Page 117 of Sweetling
His lips lifted, but it wasn’t quite a smile, for it was far too sad. Leaning his forehead on hers, he said, “At first, yes. But then I saw a woman at a well—and she changed everything.”
Her heart ached in her chest, and for a moment, she wanted to weep all over again. She let herself have a moment of disappointment that this had all begun for someone else, but then forced herself on. She should have known his reasons for doing all this were noble and selfless, for that’s just who he was—her fae was good to his core. Far too good for her, but it was too late for that now.
Even with how he’d gotten her here, Allarion had spent every moment proving to her that he was sincere. That unlike any man before, he meant what he said. He gave her space and time. He gave her choices. He gave her a home.
It didn’t matter how this had all begun—nothing was perfect and life wasn’t a fairy tale. What mattered was that they were here, together. By some divine intervention or cosmic force or utter coincidence—didn’t matter. Nothing would part them now. Not a Fae Queen, not a belligerent uncle, not even her own stubbornness.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Those beautiful eyes searched hers, so changed and yet so familiar. They were exactly the same hue, the same glittering jewels that saw straight through her, merely set in a different frame.
“I have loved you since I first saw you. I may not have known it, but Iknewit.” Taking her hand, he placed it on his chest, where his heart thudded steadily. “Holding you in my heart has been my greatest joy. And now, you are the beat of my heart. My life’s blood.”
Molly wished she was half as romantic with her words as he was, but all she could do was kiss him. Wrapping arms and legs around him, she clung tight to her fae, showing him in every touch and caress and kiss that he was the one for her. He saw what no one else did, cared when no one else did, was there when no one else was.
With him, Molly wasn’t alone.
Allarion received her fierce love with all the patience and grace she knew he would, holding her tight as she carded her fingers through his hair and sucked his bottom lip. And although she was sore and sticky from their previous lovemaking, she began to roll her hips, another ache for him pulling at her belly.
Keeping his transformed gaze, Molly reached down between them to take hold of his hardening cock. After a few firm strokes, she guided the cockhead to her cunt and bore down gently. He glided inside, a small roll of his hips thrusting his cock deeper.
Arms around him, weight on her knees, Molly began to rock her hips, taking him that much more with every downstroke. That infernal piercing slid up and down, catching just the right spot with just enough pressure to make her shudder deliciously.
Dropping his head to her shoulder, Allarion kissed along the tender curve to her neck.
“You wonderful girl,” he breathed, tickling her skin.
Molly laughed to hide how much the words pleased her. “I didn’t do anything. Not really. You did all the biting.”
He lifted his silvery head to pin her with a look as serious as a dirge. “You’ve done everything, my love.Everything.”
His words sank inside her, and in the soft darkness of their bedchamber, as they softly rocked together, Molly began to believe it.
27
Allarion had never seriously considered his own mortality, nor even truly his own health. As a fae, long-lived and a stranger to sickness, such things were often far from not only his mind, but the minds of all fae. It was a disconcerting realization that he was, however, dying.
That was, until his clever, wonderful, beautiful Molly brought him back to life.
Over the course of several days, Allarion witnessed something that was nothing short of miraculous. After a few more bites to sip a mouthful of her blood, his own completely reverted to a dark red, just like hers. His sclera went white, his gums and tongue pink. His skin lost some of its gray pallor, his hue taking on a more mild lilac coloring with a pinkish flush of health.
He couldn’t help it—in those first days, he could often be found standing naked before a mirror, staring in amazement at the transformation taking hold.
An early winter morning shone brightly from the windows, illuminating his form from behind. Allarion flexed his hands and wiggled his toes, watching the tendons move beneath his purplish skin.
Goddesses, in some ways, he hardly recognized the male staring back at him in the mirror. It was the same face, the same hair, the same limbs. And yet…it wasn’t.
Not only had Molly’s blood rejuvenated his own, it’d awakened his appetites. No longer did he look upon food and drink apathetically. The aromas that wafted from the kitchen set his belly to rumbling—an alarming thing when it first happened. He’d put Molly’s hands on his middle so she could feel, but it only sent her into a fit of giggles.
“You’re hungry,”she told him.“Come here, I’ve made luncheon.”
And so Allarion tried everything—and discovered a new favorite pastime. He devoured whatever Molly put in front of him whether he liked it or not. Most of it he liked, savoring the tastes and textures of food. He enjoyed wiling away an afternoon as he and Bellarand stood at the butcher block, tasting things Molly offered.
Bellarand was certainly right about carrots, they were fantastic. So were the potatoes Molly liked making, roasted in butter and garlic. And the sauteed green beans and squash. And the crusty bread she baked, and the sweet treats she called pie. And then to learn pies could be savory, filled with vegetables and fish—utterly amazing. And the drink, oh, the drink, he found wine enchanting and enjoyed mead as much as he thought he would, the taste reminding him a little of Molly’s.
All this meant that, even just within a few days, his face wasn’t quite the same. As he turned and twisted in the mirror, his ribs weren’t so prominent, his spine not so pronounced. His cheekbones and jaw, while still more sharply contoured than a human visage, were filling out. He was beginning to put on meat, no longer rangy but…healthy.
It was an oddly thrilling thing to see in the mirror. He needed to look at himself to believe it, to witness not just how quickly he changed but how quickly he took to the change.
