5. Taryn

FIVE

TARYN

I can’t remember the last time I slept as well as I did after Finn left the room earlier. For the last year, I’ve been hovering in that uncomfortable half-in, half-out state so I could stay on alert, but today was different. Even with my logical side telling me I couldn’t trust a Verran, something else inside me felt at peace in his presence, and I’d been too tired to let logic win.

As soon as I was alone, the massive bed covered in soft pillows, silky Egyptian cotton sheets, and a thick down comforter drew me to it like an Ember Pixie to hearth moss. I was only going to test it out and rest my eyes for a few minutes before showering. The next thing I knew, I’d slept the entire day away. It was glorious. Like my anxiety had been switched off, allowing me to rest peacefully.

And that’s not all that was different about my sleep. For months I’ve dreamt of golden-honey irises so often I could pick them out of a line up. But today was the first time my mind knew how to complete the image, and the whole package—from what I’ve seen so far—is every bit as stunning as his eyes were alone.

But stunning or not, I don’t need to be lusting after a Night Court prince. Even if he did help to rescue me. I’ve never played the part of the damsel in distress, so I’m not about to swoon at the handsome hero’s feet like some lovestruck fairytale princess. Then again, I feel so amazing right now that I might be persuaded to play any role he likes.

After only being allowed occasional sponge baths the last year, I could have perished in the middle of taking that shower and died happy. The simple things in life I used to take for granted now feel like luxuries: a hot shower, fresh air, and—hopefully soon—feeling the sun on my face without the buffer of glass.

All the various exfoliating soaps, moisturizers, and hair products someone procured for me are high quality, and I almost wept when I noticed the hair serum specially formulated for curls among the offerings. After finger-curling my brown locks, one by one, I luxuriated in saturating my clean and freshly shaved body with the jasmine-scented body butter.

I’m starting to almost feel like myself again. I don’t look quite as emaciated, and the dark circles are gone from beneath my eyes. And the best part is the sensation of my magic slowly returning, like water trickling into that empty well.

Drawing on my court-born power, I take a deep breath and focus on the magic pooling into the fist I make with my right hand. As I exhale, I uncurl my fingers and mentally pull the power up through my open palm. A purple flame sparks to life, reaching about three inches high and the size of a quarter around. It’s the biggest I’ve managed since my captivity.

I smile as it seemingly dances with life, and I begin to play with it like I did as a young Fireling. Transferring it from hand to hand, letting my fingers trail through it and watch as it tries to follow, harmlessly licking at my skin. After only a minute my power drains with the effort, so I close my fist to extinguish it.

Chewing on my lip, I wonder if I should test out my wings. When I’m at full strength, I don’t need to focus my magic to specific areas, but I don’t have enough to go around right now. Unable to quell my curiosity, I concentrate the flow between my shoulder blades and unfurl the magic to summon my wings.

Wavy streams of light in deep purples and greens flow from my back, then solidify into shapes similar to a butterfly’s. While all fae wings are shaped similarly, it’s the colors and tip details that set them apart. Fire Fae’s are iridescent, changing from a shimmering forest green to a deep violet depending on the angle and light, with flame-shaped tips on both the top and bottom halves. Delicate and ethereal, they have an intricate web-like pattern, like veins in a leaf that glow when we use our powers, and sometimes with a really powerful sexual climax.

Gods, I miss the days when I could keep my wings out. Back in Faerie, there’s no reason to hide them. I don’t remember what it feels like to not be afraid of someone finding out who and what I am. I open and close them a few times, testing how they feel. Not bad.

And they look much healthier. Their vibrant shine has returned, their edges crisp. In the iron room, with my magic severely depleted, they were dull and slightly wilted, like the petals of a dying flower. I’m tempted to test their strength and try to lift myself off the ground. But my spirits are so high right now, I don’t think I could handle the disappointment if they aren’t yet strong enough. Deciding to quit while I’m ahead, I recall their magic and watch as the bands of light flow back into my body.

Out of centuries of habit, I almost attempt a glamour to hide my fae features before leaving the bathroom. Then I remember I don’t have to pretend to be a vampire or a human around Finn, and relief fills me enough I could float away like a helium balloon.

Smiling to myself, I peek my head out to make sure I’m alone, then parade naked into the bedroom where I catch the aromas of garlic, cooked tomatoes, and crusty bread. I inhale deeply and exhale on a moan as my mouth waters. Whatever it is smells Italian and fucking delicious. Then again, my standard for what constitutes good food is so low right now, it could be McDonald’s and I’d think it was worthy of a Michelin star.

Eager to find out, I take inventory of the clothes left out for me. It’s a variety of shorts and tops, a couple pairs of buttery soft leggings, and a week’s worth of panties and bras. All in the correct sizes.

My eyebrows shoot up and a warm spot begins to bloom in my chest, but it doesn’t get very far before I tamp it out. “Absolutely not, Taryn,” I mutter to myself. “You’re not getting moon eyes for the Darkling just because he ordered you some clothes. What else was he going to do, make you wear the rags you showed up in? It’s a courtesy for an unexpected guest, nothing more.”

