Page 89 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

Leslie giggled.

Cam waved in her general direction—still not opening his eyes—and said, “Good to see you . . .” He paused and amended quickly. “Umm, not that I couldseeyou.”

Irial sighed again. “Goodbye, Cameron!”

And Leslie’s giggles turned into belly laughs as Irial watched. This, this moment, was what she deserved: happiness. He wasn’t sure how to make sure she always had it, but he wanted to do so. He didn’t want any distance, any secrets between them.

When she stopped, Irial blurted out his great secret: “I think I had a child.”

Leslie stared at him.

“I don’t know if I meddled in your life, but if I did, I’m sure I had a reason,” he added to fill the silence.

After a long minute of staring in silence, Leslie said, “I think I need clothes for this conversation. You do, too.”

She tossed his shirt at him, and all Irial could do was think that an event in his past was about to destroy his present happiness. He had no idea that Leslie would react this way. “Before you,” he added quickly. “The child was before you were ever even alive, shadow girl.”

“Oh, Irial! I’m not angry. I just find all of that”—she gestured at him—“a bit distracting, and I need to focus, especially if I am going to need to buy baby supplies.”

The wave of relief that rolled over him was palpable.

Leslie trailed her fingers down his bare chest and pause at his trouser buttons. “Nothing will make me reject you, Iri. Nothing. Don’t you realize that yet?”

He exhaled loudly, fears he’d not yet named falling away briefly. He still needed to tell Niall. Hell, he still needed to decide if he’d look up his descendants in person if they existed. One disaster at a time, though. A man doesn’t discover children and lost years with them every day.

He pulled his shirt on and watched Leslie dress. It never ceased to amaze him that even the act of dressing was enticing with her. He’d forgotten that charm in the centuries between Niall and Thelma, and the decades between Thelma and Leslie. With most people he’d had in his bed, his interest was only held in the disrobing. Once the present was unwrapped, his interest faded quickly and inevitably.

With Leslie, Irial was as enchanted by her dressing as with the way she covered her mouth as if to keep the giggles from escaping. He could paint her on every canvas he found, and still he wouldn’t grow tired of studying her. It was unsettling after so many years of solitude. Now, he had her and Niall in his home, and he felt unmoored.

Once she was dressed, she stood in front of him and said, “Spill.”

“Once, many years ago, there was a girl. Human. Unusual.” Irial smiled remembering Thelma. “She was bookish when most women were focused on husbands and homes.”

Leslie nodded.

“I came near to starting a war. There were people seeking her, and—”

“Irial.” Leslie gave him the sort of look that came from knowing him better than most people could imagine. “What people?”

“Influential ones,” he hedged.

“Influential as in . . . mafia or as in rich parent or politicians or . . .?”

“Politicians of a sort.” He turned away, hand on the glass door knob to open the door and flee. Admitting who Thelma was, who had pursued her, would add complications he’d rather she could avoid. In as casual a voice as he could summon, he said, “Let’s not talk about that. What matters is that I protected her, and I did so because I was developing a fondness. Whotheywere is not the point.”

Behind him, Leslie put a hand on his back, stilling him, stopping him. “Are you asking me not to ask who pursued her?”

He nodded. Without looking back at her, Irial added, “He didn’t deserve her. He wasn’t going to love her as I did. Sometimes . . . I am impulsive.”

Leslie’s arms slid around him, and she kissed his back. “You’re an absolute fool when you love.” She squeezed. “And I am grateful for it. As is Niall. I suspect your missing love was, too.”

Irial hoped so. The day he’d decided to pursue Thelma was as clear as if it had been that morning. The downside of near immortal lives was that he couldn’t always keep track of time. That day, though, was one he hadn’t forgotten.

Gabriel’s steed shifted into a handsome horse-drawn carriage, one fit for nobility or the American equivalent of it.

“Well come on then.” Gabriel climbed aboard and took the reins, although they weren’t technically necessary with the bond between Hound and steed.

“No horseless carriage then?” Irial teased.

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