Page 115 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“What conditions?” the Huntsman asks.
“I won’t be separated from Njáll again.”
I watch Njáll as I say it. His cheeks go pink, and he presses his lips together as though he is trying to tamp down on a smile. He is pleased, at least, and that is all I want.
“Very well,” the Huntsman says, “though I rather believe you proved your feelings on that matter already. Anything else?”
“We help the fae.” I hold up a hand when the Huntsman begins to speak, and he glares, showing his teeth, but holds off. “The ones who were here already. The ones who need it and only want to be safe in this realm. We should do it… But if nothing else, they will be more likely to help us if they think we are more than their executioners.”
“And how do you propose we keep themsafe? We are here to help humans, Maurice, or did you forget?”
“We can help,” Deacon says. The Huntsman looks up at him, and he meets Vasile’s fierce gaze before his eyes drop to the way they are standing together, as close as mates should be. “We can send word outside of the city, too. There are packs who will help.”
“Vampires, too,” Njáll says.
The Huntsman frowns. He turns his attention back to me, and I hold my breath—I really do want both these conditions just as fiercely as each other, and I know which one is the more difficult for him to accept.
“Very well,” the Huntsman says. “You and your vampire can live as you like, and if there are fae who you believe require help… On your head be it if you are wrong, Maurice.”
“Of course.”
His magic wraps me up from one breath to the next, and I gasp when the blessing sinks into my skin. It burrows deep, filling that empty well inside of me. I groan in pain, head bowed, butthe pain soothes when my magic flares to life again, shining and beautiful and within my reach…
The Huntsman reaches out and tips my head up so I’m looking at him. My magic—his magic—flares in response, and for a moment, that dances between us, back and forth, until it settles in me, recognising where it means to be.
“Two days, Maurice,” he says, and I blink at him in surprise.
“Two—What?”
“You heard me. In deference of your treatment and victory. I expect you to report to Vladimir and the others when two days have passed.”
He gets to his feet and walks out of the room without looking back. I stare after him. Two days…? Two days to do whatever I like, I suppose. Two days to—
I jerk my head up, eyes snagging on Njáll, who stands only a few feet away. Some people are still looking at me, I can feel it, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone but him.
He comes close and reaches for me and my magic wraps around him too, just for a moment. Njáll shivers as though he feels it. I get to my feet.
“Your conditions…”
“I don’t want to talk about it here.”
“I have to—”
“Do you?”
His hand tightens in mine. “No, I suppose I do not.” He turns his head and Afsaneh is there in a moment, lips curving up when she sees our clasped hands. “Can I leave you to handle things here?”
“I’d be offended if you did not,” she replies, then looks at me. “Your things are in the crai’s rooms.”
“Why would you put them there?”
“A hunch,” she says with a shrug, then intercepts Alwynn before she can reach us.
Njáll makes eye contact with Vasile, giving him a nod that is returned with no little amusement, and then he is tugging me over to the door.
I know we have not slipped out of there without everyone noticing. I don’t care. Two days. I do not want to waste another minute of that precious time with anyone who is not Njáll.
Chapter Thirty-Two
