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Meg gave her clothes the once over. She searched her memory.
What happened last night? How had she ended up in bed with Cian
when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t? Why was she wearing a
gold ring on her left hand?
She seemed to still be wearing enough clothes. Her lovely dress
was on the lone chair in the small room, but she had on the thin shift
that went beneath it, and she still had on her underwear. It was a good
sign.
Cian rubbed his eyes, yawned, and stretched his big body. He, on
the other hand, didn’t appear to be wearing anything. His glorious
frame was on full display. “You told me you refused to sleep in the
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big bed. You told me you needed independence, and the only way you
could have that was to live in abject poverty, with not a single
comfort to your name.”
“I doubt I put it quite like that,” Meg complained.
She remembered last night, up to a point. There had been dancing
and singing. She’d discovered that Flanna was a brownie. Meg had
laughed and said that they ate brownies on the human plane. She then
spent the better part of an hour explaining that she wouldn’t be
coming after Flanna’s grandchildren. Sweets might not be a big part
of Fae life, but ale was. It was the ale that did it. It had been slightly sweet and had a hell of a kick. Every time she finished a mug,
someone put another in her hands.
Cian scratched his belly. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but it was.
His gray eyes opened fully for the first time. “No. You took a lot
longer to explain it. It was quite the lecture, my lover. There was
something about making your own way and roaring because you’re a
woman. I didn’t understand it at all, and I consider myself a smart
man. The only part I really got was when you told me we had to live
