Chapter 24

24

Not only had Molly been in trouble, but she finally witnessed what could only be described as a true, full-blown fae conniption. There were dire threats against her uncle, there were long-winded scoldings and fierce I told you so ’s, there were furious hand gestures and rogue bursts of magic. It’d taken hours and standing bodily in his way to stop Allarion from riding for the tavern to burn it down with her uncle, still alive, inside.

“It’s what he deserves,” her fae insisted.

“I agree, but you’re still not going to.”

Even though the sight of the tavern burning down may have been cathartic for Molly, she knew the girls weren’t ready to fully say goodbye to the place and their father. Perhaps he could set himself up with its sale and actually change—although she doubted it. And, she didn’t want to be the one who set the whole neighborhood alight.

She explained all these reasons, but her poor fae was beyond reason. Every time he saw her bruised jaw, he turned more purple than gray. She’d never seen him truly livid before. If she hadn’t known it was on her behalf, it might have been terrifying, but since it was, she actually found his rage arousing.

Eventually, Molly was able to use her body in other ways to keep him in the castle with her. Although her jaw and face were too sore to take him in her mouth, she was more than happy to massage him between her tits, something that’d become a fast favorite for him. He found it difficult to keep arguing when she dropped to her knees and pulled down his trou to play with his cock.

“Molly…” he warned.

“I thought I got whatever I wanted,” she said, laying on her pout a little thick. “I want to make you feel good—and then I want you to return the favor.”

A growl rumbled through him, and Allarion let his head fall back, his starlight hair hanging to nearly his rounded, muscled backside.

“Twins save me from headstrong mates.”

“I thought you’d prayed for a headstrong mate,” she reminded him.

“I did. I might be regretting it.”

“No, you’re not.” And to prove it, she took him in her hand and pumped, adding a twist of her wrist at the end.

Allarion choked on his argument.

To her delight, he quickly scooped her up and laid her gently back on the bed. Their clothes were soon gone, and Molly spent the evening lost in a series of orgasms that took her pain away. He took his aggression and frustration out with his tongue, lashing and spearing her with it, and Molly only wanted more.

He devoured her long into the night, until she cried off, but even then, when she woke in the morning, it was to his mouth sucking hard at her clitoris. Her fae was insatiable, and he rendered her lax, boneless, and drowsy before breakfast.

“Too tired to leave?” he said, revealing his scheme.

“Mmhmm. Do it again.”

And so, as compromise, Molly stayed abed their last day, resting between shattering orgasms. She joked that at this rate, he’d have to carry her over his shoulder when they left the next day.

His purple eyes sparkled—he took it as a challenge.

It was late morning by the time they were ready to leave Dundúran. Molly had said her goodbyes to the girls already, leaving clear instructions with them, Glenda, and Mayor Doherty of how they could write to her at the estate. She’d managed to extract promises from all the girls except Nora to write her at least once a week, if only to practice their letters—and managed to save the worst of her tears for when she was packing up her things back in their room in the castle.

The day was a parade of nobles and yeomen in their finery marching out of the city, a grand processional sendoff, presided over by a patient Lady Aislinn. Though, if Molly wasn’t mistaken, the heiress watched them all vacate her castle with no small amount of glee.

Clad in one of her new dresses, a dark aubergine with shocks of lilac and pink threads, Molly held onto Allarion’s arm as they descended the castle steps. It was remarkable to think she’d ascended these same steps only a handful of days ago, unsure of her place beside her fae. She couldn’t say she was any more comfortable with the attention of the other landholders, nor surer that she belonged beside the striking figure of Allarion, but these past days had proven to her at least that she was brave— and that counted for something.

Bellarand practically pranced where he stood in the courtyard, ready to be out of the city. He’d been needling them all morning about when they’d be ready to depart. Seeing them emerge from the castle, he headed for the stairs, not caring which pages or grooms or statesmen were in his way.

Unfortunately for him—and her and Allarion—they were joined on the bottom step by brother and sister Fiona and Dougal Braithwaite. The siblings turned to peer at them, eyebrows arching to see Molly and her fae.

Lord Dougal smiled half-heartedly. “We look forward to seeing you next season.”

