Page 86 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

Lightly she said, “Sometimes I swear you have single-malt bottles in every room.”

He grinned, drank, and refilled his glass. “I usually do, butthisis the study. What sort of study lacks liquor? Or books? Or a comfortable sofa?”

As Leslie was stretched out on said sofa, she wasn’t likely to argue. “Fair enough.”

He shook the glass. “Drink?”

Leslie shook her head. She was legal now, but she didn’t often drink. “My liver isn’t as eternal as yours.”

His face darkened.

“Isthatwhat this is all about?” Leslie stared at him. “My lack of eternity?”

“Perhaps.” Irial downed his drink. “I dislike how easily and quickly mortals die.”

“I’m here right now.” She stood, hands on her hips, but regretfully not terribly intimidating. “I’m in myseconddecade of life, Iri. Second.”

“And unless something changes, you only have a handful left. Not even a century.” His voice grew louder, not quite yelling but far louder than normal speech.

Leslie took a step back. He was far from perfect, but it wasn’t like him to yell. He was calm, sardonic, charming, and a million other things. He could be irritating, and on a few occasions, she’d seen him seem cold or cruel when he and Niall were at odds.

Never to her, though.

“Something else is going on.” She stepped toward him, approaching as if he were a feral animal that might flee.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” he said quietly. He bowed his head.

“Dowhat?” Leslie reached out, and he withdrew further.

“Love someone who is going to die,” he admitted.

As pieces started to click together, she stared, mouth agape.

Again.

He was afraid to love someone again who would die. Foolishly, she’d assumed there had only been Niall. He’d lived for centuries, though. No one was sure how many. He was older than Keenan, the reigning Winter King and former Summer King, and Keenan was over nine hundred years old.

“A human?” she asked.

At first, Irial simply stared at her. Then he gave a nod.

“I had no idea,” she said, as gently as she could.

Irial shrugged. “I don’t discuss her.”

Leslie felt like her heart would break as his wave of sorrow washed over her. The ties that bound them were still fragile things, but even the edge of his grief brought tears to her eyes. Once, before them, Irial had loved deeply. Not Niall. Not her. A stranger. The thought of it made her understand his attempts to withdraw from her. What was confusing was why now? Why did he feel so much fear now when she had always been mortal?

“How old was she?”

Irial smiled sadly. “Young when we met. Older than you, but times were different then.” He took Leslie’s hand in his. “You are very different people. . . and I’ve lived longer than I can fathom. Do not feel jealous, love.”

Leslie kissed him gently. “I amwellaware that I am not the first woman in your life, Iri.”

He nodded, and they were together quietly for a moment longer.

Then, sheepishly, she admitted, “I just figured that you hadn’tlovedany of them.”

He lit a cigarette and paced. His energy, the sheer emotional chaos that rode in his expression, reminded her that while he was gentler with her, he was still something of a caged tiger.

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