Chapter 34

34

Some Months Later

Molly woke to the warm press of small kisses against her cheek and a hot cock sliding against the curve of her backside. Grinning into her pillow, she pretended to sleep for a few moments longer, enjoying the gentle way her fae caressed and held her. This was her favorite way to be woken up—and his favorite way to do it.

She could feel how warm and wet she was between her legs already; he’d been at it awhile, apparently. Molly felt the magic sparkling along her skin beneath the covers, teasing at her inner thighs and mons. One of his hands gently plucked at her breast as his magic made soft passes just above her clitoris.

His lips buzzed against her bare shoulder as he rumbled. “Molly, are you awake?”

“Maybe.”

Another rumble, far more pleased this time. “Did I wake you? Forgive me, sweetling.”

She snorted a laugh. “You’re not really sorry.” Not when he did it most mornings and on purpose.

“No, I’m not.”

His big hand reached under her to hold her head, and he turned her face up for his kiss. Molly sighed into his mouth, letting herself be moved and adjusted just so. His other hand hooked her behind the knee, lifting to secure it over his thigh. She sighed again at the delicious stretch in her thigh and back—and in her cunt as he pushed inside.

“Good morning, my darling,” she whispered to him.

There wasn’t a better sight in this world or the next than that of her handsome fae, purple eyes glittering down at her in the morning light. That determined, almost smug grin that teased at his lips fascinated her, and she traced it with her thumb as he pushed deep. His silvery hair spilled over his shoulder as he leaned down to kiss every freckle on her cheek.

“My sweet mate,” he crooned, “the sun rises later and later for jealousy of seeing your beauty.”

Molly, with her thighs spread under the blankets, might have laughed again had his magic not begun to swirl around her clitoris. A deep, satisfied moan worked up her throat, and Molly lay still, letting him do as he pleased—for what pleased him most was making her weep with pleasure.

His thrusts were lazy, a leisurely invasion and retreat, rocking them gently.

The morning passed by not in minutes but kisses, the soft light from the windows growing brighter as his hips began to gain momentum. He kept his measured pace, not to be hurried even when she became needy. Her hips rolled backwards to meet his, seeking that next level of friction as the pressure built low in her belly.

“Allarion…” she moaned, reaching a hand back to bury in his silky hair.

His mouth dropped to the sensitive curve between shoulder and neck, and he teased a fang there along her round scars.

He hadn’t needed to drink her blood in a long while, but the memory of when he did, the unique ecstasy of his bite, had her clenching around his cock.

“Do you want my fangs?” he rasped against her ear. “I feel how you clutch at me, sweetling. Do you need my bite?”

A needy sound escaped her, nails digging against his scalp. “Next time,” she said breathlessly. “When the guests are all gone.”

In just a few hours, their first true guests to Scarborough would start arriving. Lady Aislinn and Lord Hakon and their retinue, Balar and his brothers, Maritza and her sisters, Orek and Sorcha Brádaigh and their clan, her little cousins and their families and guardians, Mayor Doherty and his family, friends from Dundúran, friends from Mullon, and more. She probably didn’t need a new set of punctures to hide or explain over the next few days.

What she did need was for him to move.

Implacable as always, though, Allarion wouldn’t be rushed. Not when she begged nor when she threatened. Snaking her hand under the blankets, she caught a handful of his taut backside and squeezed, but still he wouldn’t increase his pace or power more than incrementally.

A big warm hand seized her breast and squeezed, making Molly whimper.

“I will have this, my love,” he purred. “I have to make it last with so many guests over the next days.”

Molly laughed, although it sounded more desperate than anything else. “They’re not going to be in here with us.”

“No, but they will be in the house. These are my last hours alone with you, and I mean to indulge.”

He said that as if they didn’t indulge every day. The only time they hadn’t was the days immediately after his fight with the fae knights and during his recovery.

After more, shorter sleeps and staying abed for a few days, Allarion had declared himself healed. Molly still bullied him into staying in bed another day, although he’d only acquiesced when she joined him. She hadn’t been convinced he was ready for anything, even if he insisted on at least using his hands and mouth to make up for time lost.

