Page 83 of Dark Sun (Wicked Lovely 6)

And she smiled with a sweet darkness that made him wonder how he could have earned such love.

The weekend would come, and they would confront the secretive faery they both loved. Whatever Irial was hiding was something they could figure out together. First, Niall would attend to business, and Leslie to her classes.

Irial was no closer to knowing what to do about the news of his child than the day he’d learned the news. Niall was away, and Leslie should be in class. Irial had counted on that time to figure it all out.

The doors to the study opened with a thunderous noise.

“You’re avoiding me.” Leslie stood in the doorway to the library after flinging open the doors in a burst of temper. Her once-blonde hair had become increasingly shadow-dark over the last three years, finally reaching the black of the ink that Rabbit had once tattooed in her skin.

College would end soon, and their lives would change. Irial wasn’t sure how—and he was afraid to ask.

What if she wants to move away?

He did not stand. “What do you mean?”

“The opera?”

“Ah.” Irial nodded. “You weren’t alone, though.”

She sighed. “Is it because you are feeling guilty?

Irial shrugged. Guilt? Perhaps. He’d unknowingly abandoned a child—and he was hiding it from both Niall and Leslie. He paused. “Aren’t you to be in classes today?”

Leslie scowled. “I couldn’t concentrate.” She stared at him. “You promised not to meddle. I know there aren’t threats like there used to be. Bananach is dead. Ren is . . . ”

“Apparently missing,” Irial filled in helpfully.

She’d never asked, and he’d never volunteered an answer on that particular situation. Ren had threatened Leslie,theirLeslie, in order to draw out the faeries who loved her. They’d been drawn out, and when they had, Niall had removed the threat to their shadow girl.

“I don’t want you to meddle, but if you do . . . don’t avoid me afterward,” she ordered.

One of the abyss guardians—sentient shadows that were typically only tied to the Dark King or his consort—slithered over to encase Leslie.

“Hello, sweetie,” she whispered to the shadow-wrought creature as she came into the room and pulled the door behind her.

The soft snick of the door catching was loud in the still of the room, and Irial felt strangely like prey for a moment.

“I don’t only need you when there’s trouble,” she announced. “Don’t you understand that?”

Mutely, Irial nodded. The shadows glided back to the walls as if they’d only ever been the ordinary shadows any lamp or shelf would cast.

After a moment, Leslie crossed her arms and held his gaze. “What are you hiding?”

“Hiding?” Irial echoed. The sight of her, the sheer force of her mortal self striding through the house of monsters, left him longing.

“I know you, Irial,” Leslie said.

“That you do, shadow girl.” Truth be told, he’d slaughter near every being in the world at her whim. Leslie’s very existence was a balsam on a soul that felt increasingly shredded these last few decades. Denying her was physically painful.

Of course, seeing her today ripped at his heart more than he expected. Thinking about her inevitable death seemed impossible now that he was thinking of Thelma, and tangled into that was the thought of a child. His child.

Half-fey children lived much longer than mortals, but not as long as faeries. Would he want that? Would Leslie? Would Niall?

A child would be complicated, but the thought of watching his own daughter or son grow up made Irial struggle to breath. He had never had that, and according to the letters he’d received, he should have. The closest he’d come was the half-fey children that Gabriel had sired. He was an “uncle” of sorts to many halflings, but the thought of his own child suddenly filled him with longing.

As she walked toward Irial, her footsteps were muffled by the overly thick burgundy and gold rug. Shadows puddled where she stepped as if to soak up some sort of magic in her very touch.

“I do not ask you to be my tiger on a leash,” Leslie explained softly.

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