Page 161 of Atop the Faerie Throne
“Take it easy, redcap,” Drystan snaps, but Lore is past hearing.
The slap, slap, slap of our bodies fills my ears, and my face is pinned to the dust-coated covers beneath us as my world narrows to the way his body cages mine against the bed and the intense stimulation of his pearls against my channel.
“So fucking wet for me,” he hisses against my neck, sinking his teeth into my throat as his knees shove my legs farther apart. “Your cunt is sopping, pet. Squeeze me. Just like that. Good. Fucking. Girl.”
Every single word is broken up by our harsh breathing. The embers of my previous orgasm viciously are revived and tear through my abdomen. I’m not sure I ever truly had a chance to come down from the previous high, but Lore’s frantic fucking drives me even higher, sending me crashing down. My toes curl, wings fluttering as he hammers into me like he’ll die if he stops.
When he comes, it’s with a snarl of possession that wrings me out and leaves me broken. He pumps me full of him, adding his cum to the mix already dripping from my body.
“Snuggles,” he murmurs, hipsstillsoftly rocking against me.
The vibrations stop, and all of the tension abandons my body in a rush.
“Can we do it again?” Lore asks, tentatively.
Caed snorts, dropping onto the bed on my other side and daring to drag me from my redcap’s clutches. I wriggle into the perfect spot against his chest, relaxing fully as Lore takes his place on my other side. Dimly, I feel the rest of them climbing in beside us, arranging the covers so we won’t be cold, and sending shimmering dust high into the air as they do so.
Goddess, the entire room must be covered in the evidence of how much I loved what we just did.
“When Rose has recovered, maybe,” Bree says, spreading out along the end of the mattress with one hand tangled around my ankle. “Sleep first.”
His suggestion sounds heavenly, and I hum happily, already slipping into a doze. I’m surrounded by the five of them, love thrumming with quiet contentment along all of our bonds.
Nothing has ever felt so good.
Fifty-Four
Rhoswyn
Some months later, at Samhain…
I did very well at blocking the reality of what was to come tonight from my mind. Until now.
The Wild Hunt is just as loud as I remember. The column of skeletal painted horses is the same as it was last year, and the cawing and snarling of valravne and barghests undercuts their snorts in the cold sky air as we ride.
But this hunt is different.
This hunt… is goodbye.
My hands fist in Blizzard’s mane as the spirits drift towards us from Elfhame City. It’s our final stop, and I think Drystan planned it that way for the same reason he ensured Calimnel was first.
His mother and Cedwyn tried to fight their way out of this, only to be dragged up with us by the barghests. Now they’re somewhere at the back of the host, silent only thanks to thethreat of Drystan’s whip, which curls slow and smouldering by his side as we wait with the rest of the gathered spirits above the city.
“Jaromir and Bricriu,” Drystan begins, and I turn to look at his head, which is hanging from the saddle. “Suggested that you might need… comfort.”
I can’t help the bittersweet laugh that breaks free. “Did they now?”
His arms leave the reins, wrapping around my middle carefully. “Yes. I set their arses on fire for the insult.” He pauses, one thumb stroking my belly through my dress. “Are you… prepared?”
Nodding gets a lot harder when the familiar black-and-silver fox streaks into the air, following my white barghest towards us without hesitation. My breath escapes on a reedy, thin noise that I barely manage to quell before Wraith and Bram reach us.
The fox surprises both of us by leaping into my arms, and my breath hitches.
I’ve deliberately tried not to summon him until yesterday, when I offered Caed and my other brothers one last chance to say goodbye. Death’s finality is as universal as it is painful for a reason. As Nicnevin, I can’t afford to dwell with the dead while the living depend on me.
Besides, this isn’t a goodbye. Not really. I’ll see him again, when the time is right.
My fingers soothe through his fur as the rest of the spirits follow. Some willing, some not. I see them all. Ascal, Ghislane, Merith, Kendel, and so many others lost in the war. The host is vast this year.
