Page 132 of Threadbound

Love.

Obviously, he felt the same way about Bran, but he hadn’t expected Bran, an elegant, powerful fae prince, to feel that way abouthim. Plain, boring, ordinary Jamie Weaver from Maynardville, Tennessee, the least magical place in the world, as far as Jamie was concerned. There was no reason—other than magic, anyway—for Bran mac Cairn to love him.

He couldn’t make himself look at Bran when he asked the next question. “Because of the threadbond?”

Bran’s hands slid around his stomach, and Jamie put one of his own—wet as it was from the dishwater—over one of Bran’s, enjoying the roughness of Bran’s inhuman knuckles. “In a way, I suppose,” the fae answered softly, letting Jamie thread their fingers together. “I dinna know if we’d have met without it. But if we had, I think I would ha’ loved you anyway.” He let out a soft huff against Jamie’s back. “I canna help it.”

“I love you, too,” Jamie admitted, half-swallowing the words. Love was precious. Something he wasn’t sure how to give the right way, since he’d always been afraid of letting himself actually love anyone else. Loving his momma had been hard enough, and he hadn’t had much of a choice. She was his momma. He’d had to love her. Not that he didn’t want to—but with Bran, hechose. Jamie hadn’t been able to make a lot of choices in his life. Or, rather, he hadn’t made a lot. Coming to Edinburgh had been one of them. Choosing Bran was another.

Jamie turned in the fae’s arms, and he found a wistful smile on Bran’s lips when he finally looked down at the fae’s expression. “Bran?—”

One of Bran’s long-fingered hands reached up and pulled Jamie’s mouth to his in a kiss that held an edge of desperation, although it was one that Jamie was more than willing to give himself over to. Bran’s mouth tasted faintly of chocolate and cookie dough—Jamie had given him a cookie to taste—and Jamie heard himself make a small sound as Bran’s tongue danced against his, urgent and demanding.

But before Jamie could completely lose himself in Bran, his phone buzzed on the counter, reminding him that Trixie and Rob were coming over—were likely downstairs and wanting to be let in.

He pulled away from Bran, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest beneath the fae’s inhuman palm. Jamie reached out and picked up his phone—Trixie, letting him know that they were a few blocks away.

“They’re almost here,” he said out loud, his heart still pounding, although now from nerves. It was odd to find just how desperately he wanted Rob and Trixie to believe him—to believethem.

“All right,” came Bran’s response, and Jamie blinked, startled again as Bran’s body rippled, a shudder shifting skin and muscle until he appeared in his human form once more. Even though he’d known Bran would start the conversation looking human, he still stared, still a little awed by Bran’s magic. “D’you not wish to watch me transform?” Bran asked him, a frown furrowing his fine human features.

“No—I mean, I don’t mind watching. It’s just—” Jamie shrugged. “Magical.”

Bran’s lips twitched. “Aye,” he agreed. “It is.”

Jamie felt the corner of his mouth turning up in response. “It will never stop being amazing to me.”

Bran actually let out a soft sound that was trying to be a laugh. “Let me know if you still find it amazing in a century or two.”

“Bran, humans don’t live that long,” Jamie reminded him, although he felt guilty about that, too—especially considering that Bran’s father really was dying.

Bran tilted his head to one side, his expression clouded. “Jamie—your life is tied to mine now.”

“I know,” Jamie replied, but then he suddenly realized what Bran might be telling him. “Wait—do you mean—” He swallowed. “When one of us dies, the other one does?”

“Not exactly,” Bran replied. “But you’ll live as long as I might—assuming nothing happens to either of us.”

It was a little hard to breathe. “Which is… how long, exactly?” Jamie really felt like someone should have mentioned this before now.

Bran’s dark green eyes searched his. “My father is over twelve centuries old,” he replied softly. “And could live at least that long again, if we succeed.”

“Twelve…hundredyears,” Jamie repeated. Twelve hundred years ago, England hadn’t even been conquered by the Normans. Scotland was just entering the period of the Viking raids. No Europeans had eventhoughtabout the United States. And that was Bran’sdad. And there were fae who heknewwere older than Cairn. A lot older.

The very idea thathecould live that long…

Bran shouldnothave told Jamie he was now functionally immortal about five minutes before his human friends arrived at the tiny apartment. The moment he’d said it, Bran knew it had been a mistake from the utter shock in those impossibly blue eyes. He’d assumed… Well, he’d assumed that someone—Eadar, his father, maybe—had actually prepared Jamie for what he was agreeing to. Bran would have, if he’d been more coherent.

He supposed that the human legends about being tricked into bonds with the fae might be more grounded in reality than Bran had given them credit for, if no one had thought to actually tell Jamie that his natural lifespan had just been exponentially increased.

“But—” There was more than an edge of panic in the word as it slid from Jamie’s full lips, desperation and confusion making his eyes the color of a darkling sky.

“You’ll adjust,” Bran told him. “We’ll learn what it is to watch the centuries pass together.” He’d meant it to be comforting, but a twitching muscle in Jamie’s cheek suggested he’d failed. Bran might be Jamie’s age—to the instant—but he’d had those twenty-seven years to consider the idea of a lifespan that crossed millennia. He couldn’t imagine it, exactly, but he understood and accepted it.

Jamie had known for slightly over a minute.

“Everyone I know will die,” Jamie said softly.

Bran forced himself not to wince. “The humans, aye,” he replied, his voice low and gentle, even while his own chest tightened with worry for his father.

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