“Come here,” Bran croaked, his magic still bright in his eyes, flecks of gold in a sea of hazel.
Cillian slid his hand up from Bran’s throat to his cheek, cradling his face close for a lingering kiss. The bedroom was full of winter, but Bran was warm beneath him, like a fire on the coldest night of the year.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bran woke with a pleasurable ache in his body he hadn’t felt since his last one-night stand months ago. He cracked open one eye, the sconces long since dimmed, but the weak light trying to peek through the edges of the curtain told him it must be morning.
He blinked both eyes open, breath catching in his throat a little as his vision parsed the shadows, making out Cillian sleeping beside him in the large bed they’d shared last night. They had gone to sleep wrapped up around each other but had drifted apart sometime during the night. Bran tried not to think of that as a reflection of their past. He hadn’t left for Aisling’s room to sleep on her floor last night only because Jupiter had promised to keep watch.
He tugged on their bond, getting an immediate query back from his familiar that felt likeawake. Satisfied that Jupiter had Aisling’s well-being in hand, he shifted a little closer to Cillian, listening to the other man breathe slow and deep in sleep. His hair was tangled on the pillow and draped over his shoulders, longer than Bran remembered him ever wearing it when they were kids. Just another difference grown in the years they’d not spoken, but he couldn’t say he minded the style. It suited Cillian, especially now.
Bran lifted a hand and reached out to gently stroke the pointed tipof Cillian’s ear, tracing the shape of it. Cillian as a Fae wasn’t much different than Cillian as a human—just more beautiful. Bran couldn’t find it in his heart to hate the other man the way the Council of Witches bade every coven to feel toward the Fae. Bran couldn’t think of Cillian as his enemy if his life depended on it. He’d always loved Cillian in some way, even through hurt and anger.
“Mm.” Cillian shifted on the bed, turning his head in Bran’s direction. Bran shifted his hand to cup Cillian’s jaw, gently stroking his thumb over the sharpness of a cheekbone. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Bran watched Cillian open his eyes, the color gray in the soft morning shadows. He dragged a hand up from the blankets tangled around their hips to press it over Bran’s, shifting onto his side. “Come here.”
Bran scooted closer, slotting their legs together and trying to ignore the interested twitch of his cock. Cillian fit his hand over Bran’s hip, stroking over the shadow of bruises he’d pressed into Bran’s skin last night. Bran sighed, curling closer. “We should get up. We need to figure out how to get back home.”
“Can I even go home looking like this?”
“Fae can look human when they’re in the mortal world. I don’t know how to cast glamour, but someone here should know.”
“I’m not sure I trust any help they’d give us.”
“Well, they’re certainly not out to kill you like Ainmire was.”
Cillian’s hand tightened on Bran’s hip. “They’d kill you without a second thought for being a witch.”
“You won’t let them.” The collar around Bran’s throat was proof enough of that resolve. He’d hated the one Ainmire had made him wear, that horrible thing cutting him off from Nature and his magic. Cillian’s was a claim he found he didn’t mind, only because it meant he belonged to Cillian, and Bran knew he’d always be safe with him. Any other collar would leave him in a panic, but Cillian’s only provided relief in the Otherworld.
“No, I won’t,” Cillian said with a fierceness that made Bran shiver.
“We’ll figure out how to make you look human,and then we’ll go home.”
“How do we get there? Through the wyrding again?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Cillian sighed. “We’re going to need a shower after we get back.”
Bran hummed agreement before leaning forward to kiss Cillian on the cheek. “We should get up.”
Cillian wrapped his arms around Bran and rolled him onto his back with a suddenness that had him gasping. The weight of the other man on top of him made him shiver, made him think of the way Cillian had so expertly taken him apart last night. It made him jealous of the people Cillian must have learned it from over the years, hating each and every one of them with a churlishness he wouldn’t apologize for.
“I love you,” Cillian said in a low voice. “That isn’t going to change when we get back home.”
Bran swallowed, aware of the collar around his throat and the way he’d never been able to let Cillian and the memory of him go over the years. Aware, too, of the duty every witch was meant to keep when it came to the Fae. “I love you, too.”
Cillian leaned down to kiss him, lips cool against Bran’s. It could have been a dream, but when Bran touched him, Cillian was solid and real, there after being only a memory for so long. He let Cillian press him against the bed, lazily kissing him, feeling his cock stir with interest, but any chance of repeating what they’d done last night was interrupted by a timid knock on the bedroom door.
Cillian tore his mouth away from Bran’s with a quiet curse, rolling off him. “Right. Let’s see who that is.”
He left Bran on the bed with the sheets, taking the blanket with him to wrap around his waist. He cracked the door open, then pushed it wider, and Aisling ducked under his arm, coming inside the room. Bran frantically made sure he was covered up. “Hey, Aisling. We were just getting up.”
She went over to the sconce on the wall and poked at it. The fire elemental inside brightened, providing enough illumination they could all make out the mess of clothing strewn across the floor. Aisling stared at the clothes before looking at Bran, wrinkling her nose.
