Page 79 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

There, at the end of a hallway with dark red and gold patterned rug over wooden floors, surrounded by painted wallpaper and lit by old-fashioned oil lights, she paused and met his gaze. “Oh no, I seem to be captured.”

“Did you mean it?” he asked.

“That you could carry me?” she teased. “Or that we’re on a honeymoon?”

“The latter.” He swept her into his arms, and then he strode down the hall as if she weighed nothing.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “This is it for me, Urian. I’m yours.”

“For eternity?” He fumbled briefly with the lock, holding her with one arm as he did so.

When the door swung open, she said only, “Yes.”

Urian carried her to a bed, which meant walking through the series of rooms that were no doubt opulent, as the rest of the castle was, but she wasn’t looking at the rooms. Her full attention was on the man carrying her toward their bed.

“My vow,” he said, lowering her to the bed. “My life for yours.”

He slid to the floor, so he was kneeling in front of her.

“My vow,” she echoed. “My life for yours.”

“Unto eternity,” he added. “I will love, protect, and cherish you, Katherine of Miller.”

She echoed his words and then added, “I love you, Urian. When I thought I lost you, I didn’t want to be in the world.”

He nodded, understanding in a way that no one else ever could or would. This was the beginning of their forever, and somehow, the few weeks it had taken to get to this point felt too long.

Then he kissed her, sealing the vow, and she felt a sense of completeness beyond anything she could say in mere words. So she said it in the language they would both understand—with kisses and caresses, with moans and begging, with touches and words.

Epilogue

Two chairs sat on either side of the divan where the former Dark King now lounged. A second, larger sofa was across from that, and there were two more bookcases. The room was slightly different now that it was Niall’s, too, and not just Irial’s, but that mostly meant that it was slightly less “decadent bachelor” and slightly more “who reads a lot.” Periodically, new works of art cycled in, and others went into storage.

Niall was an art lover, and his beloved was indulgent of pretty much anything that made Niall smile.

He was also the master of artful lounging. The man had perfected the innate sensuality of both the Dark Court and their gancanagh gifts. Niall was prone to violence to repress that side of himself. Irial was prone to . . . decadence.

He lifted a decanter from one of the various alcoves in the wall. He poured amber liquid into a crystal glass and wiggled it like bait. “Drink with me?”

“I’d rather hit you,” Niall muttered.

“Flirt.” Irial’s grin ought not make Niall feel like an unschooled boy, not now, not still. Centuries apart, a few years back together, and still Niall felt like he was a fumbler when it came to the flirtatious side of their relationship.

The abyss-guardians swayed and patted him consolingly. They were his as much as Irial’s now, but they’d been an extension of Irial for centuries, so they knew well the frustration of the seemingly indolent former king. That indolence was an act, a façade, though.

When Niall didn’t reply, Irial shrugged. He carried the bottle, his half-empty glass, and a second glass over to a low table.

Niall watched. Really, there were things he ought to do, but they needed to resolve this argument—or maybe he was simply as much under the sway of a snake charmer as any other monster.

“Do you suppose there’s a way to resolve this?” Irial unbuttoned his shirt and stretched out on the sofa, nearly topless and increasingly languid.

Niall allowed himself to pause and gaze at the invitation, but he didn’t give in to the sight. Yet. Softly, he asked, “Do you think that will work on me?”

The former Dark King didn’t respond beyond sipping his whisky.

Several moments passed in a silent standoff.

Irial sighed and asked, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

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