Page 75 of Ulune's Daughter

The human isn’t satisfied, and trails after me as I pad into the kitchen to find meat to replenish the calories I poured into my mate’s womb. Such a soft, receptive,greedylittle womb.

My balls tighten at the thought, although there can’t possibly be a drop left in them.

I take a whole roasted chicken out of the refrigerator, set it on a wide plate, and retire to the dining table with my kill. Er, meal.

My instincts, and hormones, are running high today.

Rhodes watches me eat. He’s seen me eat before but perhaps not with the same vigor. When I drop the second gnawed drumstick onto the plate, he finally works up the courage to speak.

“I could heal it for you.”

“You could,” I agree, peeling the breast away from the wishbone and downing it in five bites.

“Fuck’s sake, Law, just ask me to heal you.”

I attack the second breast in silence.

“You’re not going to, are you?”

I’m torn. Even strapped, the cracked rib is a niggle every time I breathe. Although I have no plans to venture close to Faery today, a warrior should always be ready. I’ve been called to battle the Mirk unexpectedly before. And then there’s the question of servicing my magnificent mate. I have no hope that she’ll get drunk again tonight, but I should always be ready to give her pleasure if she demands it. It’s wrong for me to remain injured and unable to fulfill my duties to Cait and mate when healing is at hand.

But it will heal on its own in a few days. And having to ask Luca’s human for anything is intolerable.

“If you agree that I will owe you a favor,” I grit.

“What?”

“I’ll ask you to heal me if you’ll agree that I’ll owe you a favor. There will be no imbalance between us, human.”

“Whatever, Law. Yes, I’ll agree that you owe me a favor. I’ll even tell you what the favor is. Take off whatever hex you’ve put on Kellan’s furniture so I can sit down for five minutes without feeling like my ass is being chewed by fire ants.”

I grin around a mouthful of meat.

“Agreed,” I say, after I swallow.

The healing only takes a moment. Rhodes presses his hand against my side. The sound of the surf swells in my ears and the scent of brine washes over me. Then it’s done and the pain in my side ebbs away into nothingness.

“Luca probably could have done that,” Rhodes says as he steps away.

My brother has some healing gift, true. Unusual in an Air-mage with such affinity for the dead. But that’s why I’d never ask him to heal me with his Air-magic. Every time Luca heals with magic, he channels death through himself. The Liusaidh warned me, when Luca’s ability first manifested, that one day channeling death would carry Luca off in its embrace. I won’t lose my twin that way.

“You didn’t ask me to remove the hex on the toilet or the bed,” I say, setting in on the chicken carcass again.

“That wasimplied,” Rhodes grumbles.

“Not well enough.”

“Dick. Although I guess if you keep fucking Kellan in her sleep that hard, you’ll need me again pretty soon.”

Since I cannot argue with that logic, I keep silent.

* * *

I amtrue to my word. After breakfast I text my cousin and while Kellan is off doing something blasphemous with the blood of our mortal kin and a revenant, I let Mags into her apartment to remove the hexes. Not the one on the bed. The human can sneeze himself sick every time he ventures into my mate’s bed; it might teach him humility. But I counterspell the one on the toilet. That joke’s only funny once.

Mags is long gone and I’m dozing in a patch of autumn sunlight on Kellan’s bed when she returns from class with a crowd of people, my twin among them. They’re arguing good-naturedly over the results of the ward they created today. Luca takes his laptop out of his bag and sets it up on Kellan’s dining table, making notes while they talk. I jump onto Kellan’s lap as soon as she sits down and purr while she pets me.

Among the group are several students I don’t recognize—dressed, like my brother, all in black—and the professor who has rebuffed my brother for years. She’s not fae, but she does change skins. To something like a snake if my nose isn’t failing me. And my mate complains that I smell bad? Jane Serpa smells drier and mustier than the revenants she’s keeping in her classroom.

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