Page 127 of Yearning For Her

The knife stopped only when its tip struck the floor beneath Lachlan. Kian grasped his foe’s hair and tugged up hard, wrenching the knife downward to slice through flesh and bone. A pool of blood gathered beneath Lachlan. The crimson light in the incubus’s eyes flashed, fizzled, and died.

Kian growled and dragged the blade across the last shreds of tissue holding Lachlan’s neck together. Finally, chest heaving with ragged breaths, he released his hold on both the knife and Lachlan’s hair.

The dead fae’s head thumped onto the floor, coming to rest in a crimson sea, separated by several inches from the body it belonged to.

“Kian!”

Arms looped around his neck from behind, and a warm body pressed against his back between his wings.

Willow buried her face in his hair as she embraced him. “Is he…dead?”

Kian reached up and clasped her forearm. “He is.”

“Like dead-dead? I’ve seen enough scary movies to know the bad guys always come back.”

“Not this one,” Kian said, bowing his head and letting his eyes shut as he caught his breath. The pain from his many wounds blended into one ceaseless thrumming. “Decapitation or removing the heart. The only ways to kill one of us.”

“Are…you okay?”

“Me? Fuck, Willow!” He shoved himself to his feet and spun toward his mate, catching her in his arms and lifting her off the floor. Her legs immediately went around his hips. He cradled her tightly against him, cupping the back of her head with one hand as he pressed his forehead hers. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life. Are you all right?”

A sob escaped her as she hugged him. “Being stabbed hurts. I one hundred percent don’t recommend it.”

Kian laughed, the sound made shaky by the collision of his lingering rage and fear with his love and relief. He held her tighter still and inhaled deeply. Even with the scent of blood filling the air, it was her sweet fragrance that rose above everything else, familiar, comforting, and alluring. “Never again, Willow. No one will ever fucking touch you again.”

Epilogue

Four Months Later

The little speaker on the dresser filled the room with upbeat music. Willow hummed along, resisting the urge to sway her hips to the rhythm. Dancing wasn’t really a good idea while she was standing on a ladder with a tray of wet purple paint atop it, paint roller in hand. Especially when she didn’t want to drip anything on the dark wood of the wainscotting along the lower half of the wall.

She returned the roller to the tray, steadied herself by bracing a hand on the ladder, and glanced around the room. Her eyes roamed from the antique dresser and armoire she and Kian had refinished to the mirror standing in the corner, then past the door to the bathroom and on to the big four poster bed they’d brought from Kian’s old apartment, the canopy of which was now adorned with ivy leaves, and tiny, starlike string lights. Opposite the bed stood the fireplace.

Her gaze settled on the painting above the mantle, and she smiled, thrilling in the heat it sparked in her core. It depicted Willow and Kian flying in front of the full moon, holding each other, loving each other. He’d captured that moment so beautifully, so perfectly, so magically, that her every glance at the painting stirred vivid memories of that night.

That hadn’t been the only time he’d made love to her amidst the stars, but it had certainly been the most profound.

Everything had changed for them after they’d bonded.

Kian had moved into her house after the…incident. He’d refused to let her out of his sight, and she’d been grateful for it. She’d tried to put on a brave face for him, but Lachlan’s attack had badly shaken her. If it hadn’t been for Kian, if it hadn’t been for the bond between their souls, which they’d only just cemented the night before the attack…

She shook her head and coated the roller in fresh paint, hoping to ward off those thoughts and the feelings they awakened. Lachlan was gone, and he’d never hurt her or Kian again. He’d never hurt anyone again. And the shadow he’d cast over Willow had faded a little more with each passing day, unable to withstand the happiness of the life she was building with her mate.

Touching the roller to the wall, she smiled again. Despite the events of that day, she would always remember her little house fondly. She’d worked hard to buy it, had worked hard to make it her own, and no one could take that sense of accomplishment away from her.

But she couldn’t stay there. She couldn’t walk through those rooms without being reminded of what had occurred.

Sad as she’d been to leave that house behind, she didn’t regret the decision to move. She and Kian had looked at several properties around the city, but nothing had seemed right, nothing had quite met their needs.

Until they’d pulled up in front of this place—an old Victorian-style home, a bit rundown, a bit neglected, yet absolutely beautiful.

Yes, it needed work, and yes, it would’ve been well outside Willow’s price range had she been buying the house by herself, but she and Kian had immediately known it was perfect. As they’d first walked the slightly creaky halls together, they’d seen the possibilities, the potential. The house had character. It had charm.

It had been fate.

And best of all, it was theirs now. Not Willow’s, not Kian’s, but theirs.

Not that she’d tell that to Loki, Bebe, and Remy, who already acted like the lords and lady of the household.

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