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“Says my mother. Says me, trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat. When I tried, I created a magic storm.”

He hummed and kept stroking my sides where his hands rested. “So, the magic storm that chased you into that hole was your doing. I suspected something was different about it. Its line was too straight and too regular for it to be a normal magic storm. As for your magic, no, you will not be able to do what I do. Or what The Raven does. We are royals of different houses; our magic has a different specialty than yours. You are the Banfhlaith of the House of Magic. I was not overly familiar with your father, but I did witness him wielding the might of the twin stars of his house multiple times.”

“Can you teach me then?”

He hummed again and pulled us down the pile of pillows to tuck the blankets around us. Unlike The Raven, he did not tuck my back against his chest. Instead, he threaded his legs around mine and pulled my face into his chest. “Let me consider it, Banfhlaith. For now, we will sleep, and I will dream of a way to solve your magical constipation.”

“Turd,” I hissed playfully and let my eyes slip closed, surrounded by the comfort of his body and his scent.

Chapter 23

Cricket

Dreams of hot mouths, plunging fingers, explosive passion, and two voices whispering heated words in my ear plagued me. My skin felt alive and singing with need every time I tried to thrash against the tight band of Brittle Spear’s arms restraining me, not allowing me to move away from him, no matter how much I tried. Despite the chill of the air leaking in under the canvas of the pavilion, I burned with need. Sweat beaded on my skin and cooled to tiny salty crystals as I squirmed and panted in my sleep. Flashes of evergreen eyes and pale eyes with paler moon-like pupils filled me with a tightening hunger that left me breathless and dripping with yearning.

When dawn finally broke over the camp, filling our pavilion with golden light, I was ready to climb Brittle Spear and beg him to fuck me hard, to leave bruises in my flesh and bite marks embedded in my skin. I lay in his arms watching his angelic face relaxed in sleep, his breathing deep and even, gusting out of him in great bellows. The more I watched him, the more the tightening damp at my core whispered temptation in my ear.

I could slide my hand from his hip, where it had rested all night, replace it with my leg, take hold of the thick base of him, and slide him home. Who wouldn’t love to be woken up with a sweet pussy sliding over them? My fingers itched and tingled with the desire to roam, to grip and stroke, not even held back by the ghost that occupied the bed.

I bit my lip and let my hand slowly drift toward the neatly trimmed thatch of dark red and brown hair between his thighs, but before my fingertips could brush the sleeping length of him, his arms tightened again. Guilt flamed across my cheeks as I looked up into the cosmic eyes of my once sleeping Ard Tiarna.

He watched me with amusement, dancing in his sleep-crusted eyes. “Manners, Banfhlaith, manners. We’ve not talked about license to open invitations on each other’s bodies.”

“Oh. Umm.” I squirmed with discomfort both for the growing slick slide of my depths and the gentle rebuke. “Sorry?”

He grinned and leaned forward to press a doting kiss on my hairline. “You are forgiven.”

“Brittle Spear?” I whispered into his collarbone, fighting the all-consuming urge to kiss and lick the tempting flesh.

“Mmmm?” he rumbled.

“Fuck me?”

The ring of his chuckle filled the pavilion, deep and rich as old bark. “I believe yesterday you were saying you would not fuck me. Today, you ask me to do just that? Tsk tsk tsk, Banfhlaith, you need to be sure. That day in my chambers, you did not even hesitate. You knew what you wanted, and you gave me clear consent to ravage every bit of you.”

He deftly rolled us, his long red hair curtaining around my face and the stiff, thick length of him pressing into my belly, his hands wrapping around my wrists and pinning them to my sides. His lips hovered so close to mine, their heat pulsed into me with every beat of his heart. Though no pupils or irises could be seen in the depths of his eyes, I could tell they scraped over every inch of me as he watched me. “I will have you begging for me, weak with need and mewling for my touch, Banfhlaith. I played with a toy once. I will have the Fae, fully and without restraint, or I will have none at all.”

I bit my lip and raised my hips to grind his cock against me, teasing him. “Am I not doing that right now?”

He grinned and pressed into me as if taunting me, daring me to try harder. “Not yet, you aren’t. You can still think. You can still form words. When you’re on the edge of madness, then I’ll sink so far into your flesh you’ll forget where I start and where you stop.”

He punctuated each word with a deep thrust and sway of his hips. My eyes rolled back in my head, imagining how that would feel inside of me. Remembering the way the two of them had worked me into a frenzy so easily, The Raven with his taut, restrained dominance and Brittle Spear with tongue and cock puppeteered by my captor.

And then the sumptuous weight of him was gone, like smoke in a gale wind. Leaving my naked body icy without the inferno that was his, and the shard that had been missing slid between us and opened the gaping wound I had been running from. I sat straight up to watch the sumptuous globes of his full ass strut toward a neatly folded stack of masculine clothing set atop the chest. With each step, his body shivered, once more reminding me of a film of oil atop water, shimmering and shifting in the light as his body stretched and contorted into the fine figure of Iron Thorn. By the time he reached the chest, the swaying mirage of his transformation was complete.

“Where did those come from?” I squeaked, thinking about someone able to come into the pavilion while the two of us slept and leave his clothing without either of us being the wiser. I felt small and vulnerable, where I felt so comfortable and safe.

“Magic, my dear. Magic.” He tutted as if there was no more natural or simple explanation.

“But you just woke up?”

He snorted and pulled on his breeches, dressing for the morning. “My dear Banfhlaith, your idea of the boundaries of magic is rudimentary at best. A skilled magic weaver can stitch and unstitch clothing even while unconscious. This? Moving clothes from one tent to another? I could sneeze and do more impressive workings.”

“And . . . you’re not worried about the magic going wrong?”

He came to the side of the bed, offering his cuffs to be buttoned up as if it were the most natural domestic duty that I had been performing for him for eons. The comfort in the simplicity of it warmed me in places that were barely even touched by the fever rolling across my skin.

“I have no fear of my magic going wrong. My magic is not bound to me; it exists when and where it wishes. I do not harness and yoke it like a beast of burden. Magic was never meant to be a pet, performing tricks at the end of a leash. As such, when I call it to me, it does not buck and rear under my guidance.” I finished buttoning up the cuffs, and he grazed the back of one knuckle down my jaw. “It slides and slithers into my caress.”