Page 75 of A Dark and Lovely Devastation

I shrugged. “Dunno. What’s her favorite color?”

He shut his eyes and expelled a long breath. “Morrigan loved the color of sunset, the orange-reddish hue that set the sky aflame right before the sun dipped beyond the horizon.”

A snort erupted out of me. “Such a faerie answer.”

He moved off the bed. “I will return.” And with that, he exited the room. Now that the passion had cooled between us, my breaths calming, my thoughts became more clear. All things considered, Dagda’s restraint was the right move. What would I have thought of myself in the morning?

When he re-entered, he came and rested on the bed beside me. He opened his palm to reveal a glittering black diamond shaped into a teardrop. The ridges cut across the surface in sharp angles.

I touched the cold raven crystal. “Another stone?”

“This one is special.” He watched me closely. “Our heartstone.”

“And what is that?”

His finger traced over the edges. “When a man or woman proposes to unite in the oncemate bond, they present their future mate with a heartstone.”

“Like an engagement ring.”

“You can place memories within it. Events that you and your oncemate can look back on for the rest of their lives.” He paused before adding, “Or to be looked on by future lives.”

My gaze shot to his. “You can place memories in there?”

Dagda’s thumb swept over the stone in a clockwise movement, and my thoughts strayed to the way he’d brushed that same thumb over my mouth, so tantalizingly slow.

Perhaps my desire hadn’t completely cooled.

“You think of the memory you wish to place inside and it will appear. Only you and your oncemate can see what you place inside.” Dagda stopped stroking the stone as if he could sense what it did to me. “Do you wish to see?”

“You mean how we—Morrigan and Dagda met. From the very beginning?”

“If you like.”

Did I want to see that? Everything we had been to each other in our past lives. I took in Dagda, his splayed hair, his firm hands, the hope in his eyes, and I found myself nodding. “Sure.”

“You must touch the crystal and will yourself to see into it. The memories will start at the beginning and move from one to the other. If you wish to skip ahead, merely think of when you want to see, and the closest memory to that time will appear.”

I placed my hand on the heartstone. The bedroom, the lights, and the surrounding walls faded.

A woman sped above the trees. From the way her gray speckled wings and braided dark hair matched the tapestries I’d seen in the Hall of Memories, I determined she must be Morrigan. An outraged roar sounded behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder.

“Almost there,” she said to herself. She slowed into a gentle glide and swooped toward a large stream, where she reached and scooped water into her mouth.

And plowed right into someone.

They went down hard, legs and arms tangling, water splashing wildly.

“Would you get off me, madam,” a male voice sputtered.

They finally managed to free themselves and Morrigan rose to her feet, shaking out her now waterlogged wings and shoving strands of brunette hair from her face. The man, still struggling to rise from the watery depths, was faerie, his wings a dark brown.

His red hair and green eyes matched an older version of Dagda that hung in the Hall of Memories.

Morrigan stared at Dagda’s formal faerie armor, the family crest etched into the clean leather, the fire badge on his belt.

He took her in as well, his lip curling. Her armor was worn and cracked, with whatever family crest scratched off.

Morrigan stiffened, hands going to the double hooked swords strapped to her sides. “Next time, do not get in my way.” She moved to pass him.

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