He tuckered himself out completely and took a two-day long sleep after that. So Molly had had her way, insisting he rest. For several weeks, he’d done little more than lay about or sit near, reading or watching her cook or playing the harpsichord.

His strength returned, his healing leaving just the faintest lilac scars on his chest. He’d had her touch them, to reassure herself that he was whole and hale, yet the sight of them still gave Molly pause. No matter what he or Bellarand said, those scars were proof he’d nearly been taken from her. If the Fae Queen had had her way, Allarion would either be a prisoner in the faelands or dead, and Molly hated her for that.

Months on, that hate still lived inside her, but she blanketed it with joy in the everyday. Slowly, life returned to their kind of normal. He resumed work on the house. Bellarand resumed his war with the squirrels, their temporary parley over. Molly resumed her projects and started new ones.

Winter had left and spring was beginning to warm into summer and, finally, not only was her fae back to himself, but the house was finished. Every shingle and every floorboard gleamed. Each room had been furnished to their tastes, new wallpapers and paints adding bursts of color to the walls.

Allowing the forest to help heal him had forged a bond between them, one that he’d never have had otherwise. He was this land and the land was him. With Molly’s help, Allarion had little trouble tying the last knots to bond his magic with that of Scarborough.

Allarion was alive and healthy. The house was finished. The spring blooms were full and bright. It was time to celebrate.

Right after she got the orgasm she wanted.

His name was a hiss through her teeth this time as her hips rolled harder than the tide against the rocks. A rich, low chuckle echoed in his throat, inciting her, enflaming her.

“All right, sweetling,” he murmured at her ear.

That talented hand replaced his magic between her thighs, the pads of two fingers finding her clitoris to make firm circles.

Molly’s back bowed, a silent scream opening her mouth wide. She came apart, body quaking with all the burst tension he’d built over the morning. The pleasure scorched her like a sunburst, hot and intense. Her thighs clamped closed on his hand and cock as she ran down her pleasure, another wave cascading through her to feel him filling her up with spend.

Face buried in her hair, Allarion pumped inside her, their hips slapping together in a wet dance muffled by the bedding. His great chest shuddered at her back, his arms wrapping round to hold her tight.

The pleasure wiped all thought from Molly’s mind, and she lay there for a long while, catching her breath. Her senses came back slowly, every sight and sound and smell of him.

So, so carefully, he lowered his leg to free hers, laying her supine in the bed. Molly rolled into him, welcoming him into the cradle of her body as they sank into more soft kisses.

They needed to get up.

Sure, the house could handle it, but as the new Lord and Lady Scarborough, they should really be good hosts at their first gathering.

But Molly couldn’t help it, going for just a little more of him. A year before, she wouldn’t have thought it possible to be with a person for so much of her time and still want more. They spent nearly every hour together, often just the two of them, and yet she never grew tired or bored of him. There was always something new or charming about him, something that kept her so utterly in love with her strange fae.

She couldn’t quite say what it was about him—and really, she didn’t want to know. The mystery was part of the charm. And, it wasn’t just one thing. It was everything, every bit of him that made him Allarion.

She loved his compassion and kindness, she loved his dry sarcasm and cutting wit, she loved his grumpiness and surliness and bossiness. She loved that he took such care of her, and she loved taking care of him, too. Getting to hold him in her arms and her heart was the greatest honor of her life, and even if she struggled to put that into words for him, she knew he knew. She loved that, too.

Their stomachs rumbled for breakfast and they were sticky with this morning and last night’s lovemaking and their guests would arrive in a few short hours, but none of that stopped Molly from pushing her fae to his back. Allarion went willingly, one of his fine brows arching in interest.

Swinging a leg over his hips, Molly mounted her handsome fae, taking his cock in her hand. Still wet with their spends, her hand glided up and down, up and down with ease.

Molly caught her bottom lip between her teeth and guided him inside. He held her hips for balance as she sank down, and they both groaned with relief to come together.

