Molly, I—”

“I don’t have to do anything—you’re the one who needs to explain!”

“Yes, I’m trying. Fae do not sleep every night like humans. Instead, every few days, we take the long sleep.”

“The long sleep,” she repeated, her voice rising to a rather unpleasant pitch. “And in this long sleep, you just, what, are dead to the world for a whole day?”

“That is what it looks like to those not sleeping, yes. Depending on what has occurred, the sleep can last longer than that. We need the restorative time. Little can wake us.”

Something like horror passed over her expressive human face, and Allarion hurried to reassure her. “I take it you must have seen me in my sleep. Please don’t worry yourself, I didn’t wake because I sensed no threat from you.” He would have intrinsically known her to be his azai, even dead to the world, as she put it.

Once again that morning, he was proven utterly wrong. What was meant to comfort and soothe her only elicited another screech of frustration.

“ Allarion —” He wanted to enjoy it when she said his name, but honestly, he didn’t in that tone, scolding and furious “—you can’t just do that to me! We’re almost out of food. I didn’t know when you would—I thought you were dead! I thought I was going to starve. And him —”

She pointed an accusing finger at the kitchen door. Bellarand had put his head through the open top half, peering inside with interest.

Now what’s she yelling about?

Allarion frowned, now doubly confused. She was yelling before?

All last night, his steed confirmed, it kept all of us awake.

Dread began to trickle through his veins. Goddesses, what trap had he left for himself?

“Your overgrown guard pony wouldn’t let me leave! He would have made me rot in here. There’s only food enough for another day or two. After that—after—” Emotion clogged her voice, and Allarion’s chest lurched seeing the obvious pain in Molly’s face.

Pony? Bellarand repeated, offended.

Never mind that, she’s upset.

The moment you were asleep, she looked to leave. If it wasn’t for me, she’d be a hundred miles from here.

Bellarand—

The unicorn shook his mane. She will not speak of me so. I am a dread-mount of the northern—

Molly gasped. “It’s here—it’s here again!” She looked around wildly, a hand on her head.

Allarion approached her, hands up in placation. She was truly beginning to worry him with her anger and raving, having never seen this from her, never even suspected it.

“Sweetling, please be calm. There’s no one—”

“In my head,” she moaned, grinding her palm into her temple, “a voice, not yours and not mine. It taunted me last night, and I…”

Allarion’s brows rose in surprise. Think something to her, he instructed Bellarand.

He knew it was possible, but to happen so soon…

Bellarand huffed, never liking being bossed about.

Finally, after a moment of agitated ear flicks, Bellarand thought loudly, You are a very loud creature, stomping here and there. The birds hide their faces under their wings to get some peace. The trees shake as you clomp down the stairs.

Allarion glared at his steed, but the unicorn was unrepentant.

Molly gaped at them. “It’s…it’s the unicorn?”

“It would seem so, yes. Bellarand and I share a bond—every fae warrior and his mount can communicate in their minds. It is the way of the magic and the bond. Sometimes bonded mates can hear the unicorn speaking, too.”

He stared in wonder at her. It’s working. Her just being here—she’s bonding to the estate, the magic. It’s working!

But just as the elation began to expand his chest, Molly let out another vicious shriek. Grabbing the bunch of abused sunflowers, she flew at the kitchen door.

Bellarand was quick enough to pull his head away and retreat, but Molly charged after him. Allarion watched in stunned astonishment as she hurled sunflowers at the unicorn, catching him on the flank.

“Don’t you ever threaten me again, pony!” Molly cried. “I didn’t ask to be here!”

Bellarand reared around in affront. He pawed the earth menacingly, shaking his mane and swiping his horn through the air, only to catch another sunflower in the face.

His red eyes narrowed.

Don’t—!

The unicorn didn’t heed the warning, a great war whinny ringing through the air before he charged.

Allarion raced out the door.

Molly, clutching the last sunflower, stood her ground, glaring.

Bellarand’s great hooves carved up the soft dirt as he slid to a stop, the tip of his horn just catching on the fabric of Molly’s shirt at her shoulder. He puffed a great waft of hot air into her face and bared his big teeth at her.

“Stop it,” Allarion spat, coming up alongside Molly.

My words yesterday were for the squirrels who torment me, but mark my words, insult me again and you will face far worse, human.

A tear spilled from Molly’s eye and her lower lip trembled, but she kept her back straight, not giving in to the unicorn’s threat.

“I’m rooting for the squirrels,” she growled.

Bellarand huffed again before tossing his mane and turning to leave.

Allarion grabbed Molly’s hand, clutching another sunflower, before she could raise it to throw.

Yanking out of his grip, Molly turned in the opposite direction to stalk away.

Allarion stood there, unsure how the morning had turned so.

She doesn’t understand, he entreated his steed.

Then make her understand, was the haughty reply.

Would that he could.

He turned to find Molly but saw she had come to a stop only a few paces away, her back to him. His insides twisted with self-reproach as she knelt down, putting her head between her knees, and the unmistakable sound of a sob drifted up to him.

Allarion didn’t understand what had happened, but he knew, as surely as he knew Molly was his mate and Bellarand his trusted friend, that this was his fault.

He went to kneel beside her. When he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, she didn’t pull away, which gave him a little hope. Not that he deserved any.

His azai cried, her tears watering the dirt.

He was lower than that dirt, lower than the worms there and the roots below.

“What can I do, sweetling? How do I make this better?”

He thought his very soul would crack and break if she shed just one more tear. Her sobs tore at him more than her anger confounded him. He could bear her anger, never her tears.

“We need food,” she said in a voice so little, it pained him. “I won’t starve again. I won’t.”

“Never,” he growled. “You will never want for anything again, azai. This I vow to you.”

Her words unnerved him. Starve again. As though she…had before. His mind reeled at the thought, and a new anger for her circumstances, for her uncle, began to burn inside him.

Just what had his Molly gone through?

He’d thought it didn’t matter, not when he meant to give her anything and everything.

But he now saw that was wrong. What she had gone through made Molly who she was, and Allarion had to learn that side of her, too.

Gentling himself for her, he said softly, “I’m sorry, Molly. I should have told you of my coming sleep, as well as the possibility of hearing Bellarand. There is much I have to explain, and when you are ready, I should like to tell you.”

For a long moment, he didn’t know if she would respond or even acknowledge his words.

Finally, she picked her head up. He ached to see her damp cheeks and puffy eyes. The unhappiness in her was so stark…

“I shouldn’t have yelled like that. I hate that I have this temper. I was scared and it got the better of me.”

Allarion carefully reached out to take one of her hands in his. He stood and gently pulled her up after him. Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed each knuckle.

“The fault is mine. I never meant for you to feel afraid or ill-prepared. Your needs are different from my own, and I must anticipate them better. There is a market town not far from here, two hours’ ride. I will take you—today if you like.”

You’re on your own, huffed Bellarand.

Well, then, a few hours’ walk. He’d go much further for his Molly.

As he watched, Molly composed herself. Allarion was struck with a sort of pride seeing her gather her wits and courage. He squeezed her hand, hoping she could feel his admiration for her.

“Can we go tomorrow?”

“Of course. Name the time.”