Page 44 of The Witch's Spell
I’ve not explained. I didn’t think I had a reason to, didn’t think a creature of Fairyland would have any interest in pressing his lips to mine. And yet I still wanted to try, even if it was going to end in embarrassment and rushed apologies and an awkward walk home.
“Yes, I am,” I say.
His smooth brow furrows. “Then why . . . ?”
“I love each of them equally and in different ways. It’s something we’ve agreed to, the four of us.”
Thorne makes a thoughtful noise. He works one hand through my hair, smoothing out the tangles, his gaze still holding me captive. “I see.”
When he offers no more, I tighten my fingers in the fabric of his vest and whisper, “Does this change things?”
I hope it doesn’t. I want to keep kissing him, want to feel his heart beating beneath the palms of my hands.
His laughter, though soft, still startles me. It’s more a burbling of a river than it is a human sound, and yet I recognize it for what it is.
“Not for me,” he says. “This is not uncommon back home. Some prefer to take many lovers.” He shrugs. “Though I can’t say I’ve tried it myself.” When his hand finishes its meandering trail through my long hair, he lifts it and tucks the loose strands behind my ear, fingertips grazing the round shell gently. It sends goose bumps down my spine and tingling through my low back.
“Then . . .” I whisper, pressing as close to him as my belly will allow, “can we . . . ?”
His lips pull back in a smile. And his mouth is closing in on mine when the library door opens.
Chapter 24
Alden
WELMA TOLD ME AURORA AND Thorne were here as I was finishing up the repairs on Liora’s caved-in roof. Can’t say I expected to find them pressed against each other, his hands in her hair, her fingers having already freed the top two buttons on his vest.
At this point, though, I’m not surprised.
But the two of them sure look to be.
Thorne turns his face quickly away from me while Aurora steps back, putting space between them. I’m not sure why she looks so shy; it’s not like she hasn’t made love to two of us at once. Well, with me and Rowan, at least. I’m not sure Faolan wouldeverlet another man into the room while enjoying the pleasure that is Aurora’s freckled skin and soft pink lips. Getting him to agree to rotating through nights with her was hard enough.
He’s still prickly, but I’m starting to think that’s just who he is. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. In fact, it’skind of funny watching Faolan and Rowan get at each other, and it’s funnier still to watch Aurora scold them into mumbled apologies and half-concealed eye rolls.
“Alden,” Aurora says. She sounds out of breath. Probably from kissing Thorne, if her swollen lips are anything to go off of.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I say. And I can’t help but smile at how Aurora’s cheeks flush a deeper pink. “Welma told me I could find you here. I finished up Liora’s roof and was about to head back. Thought you might want to walk together, but if you’re busy—”
“No, no,” Aurora interrupts, hands smoothing her dress out over her round stomach. “We were just finishing up.” She stoops to retrieve a book from the floor, something with a light purple cover, then glances back at Thorne.
He’s facing me now, working on doing up the buttons of his vest. “It was a... fruitful visit,” he says.
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. I cross my arms, tool belt clanking at my hips. “I’ll bet.”
Aurora’s forehead creases, but Thorne actually spares a laugh for my attempt at a joke.
Rowan told me on the walk into Faunwood today that he agrees with Faolan about Thorne—that he’s hiding something, isn’t telling us something. But not for the first time, I decide to let Aurora be the determiner of that. Our steadfast captain, she’s yet to steer us wrong. I’m just along for the ride.
“Well, if you two are ready...” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder, toward the door. “I’d like to gethome. I’m starving.”
“What, Liora didn’t feed you?” Aurora asks as she carries the book to the front desk and writes something on the parchment tucked inside the front cover.
“Oh, she did,” I say. “But her blackberry scones don’t hold a candle to yours.”
This time when Aurora turns to me, the furrow is gone from her brow, and she’s smiling. One of her green brows arches in the corner. “Are you just saying that?” she asks, hand propped on one hip.
My stomach rumbles loudly, and I think that’s answer enough.