“Indeed. At least next time we’ll have been introduced,” said Allarion without bothering to look.

Molly hid her snickering behind her hand.

The sound drew Lady Fiona’s attention, and she craned her neck to look around Allarion at Molly.

“It was delightful to make both of your acquaintances. Our new friendship made the dull journey to Dundúran exceedingly worthwhile.”

Molly could feel Allarion’s mind catching on her supposing there was friendship between them, but then the noblewoman uttered a gasp.

“Dear me,” Lady Fiona tittered, “what is that on your face? Were you…in a bar fight?”

A guffawing laugh escaped Molly before she could stop it. She pulled back her lips to snarl a smile at the noblewoman, setting Fiona back a step in alarm.

But just as her temper flared, Allarion’s arm came around her waist, and he neatly spun to deposit her on Bellarand’s back.

Bowing the least amount possible, Allarion said, “Good day, my lady,” and swung up to join Molly, leaving behind a blinking, baffled Lady Fiona.

“Let’s leave the city with a fond memory of us, yes?”

Molly snorted. “I could take her.”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite certain of that.”

I say let them fight, Bellarand hooted in their heads.

Both of you behave, Allarion intoned in his most serious voice, at least until we’re out of the city.

Of course, neither of them behaved at all. Allarion tried to be stern, but it was hard when he was endlessly amused by the arguments his mate and his mount got into. They bickered over the smallest, silliest things. It was only recently that he’d realized—they enjoyed poking at each other. It was their form of friendship and fondness.

Although, he was wise enough not to point this out to either of them.

They alternated between rude insults and even ruder jokes as the noonday sun shone overhead. It wasn’t until they passed the pastoral village of Granach that Molly looked about her and realized, “This isn’t the way to Scarborough.”

“It’s a circuitous route, I’ll admit. I wish to speak with Balar and a few others to pass on this new demand from King Marius.”

Molly nodded, before an evil glint sparkled in her eyes.

“I suppose this makes you a messenger pony, ” she crowed at Bellarand.

The unicorn huffed and puffed, and the newest volley of insults lasted them to the outskirts of the otherly village. It’d been established not far from the Brádaigh estate where Allarion and many otherly folk had migrated to after hearing about the Darrowlands.

As they approached, Allarion easily spied all the progress they’d made since his last visit. Log cabins had been erected in neat rows, and something of a town square had been demarcated by logs and stones. Several people, including humans, milled about in the square or walked between cabins.

It was an idyllic picture, and Allarion looked proudly at how far the otherlies had come. From a disjointed camp of people unlike each other as much as they differed from humans, they had built a community to support themselves and their dreams of a peaceful existence within the Darrowlands.

Lady Aislinn and her father had nothing but praise for the village, and he was pleased to hear that Granach and several other villages surrounding Dundúran had welcomed the manticores, half-orcs, harpies, and dragons into their taverns, markets, and festivals. There was even talk of establishing a new school, headed by the half-dragon Briseis.

Molly’s eyes rounded with wonder. A handful of villagers noticed their arrival; some came to greet them as others ran off to spread the news.

The first to approach was the formidable manticore Balar. The eldest of his pride of brothers, the tawny male was something of the village mayor. Allarion knew him to be a somewhat surly male, although level-headed compared to his brothers, but he was all smiles and shining golden mane and swishing tail as he came to greet them, his leonine eyes fixed on Molly.

“Well now,” the manticore boomed, “it’s about time you introduced us to your bride!”

Balar held up his paw—five fingers like human or fae, though the palm side was rounded with sensitive pads and each finger tipped in a wicked, if retracted, claw. His feline nose wrinkled as he smiled wide, revealing long upper fangs and sharp front teeth.

Allarion could feel how Molly’s heart thudded in her chest, but she still gave over her hand for Balar to kiss with his bisected lips. He couldn’t help scowling when the manticore tickled her with his whiskers, making her laugh—which only deepened when he remembered manticores spread their scent with their lips and tongue.

“And who are you, kitten?”

“Molly Dunne. Who are you, tom cat?”

Balar’s golden eyes glittered up at them as he said, “She’s lovely, Allarion. No wonder you stole her.”

Molly hooted with laughter, Bellarand stomped and whinnied, and Allarion scowled as he grumbled, “He is Balar.”

