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But I caught the belt before he could shuck it away. My fingers closed around the two familiar appendages. Encrusted with jewels, intricate and beautiful. The scabbards.
How many times had I curled my hands around them, finding peace and comfort in their presence on my hips?
Before I’d even known what they truly were, I’d hated to be parted from them.
Yet I felt no hesitation at all as I twisted my hand, snapping one free of the belt.
I held it out to Arran.
He stared. Blinked. Then his eyes flooded with understanding and he shook his head sharply. “No.”
“Yes.” I reached for his hand, shoving the scabbard into it.
“You don’t know if they will work when parted.”
“I don’t care,” I said simply. “If you bleed, I bleed.”
“I’d rather neither one of us bleeds.”
“Then take the scabbard.”
“Veyka.”
“You don’t get to choose for me,” I said sharply. “You can listen, you can protect. But my choices, my life… they are mine. I choose.”
His gaze shifted from the scabbard, up to me. I felt the weight of those dark, burning eyes as the traced the swell of my stomach, the curve of my breasts. Over my chin. They lingered on my lips. When he reached my eyes, there was such understanding there. Such depth. Myself, reflected. Me, truly seen.
He didn’t hesitate. “I know.”
“I choose you, Arran.”
He didn’t glare, but his face was unreadable.
I waited.
I was waiting for the words. For the first time in my life, I was ready for them.
Twenty years of torture. The pain of loving Arthur—of losing him—of finding myself. I was ready.
But instead, Arran caught my hand and stepped toward the faerie pools. “I promised you a hot bath.”
My chest contracted. But I managed a smile. “Yes, you did.”
74
VEYKA
I was already naked. And despite the heat of desire flooding my senses, I was cold.
Walking into the hot water of the faerie pool was almost as good as an orgasm. My entire body trembled. Arran wasn’t holding on to me. I took every bit of muscle control and concentration to guide my steps carefully down the stone steps built into the wall of the pool rather than just flinging myself straight down into it.
It was exquisite.
I groaned as my feet finally found the bottom. It was deeper than I’d expected, the water coming all the way up to cover my breasts so that only the very top of my chest was exposed. The tips of my hair dipped into the pool and floated all around me. I still hadn’t fully adjusted to the shorter hair.
It was convenient for traveling—I wore it loose most of the time, and Cyara and I could brush it out in a few minutes rather than spending an hour on an intricate braid. It felt lighter—it made me feel lighter. And nowhere was that more evident than in a pool of water.
But I didn’t waste time looking at my own hair.
