Page 101 of The Courting of Bristol Keats
A season had passed now, a new forest blanket of detritus was laid. Spring grass and fiddleheads pushed through pine needles and alder leaves, but the crooked weeping trees, the fallen worm-eaten trunks, the slumbering rounded backs of half-buried stones, remained the same. The blood may have been gone, but it was all still dark and stained in his mind, a violent storm . . . a tempest.
He still heard thethumpat his back as he walked away, the sound of Tyghan falling to the ground.
And now Tyghan had his daughter.
Well played, prince of Danu. Well played. But this battle isn’t over yet.
CHAPTER 70
Bristol had never woken up next to someone in her bed before, and she wasn’t sure what to do.
It was strange to see Tyghan sleeping beside her.Sleeping deeply.There was something so intensely personal about it. And trusting. Maybe that was what was so strange, to see him lying in her bed, serene and vulnerable.
His head was half-swallowed in pillow, a hint of day-old beard shadowing his face, his hair a tousle of black waves. She wanted to run her fingers through them again, but his breaths rose slowly, lazy as a summer breeze, and she didn’t want to wake him. When he was awake he was always a flurry of motion, plans brewing behind his eyes like he was wrestling with a thousand thoughts.
Now he looked like he might sleep all day. After the night they’d had, she guessed it wasn’t surprising. Sleep played little role in it. They moved from bed, to wall, to bath chamber, claiming every corner of her room like they were conquering the world, and maybe for those few hours, they were.
He lay on his stomach now, one arm wrapped around his pillow, the other wrapped around her, the sheets kicked off and huddled near his feet, spent and exhausted. Should she slip away and dress? Were there rules to these things? She had no idea. Her previous encounters were mostly rushed. Mornings were never involved, and beds rarely were. A stuffy panel truck in a swap meet parking lot, or the couch in Sal’s storage room that Mick opted for, were not exactly places to linger.
But here . . . she wanted to soak in every detail, remember every touch and sound. The taste of his lips on hers. The feel of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She wanted to capture every color and nuance in her mind like a painting that would last forever.
Dawn peeked through cracks in her drapes, golden fingers reaching through the room. The light outlined Tyghan’s bare back like delicate gilding. Soft shadows settled in the dip of his spine where it trailed down to the rise of his—even that was magnificent. What would Michelangelo have called it? Gluteus maximus? It seemed a more fitting name than ass. She felt only a sliver of guilt, ogling him as he slept.
Or maybe not a bit guilty.
She had already seen everything, after all—including the full length of his scar. In the middle of the night when they lay on their backs, resting and talking in the golden candlelight, she’d studied the wound’s twists and jagged turns, like a long drunken seam in perfect silken flesh. This was not the result of a quick desperate stab. It was a vengeful story at every turn, a cold-blooded message not meant to be forgotten. And she knew he hadn’t.
Does it still hurt?she had whispered.
No, he answered—too quickly.
But she already knew fae could lie. Perhaps it wasn’t his flesh that hurt, but something deeper inside him that could never be mended.
His fingers twitched against her side, and she wondered if he was dreaming, soaking in something more pleasant like their long bath together, dipping beneath the water, his mouth on hers, oxygen an afterthought, rising again with deep breaths, his face glistening in the flickering candlelight, water dripping from his chin.
Heat stirred between her legs. Maybe she was the only one soaking in the memories of last night. Finally, at some late hour, they had gone back to bed—to actually sleep.
His arm was heavy across her ribs, and she liked the feel of it tucked up warm against her breasts. She rolled over, settling in against him to get more sleep, but then there was a knock. Her eyes shot open.
“Tyghan,” she whispered, rolling back to face him. He didn’t move.
She nudged his shoulder. “Tyghan, wake up. There’s someone at the door.”
He stirred, rolling to his back and stretching, and when he finally focused on her, he smiled. “More? Don’t you ever rest?”
The tap came again, more insistent.
“Did you hear that? Someone’s there. Go to the bath chamber while I answer it.”
He leaned over and leisurely kissed her. “There’s no laws against what we’ve done. It’s encouraged even. Babies, you know? There are never enough in Elphame.”
She pushed him away and sat up. “There will be no babies!”
His brows pulled down in mock offense. “Are you a goddess who sees into the future now?”
“I am the goddess of birth control pills—surely you’ve read about those in your modern works. Now, hurry, go. I don’t want awkwardness, or more gossip. There’s already way too much of that going on around here. And we don’t know who’s there.”
“I could make myself invisible?”