More gathered round to greet them—or at least get a look at Allarion’s azai. He recognized all of Balar’s fellow manticores, as well as several of the half-orcs and two of the harpies, Maritza, the eldest, and Andreen.

“Come, sit by our fire,” said Balar, “share all your news.”

“Next time, my friend. We are on our way home after days away, and we must return.”

Balar nodded agreeably. “Come to tease us, I see.”

“To warn you.”

That caused a bit of a stir, a few stepping closer. Balar’s rounded ears flattened against his mane.

“About?”

Allarion succinctly explained the letter from King Darius, as well as his answer to Princess Isolde. Balar and the others listened with grave expressions, mouths pulled down around fangs and tusks.

“I encourage you all to meet the princess, she is a clever child. I have hope for Eirea’s future.”

“It sounds like her father will be a problem,” remarked Maritza. Her large violet eyes had gone haunted by the mention of possible war with Caledon. Many harpies had remained in the northern fjords even after others fled the human realms; they still had dealings with humans, but their allyship had cost them dearly in previous battles.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. He is far away yet.” Allarion tried to reassure them, displeased with having to be the one to bring such ominous tidings. “Nothing may come of it, but I thought it pertinent for you to know. The king may circumvent the Darrows to reach out to your village. I thought you should be prepared.”

Balar offered his paw and Allarion took it to shake firmly.

“We appreciate the warning, my friend.”

“If you are ever in need, you have only to send word to Scarborough. You are always welcome there.”

Balar and the others nodded in thanks.

His task done and burden relieved, Allarion found the worry inside him replaced with a new sort of pride. He was proud of the work accomplished to found this village, and though he’d never closely associated with any of those there, he still counted them as allies, friends. They had all fought alongside Lady Aislinn and Hakon when her brother threatened Dundúran, proving their loyalty and bravery.

When his work on the estate was complete, Allarion determined to extend his magic and reach south, toward their village. A line of communication would be useful, especially if the village was ever in need of him.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, with a promise to come visit soon as well as for Balar and anyone else who wanted to, to come see the estate in spring. Allarion shook hands with Balar, his brothers, Maritza, and a few of the halflings before it was time to bid them farewell.

Balar waved them back toward the road. “Go on and get your pretty new bride home,” he laughed, throwing Molly a lascivious wink. “Until next time, kitten.”

Molly waved as Bellarand turned. “It was nice to meet you, tom cat!”

It wasn’t Balar’s flirting that kept Allarion hot under his high collar the rest of the ride to Scarborough, although he did have the uncharitable hope that when Balar found his own mate, he’d understand the agony of not simply hoarding her away but having to share her with others.

No, what kept Allarion painfully aware of everything around him—namely, Molly and her lush form pressed to him from groin to shoulder—was the implication of Balar’s parting teasing.

They would return home soon. They would be alone.

Perhaps they…finally…

His arms tightened around his mate, even as he willed his cock to settle down. She’d thankfully grown used to feeling him press into the small of her back—it was a common occurrence by now, and she took it with good, oftentimes flirtatious humor.

Allarion was infinitely grateful to be welcomed into her bed. The nights he spent with her fed his soul in a way nothing had before. It was more than enjoying the pleasures of her body; laying beside her as she slept, holding what was most precious to him, listening to her heartbeat and soft little snores—it all filled him with a peace deeper than he’d ever known.

This is where I belong, he often thought to himself through the nights with her. He’d card his fingers idly through her hair or trace gentle patterns on her back. Part of him was impatient for her to wake and rejoin him, but another loved the quiet peace of it, of knowing she trusted him enough to sleep in his arms.

The hope of continuing this, of remaining beside her, was a living thing inside him. More than he wanted to finally feel the hot clasp of her cunt around his cock, he wanted to lay beside her each night.

Even if it was the sweetest torture, his fangs aching all through the night.

The dark desire had only grown with his love and devotion to her. Although no longer scared of the impulse, like an itching wound, it was hard to ignore. He wanted the feeling gone—or resolved.

