Page 92 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

“When did you know her?” Leslie clarified.

“We last spoke at the turn of the century.”

“Which one?” Leslie kept her voice pitched low.

“In the 1800s, love,” he said. “She’s dust and ash now. Gone from me.”

Irial stared at her so intently that Leslie worried that he was about to become inappropriately affectionate—not that she ever minded, but ending up naked in the middle of a deplaning crowd would be awkward.

“You must never die,” he said, not even trying to be quiet. “I couldn’t live without you. Swear it.”

A nearby older couple looked at them curiously.

“Love . . .” Leslie started.

Irial pulled her to him and kissed her breath away. They were still both dressed when he released her, but the aisle was filled with people who were waiting for the doors to open.

“Newlyweds?” a woman asked.

Leslie leaned against Irial and said, “Close.”

Behind her, he was holding her hips in his hands now, as if to keep her from flying or pull her closer to his affections. His fingers tightened, and she was suddenly more than ready to be off the plane and in the French Quarter hotel he’d booked.

“Niall’s madness would be two-fold if you died,” Irial whispered. “Mine would rival his,exceedit, demolish the world.”

“I am right here.” She covered his hands with hers and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Healthy. Yours. Iloveyou.”

He nodded, but he looked far from convinced. “Mortals die in a blink. Like mayflies and falling stars. You expire so soon.”

When they’d left the plane and were walking from the gate to baggage, Leslie kept her hand in his.

“Do we even know I’m still mortal?” she asked.

She hated to bring up the ink exchange, but she was—quite literally—the only mortal who had survived it. No one expected her to live. Irial had hoped, but even he had thought she’d perish. “It’s grown back, roots in my flesh, tendrils stretching to you.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it will tie your life to mine. That was the initial intent.” Irial shrugged. “But you burned it, severed it, so I have no idea what it means.”

This time Leslie shrugged. “So, love, you may be stuck with me for centuries.”

She didn’t mention her fears that she had grown less emotional again because of it. What was different now was that she had still chosen to be involved with both Niall and Irial when she was clear-minded. They were what she wanted, and who could blame her? After being loved by them, how could she go back to dating mortals? Being loved by the former Dark King and the current Dark King had taught her that she needed a partner—or partners—who were a little bit feral.

The way she’d handled the monsters she’d met because of them convinced her that she had a spine that was wrought of whatever was stronger than steel. Leslie was able to find the monster in herself when those she loved were threatened, and because of them, she learned that although love can be scary, it can also be empowering.

They’d encouraged her to go to university, respected her desire to not accept their money, and not because they thought she would change her mind but because they’d have done the same. In a stubborn ass contest between the three of them, she wasn’t sure who’d win. The only real difference was that Niall attempted to avoid conflicts whereas Irial thrived on it.

Miles away in New Jersey, Niall was ready for a long, peaceful weekend—one that didn’t require a suit or manners. He loosened his tie and looked at his mobile. In the assorted messages from Seth, Chela, and Donia was one that stood out: “With Iri. Airport. NOLA. Love.”

The text Leslie had sent a few hours ago had plenty of information, but no actual answers. The Dark King lit a cigarette and pondered. He’d never understood the appeal of drawing burning toxins into his body as much as he did now. The Dark King, the whole of the Dark Court, was made for poison.

Shadows from the coming evening crouched at his sides, drawn to whatever strange thing made him a king. Shadows ought not move on their own, but they did. None so often as the abyss guardians that traveled from one shadow to another anywhere in the world. Right now, the same guardians that had touched Leslie earlier that day were now slithering along his arms. He could sense her skin as they did so; the taste of her sweat and perfume lingered in these shadows.

She was safer than most anywhere if she was with Irial.

On the other hand, the man was now the embodiment of Discord. He’d protect Leslie, but that didn’t mean he was making wise choices in general—at least not wise by Niall’s standards.

For all that was right in his life, Niall was unable to have a single month without drama. This time—hell, alotof times—it originated in the faery who had bequeathed the court to him. Niall stood in the hotel lobby where he’d finished up sorting out the accounting discrepancies at the two new Atlantic City casinos the Dark Court financed. For all his comfort with the dark, Niall preferred when vices were controlled.

Irial’s voice, from when they’d first met, came echoing over the years:You like them. Mortals, that is. Genuinelylikethem.

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