Setting her hands on his glorious chest, she began to move. He’d put meat on his bones over the past months, muscle and bulk from good food and hard work. No longer were his ribs prominent or his hipbones sharp. He’d always been beautiful, but like this, Allarion was magnificent. And he was hers.

Molly snapped her hips down on his, taking her fae for the ride she wanted, hard and brutal and delicious. He smiled that fierce smile, fangs flashing in the sunlight, long hair mussed and spread over the pillows.

He pulled her back down to him as she bounced on his cock, holding her there when she stopped to swirl her hips. The tendons in his neck popped against his throat, and Molly leaned down to lick the hot skin there. His big hands filled with her backside, and their rhythm turned frantic, brutal.

Molly loved every second.

She came in no time at all, spread thighs quivering as the pleasure rolled from head to toe and back again. He didn’t give her time to come down, though, but held her by the waist, thrusting up from below. Their slick and spend dripped down onto his thighs, glistening in the morning light.

Molly held on for the ride of her life, a smile so wide on her face it almost hurt as she orgasmed again. Catching one of his hands, she pressed it against her breast and squeezed around his cock, wringing the pleasure from him in ropes of spend.

When she’d gotten every last drop and ounce and scrap of his pleasure and hers, Molly slumped onto his chest, ready for a nap. He bundled her into his arms and kissed her sweaty hair.

“My queen,” he rumbled happily.

Allarion pinned his stiff collar in place before stepping back to look over his appearance in the mirror. Many of his clothes had needed adjusting over the intervening months, but his Molly was clever, especially with her needle.

His black tunic molded to his chest as it used to, the seams perfect, the cut flattering. Most of all he enjoyed the newly added embroidery to the sleeves and shoulders. Along with his family crests and warrior insignia, she’d added motifs from their estate; trees and deer and even several unicorns. All were done in glossy midnight blue thread, so that it was visible only when the light gleamed across the stitching.

Hair drawn back with a velvet ribbon and capelet thrown over his left shoulder, he looked every bit the fae aristocrat his mother had raised, ready to greet guests into his home. There was but one thing missing.

Stalking back through his old bedchamber and into the brighter one he now shared with Molly, he found her nearly ready. The gown she’d chosen was all soft lilacs and powdery blues. It was more feminine than her usual attire, although she’d added her own embroidering and modifications. She’s told him she liked the color, as it reminded her of the color of his cheeks when he blushed.

Crossing the room to her, he said, “Let me.”

Molly pouted at him over her shoulder. “Why they ever put the laces in the back is beyond me.”

He rumbled in agreement, even if he quietly relished getting to tighten and tie her stays. There was something utterly alluring about lacing the strings and knotting the ends—especially knowing he’d get to untie them all that evening.

The back neckline swooped just below her shoulder blades, her freckles peeking out beneath her growing hair. Half fell down her back in soft waves while the other had been gathered elegantly atop her head.

When she tried to turn to face him, he placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her facing forward. From his pocket he pulled a white box.

Her hairstyle showed off the silver bobs in her ears, and Allarion took great pleasure in securing a matching necklace around her pretty throat. He heard her sharp breath when she felt the cool metal touch her skin, and she teased a fingertip over the pearls dangling from the silver chain as he secured the ribbons at her nape.

She glided to the tall mirror across the room, inspecting the necklace. It was a pretty thing, commissioned by one of his grandmothers. While not ostentatious, the silver filigree was exquisite and the pearls perfectly round.

Allarion grinned at her in the mirror when, rather than arguing it was too fine, Molly smiled at herself. His grin grew when she twirled, skirts fluttering as the dresser drawers opened and closed in applause. She giggled to herself as she came back to him, reaching to take the arm he offered her.

“Look at me, a proper lady,” she said.

Her beaming smile lit him from within. Leaning down to kiss her cheek, he told her, “You are just as you should be.”

A comely blush pinkened her cheeks. “I like being Lady Scarborough.”

“There is none other who could be the mistress of Scarborough.”

That earned him another smile, and he obliged when she leaned her head back for a kiss.

With his beautiful azai on his arm and her taste on his lips, Allarion led them down to await their guests.

