Page 8 of The Stones for It
A laugh burst from my lips. “I already have.”
The gargoyle shot us both an exasperated look, but didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that his concrete dick was out, still threatening my peripheral vision.
I wanted to stow away my own new weapon, but a lacy thong wasn’t as secure for holding an iron shard as the boxers apparently were. I could wedge it into the strap of my knife sheathe, but it would cut me if I had to run or draw it in a hurry.
Before I could figure out where to stash it, Neiron knocked it from my hand. It hit the grass, and magic crackled as he shot a bright fireball after it. Crimson foxfire swallowed the metal in an instant.
“Best rid ourselves of the evidence before snitches point fingers.” He kicked at the charred remains, leaving me gaping at his power, too.
Iron was resistant to magic. He shouldn’t have been able to destroy it, but, as always, the Psycho King was full of surprises.
He shot me a cheeky wink, clearly relishing my shocked awe, and trailed warm claws down my arm. “Well, before you two cutie kittens scratch each other’s eyes out, maybe we should help your knight in spiky armour survive the iron he took for you, hmm?”
I snorted, remembering how I’d helped him heal not too long ago. “Is this where you give him a kiss, too?”
“Vrath Daddy’s not much of a kisser.” Neiron smirked, putting so much wry emphasis into his words I was sure I must be missing something. “But I am.”
The Psycho King swooped down and took my lips, melting my ire at his friend and sending a flutter through my middle. I leaned into the kiss, drugged by his addictive taste.
Let the grumpy granite get an eyeful while he bled out. It was only fair after what I’d seen of him.
My kitsune pulled back too soon, nipping my lower lip in a playful tease.
“Sweet siren,” he rasped. “Will you help me heal him? It’s worse than he’s letting on.” The worry strangling his tone hid his usual bubbly insanity.
“Help how?” My expression flattened as a toothy grin stole his seriousness like it’d never existed. “Oh, Fluffles, you’d better not be suggesting what I think you are.”
Different fae fuelled their magic and self-healing in a wild variety of ways, but sexual acts were the most common. Unsurprisingly, the fae had quickly earned a reputation for promiscuity in our world.
“That I share the honour of pleasing you with the big, scary gargoyle here?” My criminally insane mate jerked a clawed thumb at his friend.
The thought sent a traitorous bolt of heat straight to my core, even as I scowled. The gargoyle’s callous words about us being passing amusements was all too fresh.
Neiron pressed a hand to the base of his throat, like he clutched imaginary pearls. “Oh, the shock! The horror! Not a sexy gargoyle, and even sexier kitsune.”
“I’m not some human toy to be passed around,” I hissed, fisting my hand in the short ruff of fur on his chest and yanking him down.
He came too eagerly, almost tripping us, and we staggered further from his friend.
The kitsune’s eyes hardened to amethysts, a glint of the intensity that made him a king peeking through. “Of course not.” He bent to whisper in my ear, barely a rasp of sound. “But I believe our stubborn gargoyle here is also fated to be yours.”
“What!?” I jerked back as if slapped. “Why in the name of holy haggis would you think that?”
He leaned closer. “Kitsune mate in groups. I’ve always known my fated mate would have others, and ever since Vrath freed me from the Council’s dungeons, I suspected he’d be oneof them. Most cannot feel such things, but there’s a kind of bond between him and I. And he’s not the only one.”
“Wait, you wereimprisoned!?” I gasped, breaching the hush and my possible-new-mate worries.
Shadows gathered in my kitsune’s usually bright eyes. “Yes, not a pleasant few years, and I wasn’t exactly… sane afterwards.” He grimaced, brushing a hand across his wrist. “Not until Vrath helped put me back together into the stable, refined gentleman you now adore.”
“Neiron…” I trailed off, throat too tight to speak. I reached up, running my fingers through the soft fur of his cheek. “I’m sorry those bastards hurt you.”
The Council would pay for what they’d done. To both my mates.
He shrugged, shuffling his downy feathers. “Vrath has protected me from them ever since.”
I wanted to ask a million more questions about his past, but his saviour was gravely wounded, even if both fae seemed far too nonchalant about it.
Just how often did they suffer life-threatening injuries?
