Page 88 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

“You made accusations, and we talked. Then you seduced me—after insisting I ought not meddle. So I was merelynotmeddling in your obvious plans to seduce me,” Irial continued with the closest approximation of innocence he could muster.

“You might be delusional.”

“I’ve been accused of far worse.” Absently, he traced the tattoo of his eyes and the wings that still graced her back. He could feel the inky tendrils that once bound them snaking out to answer his touch.

“It’s healing,” she said. “The tattoo is almost healed.”

“I know.”

“That’s why I feel you.” She leaned back so his hand was tighter against the tattoo. The smoky threads that had stretched out to meet his touch tightened like vines grabbing his hand. The sensation rocked through him, burning along pathways that she’d once yanked out in her—quite justified—anger and fear.

He shivered, the wash of emotions that he felt from Leslie catching him off guard and bringing his own tangled mess of emotions surging to the surface. “Steady, love.”

She didn’t listen, though. She reached back and held his hand to her skin. He could’ve jerked away, but . . . he alsocouldn’t. She could read his feelings as if he were a book open before her. He wouldn’t reject her and risk her turning away from him.

Once Irial and Niall had been gancanaghs, addictive to mortals. When Niall became Dark King and Irial became the embodiment of Discord, they were no longer addictive. Irial had wondered more than a few times over the past few years if fate had a sense of humor. Leslie could stay away from them, but they both craved her nearness the way junkies craved their drugs.

“You’re afraid,” Leslie murmured, her voice heavy with shock.

Instead of speaking, Irial let her taste his emotions.

“It didn’t used to work this way.” Her voice was wonder-filled then. “You’re worried that I’ll leave, that I’m hurt, that I’ll die, and . . .” She paused and closed her eyes. She bit her lip, and then opened her eyes and looked directly at him. “You love me more than before. When we were connected, you didn’t love me like this.”

“I loved you then,” he objected weakly.

“Notthismuch.” She studied him in silence for a long moment before adding, “You let down a wall, unwillingly, and it scares you.”

At that, Irial came to his feet and had the unexpected urge to don his trousers, as if clothing would somehow shield him. After tugging clothes onto his bottom half, he walked away to pour himself a drink. It was bad enough that he had to deal with Niall’s ability to read his every emotion; adding Leslie to the mix meant that he would have no walls left to shelter him. Sometimes a faery simply didn’t want to have his heart laid bare on the table.

“Come to New Orleans?” he asked Leslie, turning to face her once more.

“New Orleans?”

The former Dark King nodded. “Once, a century or so ago, I lived there.”

She smiled, and in a drawl far too like his own, said, “Of course you did.”

One of the Hounds pounded on the door. It was not Gabriel, who had been lost to the same forces that had nearly taken Irial, but one of his brothers who rumbled through their home with the same sense of force and thunder.

“The rest of the boxes from the buildings that were flooded are here,” he announced as he shoved the door open.

Irial started, “Good, but—"

“Leslie!” Cam grinned at seeing her. He held his arms wide open to hug her.

“Cam,” she said, not rising.

Irial pinched the bridge of his nose. “Cameron, close your damn eyes before I pluck them out and feed them to you.”

The massive man frowned. “Why?”

“Because I’m naked, Cam,” Leslie said, visibly trying not to laugh at either Cam’s confusion or Irial’s frustration. Her gaze floated between them, and the shadows from the floor zig-zagged toward her.

Cam closed his eyes quickly. He nodded, and eyes still tightly closed, he fumbled for the door. In the process, he knocked a painting from the wall and set a floor lamp to rocking precariously.

Abruptly, he paused and turned back, frowning. Without opening his eyes, he asked, “How come you’re not naked then, king? I mean, Discord. Err, Irial?”

“Because I have already pulled my trousers on, Cam,” Irial said with exaggerated patience. Cam was a fine Hound. He simply lacked the common sense of an average goose.

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