Page 94 of A Court of Hearts and Hunger
My mother would thrash me if she knew about this—but she isn’t here. And I’m so very, very curious. So I nod.
With a wide, devious grin, the Cat disappears.
“You’re a tease,” I complain.
He snorts a laugh from somewhere nearby. “And you aren’t? With your tempting human scent, and your lovely form, and your delectable flesh?”
“That’s not teasing, that’s me simply existing. How you react to my existence is your problem.”
Suddenly Caer reappears—or rather, part of him does—a wide strip of his hips and thighs, and in the middle, boldly erect, a long, slim cock, smooth and pink, with a hint of lavender near the tapered head. Half of it is covered in tiny white spikes.
“Gods,” I exclaim, leaning forward. “What are those?”
“They appear when I’m in heat,” says Caer. It’s odd, hearing him speak when I can only see his genitals. “I can retract them, see?” His shaft twitches slightly, and the hooks disappear. “But if I come inside someone, they spontaneously latch onto her, locking us together, and then I have to wait until they submerge on their own.”
“What does that mean, ‘in heat?’ It sounds like an animal thing.”
“The Fae are only fertile every few decades. Then they experience ‘heat,’ a time where the urge to breed is nearly irresistible. For some Fae, ‘heat’ also comes with a nesting instinct.”
“Oh.” Understanding dawns as I remember Riordan being so angry about Caer “nesting” with me. “So you’re in heat now?”
“Very much so,” he says, low. “I’ve been trying to control it, prowling more than usual, distracting myself as much as possible. Riordan didn’t think it would be too difficult for me to be around you, since Fae aren’t usually attracted to humans during their heat, unless they’re already a pair. But I seem to be the exception to that rule. Maybe because you’re exceptional.”
Caer reappears, piece by piece. He’s still smiling, but his face is rose-red. Did he disappear during our discussion because he was embarrassed about this?
He hitches his pants back into place, stuffing his cock back in with a pained grimace and fastening the buttons. The sight of him, shirtless and straining with desire for me, is the most arousing thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’m rather proud of myself, you know.” He approaches my chair, grips the armrests, and leans in. His slender body, his sharply beautiful face, and his violet fragrance are enticing, overwhelming. His purple eyes are dilated, brighter than usual. “I’ve held back, even in moments when I thought you might welcome me into your body. Not all Unseelie would be so kind, especially during their heat—some nearly go out of their minds with lust. Fortunately mine is fairly mild at the beginning. It grows in intensity as the days pass.”
“How—how long does it last?” I manage.
“It depends. I’m seventy-six, so this is only my second heat. The last one was three weeks long.”
“And did you—impregnate someone?”
“No. To do that, I must mate with another faerie who’s also in heat. For life-mated pairs who fuck each other often, their heats will eventually synchronize so they can produce a child. But for someone like me, without a bonded partner, the best chance of getting through it without spawning any offspring is to fuck other Fae who aren’t in heat.”
“You’re seventy-six?”
He sighs and sinks to the floor, bending one long leg and stretching out the other. He doesn’t move to touch me; he sits with his back angled toward the chair.
“Seventy-six,” he repeats. “Yes. And Riordan is much older.”
“How long have you two been friends?”
“That is a complicated question.” He tips his head aside, resting his cheek against my knee.
Impulsively I reach out and plunge my fingers into his hair. I massage his scalp firmly but gently, paying special attention to the roots of his ears.
He moans, rocking his head back into my lap. “You’re very good at that.”
“One of my brothers gets headaches. I do this for him. He doesn’t have cat-ears, of course, just regular ones.” A stupid thing to say, but my mind has drifted aside, into a memory of David lying on the hearth-rug with his blond head in my lap, his face pinched with pain. I’d massage his temples, work my fingers over his skull, press gently in the center of his forehead, between his eyes. Then I’d move along his eyebrows, just above them, and I’d rub his cheekbones, too. I could almost sense where the points of pain were. Like an instinct.
I do the same thing with Caer. And I marvel at the difference, because the parlor we’re sitting in is warm and beautiful, filled with books and plush rugs, statuary and tapestries, collections of beautiful objects for which I have no name. There is magic glowing above my head, lighting and warming the space. There is magic in my ears, soft pipes and gentle strings creating a delicate peace around me. And there is a pretty faerie leaning against my chair, his eyes closed in bliss as I scratch around his ears and massage his scalp.
“I was just thinking,” I say quietly, “of what I would be doing if I was back home. It’s early evening here, isn’t it? And it’s the same time in the human realm?”
“Yes,” mumbles the Cat.