My growling stomach prods me to dress quickly in the navy-blue leggings and teal tank top. I’m a bit chilled now that I’m out of the sauna-like conditions of the bathroom, but as it’s mid-summer in the desert, there isn’t anything with long sleeves. Maybe there’s something in the closet I can borrow.

On the same wall as the bathroom are two pocket doors for his and hers walk-in closets. I try not to wonder who the “hers” is in this case because I know I’m in Finn’s room; it smells of bergamot and amber, just like him. He must think his brothers wouldn’t want a stranger in their private spaces, which I get.

Since neither closet is marked, I choose one randomly, step inside, and flip on the light.

“Holy Kinkapalooza.”

My eyes grow as big as saucers as I look around the room. While it is a large walk-in closet, there isn’t a single item of clothing. The entire back wall is lined with different colored rope like I saw in his duffel bag, and each coil is hung on a nail in neat rows. Shelves, cubbies, and drawers make up the storage along the side walls, showcasing a myriad of sex toys and BDSM implements. I feel like I took a wrong turn down a rabbit hole and suddenly I’m Taryn in Kinkland.

As I reach for one of the drawers, I muse out loud. “Who are you entertaining that you need the inventory of an entire sex shop?”

“No one.”

His deep voice startles me. I press a hand over my galloping heart and spin to face him, an admonishment at the tip of tongue. An admonishment that dries up along with my mouth at the sight of him leaning casually against the door frame, ankles crossed and arms folded, wearing only a pair of black joggers that hug his muscular calves and thighs. His dark hair is damp and one of the longer pieces from the top has fallen forward to hang rakishly over his forehead.

My eyes have a mind of their own as they rake over the muscles of his chest and defined blocks of his abs, including the most cut V I’ve ever seen that disappears beneath his waistband. No male has any right to look that fucking good. The only flaw I can see is a raised scar several inches long on his left pectoral. A mark like that would’ve been caused by something made of iron, and I can’t help wondering if it was a superficial wound or something more fatal.

“Not yet, anyway,” he clarifies, reminding me I wondered who he’s been entertaining. “But it’s always good to be prepared.”

Thankful my wayward thoughts are at least temporarily under control, I raise my brows. “For what, the world’s largest orgy?”

His only answer is a slight tilt of his lips and a convenient subject change. “You hungry?”

“Gods, yes. And, for the record, I wasn’t trying to snoop. I was looking for something to wear over this is all.”

“Cold?”

I shrug. “A bit.”

“Come on, you wanted Door #2.” I follow him to the other closet, which indeed has an entire wardrobe of clothes inside. “I forgot to get a change of clothes earlier. I had these joggers in my truck, but no shirts, and my brothers’ T-shirts look like I robbed a toddler.”

“Aw, I bet you’d look cute in a crop top.”

“Too bad you’ll never find out.” Finn walks farther into the closet, giving me the perfect opportunity to ogle Side B. I don’t know how many muscles are in the back, but every single one of his are defined like they’ve been chiseled out of rock. Broad shoulders narrow down to a waist where his waistband hangs low enough to showcase the twin dimples at the base of his spine.

I wonder what he looks like with his wings out, then mentally wince when I remember he doesn’t have any. My mother took their wings away when she exiled the Celestial Courts. I’m not sure which is worse, knowing what you’re missing and feeling trapped on the ground—like me—or not even having the memory of how it feels to soar through the sky—like him.

He pulls on a Vegas Blood Sport T-shirt I recognize from our 2021 merchandise line. I guess that answers how he and Dmitri connected. He must be a member at our secondary location. Finn holds out a lightweight gray zippered hoodie to me. “Will this work?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

But once I slip it on, our immense size difference becomes a joke. The sleeves end at least six inches past my fingertips and the bottom hits me just above my knees. He laughs, and when I look up at him, I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to hold my own back.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, holding my hands up and watching the soft material fold over my hands. “What kind of gamma ray experimentation was done on you? You don’t get bigger and green when you’re angry, do you?”

Ducking his head, he pins me with a serious look. “Don’t make me angry and you won’t have to find out.” Then he winks and begins to roll one of the sleeves up to my wrist and repeats it on the other side. “There you go, Tiny.”

I scoff as we make our way out of the bedroom. “You’re lucky I’m not in fighting shape or you’d be looking up at me from the flat of your back right now.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Your Highness.” Full lips stretch into a wide grin, framing his fangs and revealing deep dimples carved in both of his stubbled cheeks. The transformation makes my breath hitch. I’m blaming my lack of self-control on being famished. Once I get some food in me, I won’t salivate every time I look at him.

We enter the kitchen and the mouth-watering smells hit me at full blast. On the counter is a bowl spaghetti with marinara sauce and giant meatballs, a big bowl of mixed greens salad tossed in a vinaigrette, and slices of fresh baked garlic bread. “Bless Brigid, that smells amazing, Finn. Where’s it from?”

“I made it.” When I arch a dubious brow at the pristine kitchen, he says, “I clean up as I go. My brothers call me a neat freak, I like to think I’m efficient. Take a seat, I’ll plate the food.”

