Page 149 of Ulune's Daughter

“I love you, Lawson. I love you, my warrior.”

He holds me so tightly my bones creak. “I love you, too. I love you more than life. I wish you’d remember this tomorrow.”

“There will come a morning,” I promise him, “when I wake remembering everything. Every truth from long ago. Every moment of our now. When it’s safe, my love. When this mind can bear those memories, when this body can withstand all my power. Don’t wish for it too soon. There will be hard things that must be done then, regardless of my love for you.”

“The Oak King?” he asks, his breath warm in my ear, but his tone threaded with worry.

“Yes, and the rest of the poison infecting Faery. The wrongs must be righted. It must all be swept clean.”

“Whatever you need, my queen, I’ll do,” he promises.

I curl against him, winding my legs tightly around him. “I know you will, my gift from the Mother. I’ve never doubted your courage. Be strong for me. For us. And never, ever doubt the depths of my love for you.”

He kisses me, deep and soft, curling his tongue around mine, such a contrast to his fevered kisses during the first round of our lovemaking. I know he has much more in him, and I will glory in every moment tonight, as I give him his reward for his patience and devotion.

Chapter46

Undivided Loyalties

KELLAN

Ineed to check the alcohol content on that damn faery wine. Surely it can’t be as strong as tequila? But it’s left me just as hungover.

Lawson’s sister Aine shows her true colors by sniggering at me as I join his family at breakfast red-eyed and wincing. Then she runs off into the kitchen for aid. I knew I liked that kid.

Aine returns with the silent woman, Larissa, who I hate to call a servant because that bothers the Hells out of me but calling her Allie’s “handmaiden” makes my skin crawl, too. I’ve read Margaret Atwood. Nothing good comes from being someone’s handmaiden.

Larissa lays a cool hand on my brow and when I only flinch a little, she gives me a big mug of something that looks and tastes like thin, cherry Jello. It soothes my dry tongue and rocky stomach and aches and pains with every sip. I’m feeling nearly myself by the time a steak oozing butter and two eggs over easy arrive in front of me. When I glance around the table, everyone else is eating much more modest breakfasts.

I shoot Lawson a side-eye. “Um.”

He glances up from his own mushroom and basil omelet and lifts his eyebrows. “What?” he mouths at me.

“This seems over-the-top for breakfast on a Wednesday.”

He sticks a big bite of omelet in his mouth, chews, and swallows. Gives me a massive grin. “Nothing’s too good for my mate.”

Well, he has a point.

I dig into my steak and eggs. Glorious Mother, it’s good. On the right side of medium rare, rich with butter and garlic. I’m going to stink all day. I don’t care. I eat every bite.

Mom and Dad never tried to police what Chelsea and I ate. For all that Mom and I have had our moments, I’ve always appreciated that she let me figure out my own diet, particularly after getting to Bevvy and meeting the many eating disorders my classmates brought to school with them.

My sister, however, turned into a complete food Nazi the last two years I lived at home. She’d spend half of dinner every day detailing my calorie count and how it was higher than hers, and moo-ing at me when our parents weren’t in earshot. She dropped to a size four when I was edging up to an eight and made a point of moving all of my size six clothes to her closet on the theory that they were “too tight” on me. When I escaped to Bevvy, I wasn’t as careful with pizza and beer and “midnight brunch” at Bodeman Main on weekends as I should have been. I definitely ate my stress that year. I gained far more than the Freshman Fifteen and when I went home for the summer, even Dad expressed concern about how much weight I’d gained.

I did better after freshman year. I got a handle on my eating habits. I exercised. I drank fewer empty calories. I settled back to a comfortable weight; I’m as happy with my curves as I am with my muscles. Chelsea—whodroppedweight her freshman year at Bevvy just to dig at me, I swear—still sniffs when she sees me eating heartily.

I push that sniff out of my mind as I enjoy my food.

Lawson watches me eat. Not the way Chelsea would have, but in a “I want to be next” way.

I wink at him as I wash the amazing food down with a cup of chicory coffee. Yes, I drank too much last night, and I might have lost some time, but I’d have to be dead not to remember how he fucked me. The deep, scratching pain that turned into so much pleasure. He’s been holding back. I appreciate his care. I was fragile when he collected me from Carrie and Jane’s. Rhodes has been dominating me when we have sex, but he’s playful with it. He makes me whimper occasionally, but we laugh together more.

I don’t remember the details of last night, but a clear impression remains. Lawson was loving but he wasnotplaying. The things I really want—in my darkest dreams, the shadiest corners of my heart—after last night I know Lawson will give them to me.

And the rest of the time, he’ll dote on me. After that ridiculous breakfast, he walks with me through the Fae Ways to my office on campus. I catch him eyeing up the piskie sheep in the fields around Ceòfuar and give him a dire warning about what happens to people who eat my sheep. He looks undeterred and I make a mental note to count my sheep every time I walk through Faery.

When we get to my office, leaving Faery by the low falls again, I tease him that we don’t allow Mammoths on campus. That earns me an eyeroll and a hard kiss. He leaves me after inspecting every corner of my office for hidden dangers, stepping back into the Fae Ways. But if he walked out the door of my office and strolled out of the building, no one would bat an eye. In his sheepskin coat, pale gray sweater that makes his eyes glow, black jeans and boots that show off his huge feet, he’s too well-dressed to be an undergrad, but would fit right in with the post-docs and young faculty.

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