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I move to heal her, but his fingers lock around my wrist. “She has a stinger, but it’s only to kill rival burgundy queens.”
“You’re killingme, Varen.”
Willow rouses at my impatient tone. “What are you doing?”
“Can I heal you?” I ask softly.
She nods and sinks against my chest, burrowing her arms around me. My heart stops. Before it stays that way, I quickly heal the bump. Oddly, my powers listen to me.
After I help her crawl under the covers on my bed, I try to tuck her tight like Cricket said. But then Varen yanks the quilt from my hands, slides in behind her, and wraps her in his arms.
“Um... Varen.” My thumb points away from the bed. “Out.”
Annoyed, he mumbles something about a queen’s pheromones, making me more uncomfortable. But then, “She lets the hive know she is well through her pheromones.”
“It’s okay,” Willow mumbles, patting his hand over her heart. “He’s just happy you got him bee bread.”
An amused snort slips out of me before I can stop it. She sounds delirious; I shouldn’t find that funny.
“I’ll take him to his room,” I offer.
Her lashes lift halfway, still drunk. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe you need to listen to him more.”
He said bees form a dense cluster around their queen to keep her warm.
“Fine.” I slip under the covers and get as close to her as I can, shaking my head. “I’m fucking clustering, but I draw the line at vibrating my wings, Varen. Happy?”
He scowls as if it’s not enough.
Her breathy sigh of contentment tickles my neck, but then her brows pucker.
“Willow,” I whisper. “Do you want us to leave?”
Her eyes squeeze shut. “Why won’t you... glamour me?”
My heart clenches. I hunt for damage but find nothing new. “What do you mean?”
Her lips part. She tries to say something but coughs as if her words hurt. “Never mind.”
Her silence extends, but that crease remains. I try to smooth it with my thumb, but the stubborn little wolf holds her tension. I don’t want to argue, so let my hand trail down her cheek. When I reach her old scars, I linger. And linger. And linger.
I brush my thumb over them, savoring the sensation. When she tries to pull away, I won’t let her.
“Are these what you mean?” I ask.
Her breath hitches. “Sort of.”
“Willow...” I lick my lips, trying to find the right words.
Finally, after her breathing evens out, I confess the truth. “I’m a selfish bastard. I don’t want your scars gone.” Another attempt. “The berserker rage between queens might be uncontrollable, but you gave everything you had to win.” No, that’s fucking wrong too. “Queens have gone insane with fear when they from learning what they inherited in us, but I see your scars and know...” Another failed attempt. I graze the tiny scars on her cheek. “I see these, and I am filled with pride that you fought for us.” That sounds even worse. I scrub my face. “Fuck it. I’m messing this up. What I’m trying to say, Willow, is that your scars are what make you beautiful. Hiding them is hiding history, and I refuse to erase a single moment of you from our lives.”
I press my forehead to hers and pray she’s asleep, but I’m too cowardly to check her mind. She’s breathing so quietly. Shit. She heard. I’ve offended her.
I brace for the disgust, the hate... but she tangles her legs around mine, her soft body arches into me, and she exhales. A small smile touches her lips. I breathe her air until it steadies.
Before I lose my nerve, I drop my nose to her neck and inhale her intoxicating scent deep into my lungs. Every cell in my body groans as she infuses me with an overwhelming urge to... to I don’t know what. It’s more than arousal, more than attraction or the need to claim her. This is a bone-deep desire to keep her here forever, protect, feed, hold, and comfort her. It is the same bouquet as before, yet it feels so much stronger. I know, logically, she has no magic. She cannot complete the ritual to bond with us. Yet there is no better scent in the world than her lily, lavender, musk, and—my eyes flip open.
“I smell Titania,” I snarl, shocked. “I smell a curse.”
