Page 143 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
I wonder idly if the third Nicnevin suggested it or if this is all Rose’s idea.
Without meaning to, I look over at Drystan, waiting to see his response. Surely, he’ll object to this?
But he clenches his jaw and says nothing.
Shit. I guess we’re doing this.
With a groan, I start stripping off my coat, grumbling as the icy temperature hits, and my dick tries to shrivel up into my abdomen in response. The fog of the night before has given way to a crystal-clear sky that’s somehow even colder.
“Some warmth might be nice,” I mutter pointedly at the winter fae, teeth already chattering as I tug my thermal under layer over my head and reach for the laces at my crotch.
Drystan snorts, waving his hand.
For a second, the air heats… and then my chest hair catches fire.
“Shit. Shit.Shit!” I pat furiously at my body as the flames quickly spread to my beard, swearing and cursing as Lore cackles wildly. “I said warmth, not barbeque!”
Giving up, I drop to the snow, rolling until I’m pretty sure my balls are frozen and the fire is out.
Goddess, the scent of burnt hair is so close to my nose that it’s all I can smell, and my wolf emits a low growl, ready to pounce on the dullahan for the world’s least funny prank.
He shrugs but doesn’t apologise as he turns away. “Be thankful it wasn’t your pubes.”
Oh.Oh. My ire fades as I realise my singeing wasn’t intentional, but rather a magical misfire.
Lore is still laughing, but Rose is staring down at us from atop Wraith’s saddle with concern etched into her beautiful features. Her wide, violet eyes linger on my beard, then flick to Drystan, who’s pretending to busy himself with his horse, and finally land on Caed.
It doesn’t take a genius to read her tiny frown and know she’s blaming herself for not forming a mating bond with all of us. Our powers have been malfunctioning for most of the trip, though we’ve done our best to hide it from her.
No one wants to pressure her to choose the bond when Caed’s fate remains so undecided. If he dies at Beltaine and they’ve mated, it will ruin her. My ma still mourns the loss of my pa. The only reason she survived the loss was because she wouldn’t leave me—a child at the time—to grow up without my parents. She turns insensible with grief at the oddest of moments, usually when she’s unable to keep herself busy enough to drown out the missing piece of her soul.
It’s been almost a century since his passing.
It’s part of the reason that the wolf’s head tattoo is now clear as day on Caed’s arm. If there’s a choice between forgiving an asshole and watching my mate suffer that same quiet torment for the rest of her days, I would choose forgiveness every damned time.
Taking off my boots is the worst part, my toes screaming at me as I hop from foot to foot, dragging off the last of my gear and then finally allow myself to shift.
The wolf bursts free, shaking out his fur with a huff. Of course, the second he’s in control, he pads straight to Rose,nudging his wet nose against her leg before lifting his head, searching for her touch.
She obliges, hand raking through the fur of my ears and petting softly. Wraith snarls a little under his breath, twisting his neck from side to side, and Rose laughs.
“I can stroke both of you,” she promises, sliding her free hand into the barghest’s fur.
My wolf huffs out an indignant noise of disbelief at having to share our mate’s attention with a damned beast, but then she hits that one spot and his tail thumps as all other thoughts are forgotten.
If you roll over right now, we’ll be covered in snow,I warn him.
My thick winter coat will protect from the worst, but still, not the look we’re going for.
The smell of cat hits me, and my wolf shoots Bree’s cat-sìth a long scathing look before cocking his leg and?—
Absolutely not!I yank at our connection before he can land us both in trouble. At first, I don’t think he’s going to listen, but then Gryffin makes the mistake of riding up beside us.
My wolf goes from lazy, indulgent pet to protective feral in the space of a heartbeat.
Only Lore blinking between us and yelling, “Sit!” at the top of his lungs spares Prae’s mate from having his head torn from his shoulders.
Of course, my wolf doesn’t understand the command, but he does oddly seem to recognise that Lore is Rose’s—probably thanks to the shimmer of dust he somehow found time to earn himself while we were freezing our asses off—and that he’s not holding a weapon.
