Page 84 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

“Mmmm.”

She paused, despite the catch in her breathing and the widening of her eyes. The control she had made him certain that she could rule a nation of pirates . . . or monsters. Leslie was not immune to his allure, but if he didn’t know better, he might think she was.

The sound of her breathing, of her trying not to run to him, was enough to make him have to resist leaning forward. For all of his centuries of living, only one other mortal had made him feel so oddlyhuman. That was over a century before Leslie had been born, and he still wondered if he ought to mention it to her.

Niall knew. Gabriel had known. The only others who remembered his brief relationship were fey of his court, those who would not share his secret—even with Leslie.

“You’re staring,” she teased, voice breathless as he felt.

“As are you.”

“It’s been three weeks since I saw you. Staring is sort of inevitable.”

“Ah, and here I worried you were immune by now,” he kept his voice teasing, but they both knew that he could not lie.

Itwasa fear—one of many these days. The gazes of others, fey and mortal, still raked over him. From thistle-skinned creatures of the Dark Court to the Scrimshaw Sisters of the Winter Court to the vine-bedecked Summer Girls, faeries watched him as if he was every dream they had. Although he knew Leslie wanted him, she could—and did—leave for weeks.

Niall did the same. It made Irial prone to waves of melancholy. If those who loved him didn’t longfor every moment with him, was he . . . lacking?

“Immune? To you?” Leslie laughed softly. “We both know that’s impossible. Staring would be just as unavoidable if I’d seen you last week. I always want to see you, Iri. That’s part of love.”

“Idolove you,” he assured her.

There was a question in her words, though, one he was trying to avoid answering. Telling her she had his heart didn’t seem to be enough this time. Niall had delivered Irial’s excuses to Leslie, but neither of them believed him. The difference, of course, was that Niall was more tolerant of Irial’s tendency toward secrecy. They lived together more peacefully than he’d hoped possible because they both kept more than a few boxes of secrets hidden away.

Leslie had no such patience.

She stood in front of Irial now, her knees not quite touching his, and he had to resist the dual urges to reach out and to run away. “But you could’ve come with Niall last week. PerhapsIam not irresistible these days . . . ?”

“He told you that I wasn’t able to come,” Irial hedged.

“Hetoldme a bunch of excuses, and I’m not so innocent as to believe them. Lies are lies, Iri, even when they are delivered by someone who knows how to distract me.” Leslie caressed his face. “Why don’tyoutell me you weren’t able to come, Irial? Say those words to me.”

The half-accusing, half-angry tone in her words made his resolve falter. He couldn’t lie outright, and those words were a lie.

“I would say them if I could,” he admitted. “I chose not to visit.”

Leslie withdrew her hand, leaving him wishing he could lean closer, but too proud to do so. “Because? Tell me, Irial. Is it because of threatening my landlord? He offered to extend my lease suddenly. And there was some error, apparently. I no longer owe back rent. Are you feeling guilty?”

The former king leaned away, more to resist his own temptations than anything else.

“I know you can’t help yourself sometimes,” Leslie allowed.

“If I have meddled, I’m certain it was justified.” He’d far rather discuss his supposed sins than his actual ones. Then, at least, he could be truthful with her. He hadn’t avoided her from guilt, so there was no harm in owning whatever she thought him guilty of this time.

His reasons for avoiding her were harder to discuss.

Once, almost four years ago, they were bound together by blood and ink. Her emotions were the food that sustained him, the wine that intoxicated him, but their bond changed him even as it nourished him. She’d severed all but the barest thread of their connection, setting him adrift in the world, feeling like a strange new version of himself. Back then, Irial had been willing to give up everything . . . except her. Now, he was facing the possibility of losing her. It was an intolerable fate.

“You’rehidingsomething,” she announced.

“Trying.”

“Failing.” She reached out again, hand not quite touching him but near enough to make him feel like a hapless insect drawn to destruction.

“Don’t ask me why I didn’t visit,” he half-begged, half-ordered. “Tell me how to atone for this meddling you say I did.”

He’d ruled the monsters that were only spoken of in whispers, but for the second time in his life, a human girl held power over him.

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