It takes me a second to move, because once again I’m thrown off by his actions. It’s not that I’m not used to others doing things for me. Exactly the opposite, in fact. Back in Faerie, I was waited on hand-and-foot as the princess, and it’s not much different in L.A. since Dmitri insists I carry the title of tsarina to ensure maximum respect within the clan.

The truth is, I’ve never wanted to be a royal of any kind, and yet one way or another, it’s all I’ve ever been.

But not since Dev have I had a peer do things for me like Finn does, mostly because my peers are the sort who also get waited on. Since Finn is a prince of the Night Court, I’m sure he was raised similarly, yet he seems rather self-sufficient for a royal. It’s an attractive quality.

Objectively speaking, of course.

“Here we are,” he says, sliding a plate piled high with the spaghetti and meatballs in front of me, along with a bowl of salad and paper towel with three slices of garlic bread. I’m still staring dumbfounded at the portions when he brings his own food over and my jaw unhinges. He has twice what I have. “What are you waiting for, a formal invitation? Dig in.”

“Finn, I’d need a backhoe to dig into this.” He stops mid-chew on a huge piece of bread and looks from me to my food and back again. Realizing my joke might come off as flip or ungrateful, I course correct. “It’s just too much, I don’t want to waste it.”

Tucking the bite of food into his cheek, he winks and says, “No worries. I’ll eat whatever you can’t finish.”

Unable to hold off any longer, I take a bite of the bread. Crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, the potent flavors of garlic and salted butter explode on my tongue. Closing my eyes, I let out a sound of culinary rapture?—

The loud clang of a fork bouncing off a plate snaps me out of my food-gasm to see Finn recovering his fork and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Somehow, I manage to keep my amusement out of my expression. “Everything okay?”

Clearing his throat, he grabs the bottle of pinot noir sitting on the table. “I forgot to pour the wine.”

I smile to myself and let him get away with the excuse. For the next little while, we enjoy our meal. I’ve noticed Finn is comfortable with silence. Spending most of my time with the exuberant Russians of our clan, silence isn’t something I’m accustomed to unless I’m in my penthouse or it’s only me and Dmitri. It’s nice to be able to sit companionably with someone who doesn’t feel the need to fill the void.

Unused to eating regularly, it doesn’t take long for me to feel full. “If I eat another bite I’ll explode,” I say, placing my fork down and sitting back in my chair. “Thank you, that was amazing.”

“It’s nothing fancy, but you deserved a home-cooked meal after everything you’ve been through. I was happy to do it.” He shrugs dismissively, but the hint of pink coloring his cheekbones gives him away before he gestures to my food. “I’ll take that.”

He sets my plate that’s still half-full of pasta onto his empty one, then starts eating again. My eyes widen. “When you said you’d finish what I didn’t, I thought you meant tomorrow or maybe later tonight. Where in Brigid’s name are you putting all that?” He pauses to arch a brow before looking down at his gigantic frame packed with muscles. “Point made, Fae Bunyan.”

He winks, then tucks away the rest of the food while I have another glass of wine. When he’s finished, I insist on cleaning up. It doesn’t take me long to wash our dishes and put the leftovers away, but I feel better having done something to help.

I pour myself another glass of wine and find him on the balcony off the living room with a rocks glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring out at the lights of the Vegas skyline. I join him at the banister and take in the view that I’ve only ever seen in pictures or on TV. The waning gibbous moon is high above us, but only the bigger stars are bright enough to combat the reflection from the sea of neon below.

“You look really good,” he says, turning to face me.

“I do?” I self-consciously use my fingers to flip my curls over to one side, then force my hand down. I am not a fidgeter, nor am I ever self-conscious.

“Yeah. You look ten times better than when I found you.”

I arch a brow. “Take it easy on the flattery, big guy, or I’ll start thinking you have eyes for me,” I say wryly.

Finn scrubs a large hand over his stubble-covered jaw. “Sorry, I meant that you seem to be recovering well. My delivery sucked. The charm and silver tongue went to Tiernan, I’m afraid.”

I turn to fully face him and move in a step closer, only a foot separating us, which means I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. “No worries. I’m more of a direct and to-the-point type of girl, anyway.”

I think I see a flash of heat spark in his eyes, but it’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared, and I don’t have time to probe that possibility before he moves on.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he says, sticking his hand in the front pocket of his joggers and pulling something out. “I believe this belongs to you.”

My lips part in surprise when he holds up a silver-colored chain in his large fist with the smooth, rectangular pendant dangling below. “My Armas,” I whisper in disbelief.

Holding my breath, I set my wine glass on the banister and cup the pendant in my hand with an exhale of relief. But then I gasp and Finn curses as a jolt of electricity shoots through my palm and his fist contracts as though in reflex to a shock, too.

I meet his gaze. “You felt that?”

He nods once. “What the hell was…” His question trails off as darkness starts to shift around us. We look up to the night sky to see a shadow slowly enveloping the moon.

“I didn’t know there was supposed to be a lunar eclipse tonight,” I say, watching as the shadow starts to retreat to reveal a sliver of moonlight again.

“There’s not.”