He’d made no more sense of it than when he’d first felt it. Allarion bore a small fear that when he did finally slide inside his perfect mate and feel her holding him tight, he’d lose all control. There were even times when he lay lapping at her pretty cunt that he had to fight the desire to turn his head and sink his fangs into the plushness of her thigh. Fates, when she squeezed her thighs around his head as she came apart on his tongue, a hunger so deep took root that he—

Bellarand stopped in the middle of the road, ears flicking. Birds jumped from nearby trees into the air, cawing a warning.

There’s something—

The ground beneath them began to roll. The earth shook and quaked, and the air crackled as if a storm gathered over the horizon.

Bellarand lurched and staggered, trying to keep upright.

Molly yelped, her fingers digging into his forearm banded around her middle. Allarion clutched her close and held onto the reins. He squeezed his thighs and swayed with Bellarand as the unicorn fought to keep his footing.

Agonizingly slow moments ticked by, the ground rumbling angrily. Trees creaked, and the stones lining the road shook loose of their places.

Then, as suddenly as it’d started, it stopped.

The world went preternaturally quiet.

Bellarand stood with his four legs spread, heaving breaths panting into his big chest. His ears swiveled back and forth, trying to catch every sound.

“What the fuck was that? ” Molly shrieked, voice shrill.

“This is awfully far north for an earthquake,” Allarion said. Unsure of the cause or its implications, and unwilling to speculate with his mate so exposed, he patted Bellarand’s shivering flank. “Home, as quickly as you can.”

Yes. Bellarand shook out his mane and leapt forward, breaking into a gallop. Dirt flew from under his hooves, and Allarion leaned forward into Molly, bending them lower on the unicorn’s back to ease his way.

Bellarand raced through the countryside, mouth hanging open to gulp air as he ran. The trees streamed by in green blurs, but Allarion peered through their darkness, searching for…anything.

Eirea had had earthquakes before, but they were incredibly rare in a northern demesne like the Darrowlands. Of course, the world was a wild place and impossible to predict. It could be a fluke, an anomaly. Anything else made little sense.

Yet it was that anything else that sent a prickle up Allarion’s spine.

The tightness in his chest only relented a fraction when they made the border of the estate. They passed through the wards protecting the border, magic a warm wash over them.

Allarion felt the forest stirring, noticing their return. The trees shook out their limbs, and the ferns unfurled their fronds. The lampposts lining the drive burst to life even though it was the afternoon, casting a meager light.

When they rounded the bend leading up to the house, already he could hear the shingles rattling and shutters swinging on their hinges in greeting. The house waved them home, although Bellarand didn’t stop until they’d made the side door to the kitchen.

He came skidding to a stop, dirt flying. Allarion quickly dismounted and helped Molly down. She darted to stand by Bellarand’s head, careful of his horn, and laid her hand on his quivering neck.

“You were faster than the wind,” she praised.

Of course—I was—always—am.

Allarion took their bags off Bellarand’s back.

Thank you for bearing us so swiftly, my friend.

Depositing the bags just inside the kitchen door, Allarion touched a hand to the wall of the house. Casting his senses wide, Allarion searched for… something .

But the house had nothing of note to report. A few things had fallen over in the quake, but the foundations held firm, and the house hardly cared about the shaking, too excited that they were returned.

When Bellarand had caught his breath and Molly seemed less shaken, Allarion drew her into the kitchen. Already, the house had a kettle steaming for tea, and he pulled out the small sack of provisions he’d acquired for her until a fresh shipment of food could be delivered. Assured she was safe and provided for, Allarion gathered her hands in his.

“I must check the wards and borders. Earthquakes are rare, but they are powerful.”

Molly nodded. “Of course. I’ll start making myself some dinner—and tell the house all my gossip.”

The shutters of the kitchen window flapped excitedly.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Allarion didn’t like to see the tightness of her expression and the worry that pulled it taut. Yet, the same concerns lurked in his own chest. Best then to ensure nothing was wrong. Then…

“I will check the forest and perimeter. Then…” Bringing her hands to his mouth, he kissed each knuckle. “May I come to you tonight?”

The worry bled from her face as her brows arched in surprise. Allarion watched, enchanted, as her pupils blew wide.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, her voice a breathy siren’s song.

Groaning, Allarion couldn’t resist taking a kiss. It had to last him one more interminable afternoon.