The day turned into a pleasant one, just on the right side of warm with nary a cloud in the sky. Guests meandered the grounds and the first floor, admiring the newly finished rooms and partaking in the finger foods Molly had worked hard to prepare over the past days.

He was still learning about humans—and half-orcs, manticores, harpies, and dragons—but Allarion thought everyone was enjoying themselves. None more so than the house, which kept the small crowd of guests entertained with music and guided them to different rooms with cheery knocks of its shutters.

Even Bellarand and his small herd of unicorns—the two surviving dread-mounts of the triad, a dark chestnut bay named Achaios and a dappled gray stallion named Tulare—had joined the festivities, allowing the children and women to fawn over them. The two unicorns were far more amiable than Bellarand, although all three enjoyed the admiration of those brave enough to draw near.

In another surprise, Molly had been able to bond with both unicorns, and through her bond with them, all the inhabitants of Scarborough estate were able to communicate. It made for a loud mind when there was a fresh shipment of carrots, but with practice, Allarion and Molly had learned to block the worst of the unicorns’ quibbling.

Perhaps because she wasn’t a female fae, Molly was able to forge the bond. Perhaps it was the uniqueness of Scarborough. Allarion wasn’t entirely sure, although he suspected it was the first of many surprises to come as he too learned more about the ramifications of a lone fae weaving his magic into a new land and taking a human azai .

Achaios and Tulare offered Bellarand company—and, honestly, someone to lord over—and Molly protection. Overall, it pleased Allarion.

It was a small good to come of the triad’s attack.

The scars on his body and the unicorns were the only proof that the attack had ever happened. Upon waking from his long sleep, he learned from Hakon that the other bodies had already disappeared, subsumed into the earth itself. It was a reminder that the forest was an inherently wild place, one that did not subscribe to human or fae morals. The forest gave and it could take, too.

While it may have given his honor peace to bury the triad in the traditional way, say rites over them and burn sweet sage to cleanse their spirits, Allarion understood that the forest had sacrificed to help heal him. It claimed the bodies and their magic for itself, and Allarion could only hope that, in some small way, it meant the fae and unicorn would live on, free of Amaranthe.

Something he hoped for all his kind one day.

And that day was closer now that the house was complete, the bond with the estate secure.

Today was about reintroducing Scarborough to their friends and allies. It was about Molly taking her place as the lady of the estate. Yet it was also for Allarion to finally decide on who he would ask to steward the estate while he and Molly were away.

He’d underestimated Amaranthe’s reach and spite, only making him want to fulfill his promise to Maxim all the more. With the magic woven and the bond formed, Allarion felt it was time for Ravenna to come home. He had to hope that, despite no further signs or threats from the faelands, she was still safe in her bower. Allarion wouldn’t leave it to chance much longer.

A heavy slap to the shoulder jarred him from his thoughts, and Allarion turned to look upon Balar, grinning at him in that leonine way of his. His tunic sleeves had been shorn short to show off his tawny, bulging arms, and the seams strained with how tightly it clung to his wide chest. His mane and wings had been groomed to a high shine, as were the scales of his tail and leather of his boots.

All the manticore pride swaggered around the estate, trying to catch the eye of every available female in attendance. When she’d seen them, Molly had just rolled her eyes. “Just keep them away from the girls. Nora is at the right age to make wrong decisions.”

Thankfully, the manticores were gentle and friendly with the children, saving their lustier looks for any adult woman who crossed their paths—even the ones with graying hair.

Perhaps they should sleep outside, Allarion considered.

And have them stink up the forest with their pheromones? I think not, scoffed Bellarand.

“An excellent gathering, my friend,” said Balar, slapping Allarion’s shoulder again.

“Thank you for coming. It pleases me to have you visit finally.”

Allarion had initially thought of Balar and his brothers to watch the estate, but now he was thinking Theron and his half-sister Briseis would be the safer option. He worried under the manticores, Scarborough would become little more than a den of iniquity.

Bellarand snorted. As if you aren’t up to plenty of iniquity yourselves.

You’re just jealous, Molly quipped.

