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“Also yes,” he grits out. My eyes dip to his breeches where his cock strains beneath them. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Carver pushes my legs from his lap and stands. “Well, we both know what it means when two people start having private conversations in a crowded room. Don’t we, Eivor?”

“Sure do.” Eivor follows suit, gently easing me into a seating position. “They’re one whisper away from fucking.”

“Get out,” Quill growls, his fangs snapping free.

Chapter 20

QUILL

My brothers depart, leaving sticky crimson footsteps in their wake.

Rory is a sight to behold. Pale skin dappled with blood, silk dress darkened with wet splotches. She looks like a goddess come to rest after a merciless battle. I offer her a hand, and she takes it without hesitation.

“Hello there, tiny monster,” I murmur, pulling her close to me.

Her thoughts flitter into my mind—the urge to kiss me, to touch me, to feel the weight of my body on hers. If it’s even possible, my cock hardens further. Question after question seems to burn the tip of her tongue as she runs it over her bottom lip. But there’s one question at the forefront of her mind pushing past all the others.

“Your desire to be close to me is normal,” I say.

Because I’m your mate, I refrain from saying.

I can’t bring myself to tell her.

She spent her entire life being told who she is and what she is going to be to everyone around her. I wouldn’t be any different from them if I told her the truth now. I’d just be forcing her into another role when she deserves to be free, to make her own choices.

“It’s like I’m consumed by you,” she muses.

I swallow. “Does it bother you?”

“Of course not.” Her eyes are two pools of honey, and I’m trapped in their glow. “Are you… also consumed by me?”

“Wholly,” I say huskily.

I don’t have to be her sire to read the question in her eyes: Why me?

Because I have wished for her on every falling star, prayed for her to every god I don’t believe in.

“Let’s walk and talk.” I reach for her sticky hand and lace my fingers through hers. “You reek of animals, and I’d rather you smell of me.”

There’s a low purr in the base of her throat that sends a jolt through me.

We leave the kitchen, hand in hand, and venture in the opposite direction of Carver and Eivor’s footprints to the hallway leading to the celestial wing.

“Your meeting with Nerissa lasted ages,” she says. “Did it at least go well? I went looking for you earlier and found you in some hidden room.” She pauses, then says in a rush, “My curiosity got the best of me, and I read her letter to you. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t understand much of it, but I’d like to.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I say as we pass the decor Risna spent hours crafting decades ago when she’d taken up pottery as a hobby. “I have every intention to fill you in on what’s going on, but before I get into that, I should probably start at the beginning. Did you know there are seven species of creatures in Norica?”

She nods and rattles them off one-by-one. “Vampires, werewolves, fae, genies, sirens, warlocks, and nymphs.”

Fuck, she’s perfect.

I cut her an appreciative sidelong glance. “Correct. In the Wyldelands, each species has its own supreme.”

“Like a monarch for your—our—kind?” she asks.

“Exactly. For vampires, our supreme is Mihal.” His name is more of a growl lodged in my throat at the mere thought of the prick. “He’s the one who sent me to assassinate you.”