Allarion bit back a smile, soothed by the voice of his azai . Last he’d seen her, she’d been off to show her little cousins the library. Merry, the scholarly girl, had practically bounced as Molly led the way into the house.

“It’s good to see you up and about,” Balar continued. “You gave your female quite the scare.”

“She takes good care of me.”

Balar huffed in agreement. “Speaking of, how often have you been to this town of Mullon I keep hearing of? Are there many unmated females there?”

Allarion blinked, having to think about it. “I’m not sure…”

Somehow, the manticore roped him into providing an estimate, but thankfully, the conversation eventually moved to how the otherly village continued to grow. Balar spoke wistfully of how another two half-orcs had found themselves a human mate.

“Perhaps humans are more partial to the color green?” Balar wondered.

Allarion offered what advice he could, although he didn’t know how helpful it could be. He didn’t need Molly beside him to remember that stealing away or buying a human mate weren’t viable options. Tempting and expedient as it might be, he would always remember how close he came to losing Molly entirely with a shudder of horror.

He listened to the manticore patiently, understanding that, under his bluster and boisterousness, Balar and his brothers were ultimately lonely. They’d fled a vicious pride war in the southern grasslands, wishing for peace and a good life—preferably one shared with a human mate. Allarion couldn’t fault them for it, not when he met every day with an abiding gratitude to his goddesses for bringing him to his queen.

Slapping his hand on the manticore’s beefy shoulder in return, Allarion said, “There are many beautiful human women in the Darrowlands. I’m sure one of them will make you a very happy man.”

Balar laughed, his grin lopsided. “Well, I wish she’d hurry up about it!”

Allarion sensed his Molly before he saw her, turning his gaze in time to watch her emerge from the house. She had only one of her cousins in tow now, though the girl quickly scampered off to find more delights, leaving Molly to return to him.

His soul alighted to see her walking toward him, her eyes glittering and her smile beatific. Her hair had gone a little mussed over the day and her dress had wrinkled in a few places, but she was the picture of beauty and grace, every bit the lady she was meant to be.

He reached for her, needing to draw her closer that much sooner. Allarion tucked her into his side, his heart beating a little harder to have her beside him.

“Next time we’re in Dundúran, you should find an excuse to be there, too. I’m sure I can make some introductions,” Molly offered.

Balar’s gaze gleamed with interest, so much so, he didn’t seem to question or care why she knew their conversation already without having heard it. He listened intently as Molly offered her own advice, such as reining back some of the manticore intensity and not marking a woman’s home as their territory before they had express confirmation that she was interested.

Allarion listened, too, charmed by the advice.

Is this how I should have courted you, sweetling?

Even as she spoke with Balar, she squeezed an arm around his waist.

You managed just fine, she thought, throwing him a little wink. Even if your methods were…strange.

Perhaps to her. To him, they were a mere fraction of what he’d been and was willing to do to have her. He could regret not speaking to her rather than her uncle, but he’d never be sorry for claiming what he knew was his.

For all his many days and long life, he would always remember the one that brought him to her. Every day with her made him that much more grateful for that day in Dundúran, when he heard a beautiful, laughing voice that drew his attention to a well. It had been like any other well, in any other city square. Yet, that day, that place had changed the course of his existence.

Slipping his hand to her waist, Allarion pulled her close to lay a kiss on the top of her head, her fragrant hair teasing his nose.

My heart.

She answered not with words but a wash of love, passed along the numerous threads of magic that bound them together. Her love rebounded down the weave of magic, reverberating in the weft and knit, declaring to every tree and beast connected to this land that she was bound, heart and soul, to him.

To know he held the love of such a woman was a force stronger than any magic, vaster than any ocean, and deeper than any mountain.

She was his azai, his pride, his life. She was the very beat of his heart. A surprise and a blessing, never to be taken for granted.

Allarion would do anything for such a love. Remake the world, dethrone a tyrant, cross land and sea unknown—even live a little life, obscure and happy. He didn’t need fame or renown, honor or power. All he needed was her and her happiness.

And my happiness, said Bellarand.