Page 120 of Yearning For Her

After filling their food dishes and giving them some extra treats, she went through the many, many floral arrangements, removing the wilted and dead flowers and filling the vases with fresh water before straightening up the living room and kitchen.

She’d do the laundry later.

Or…maybe tomorrow. She’d definitely get to it tomorrow.

She headed to her bathroom, started the water, and pinned her hair up before stepping into the steaming shower.

Since she had time to kill, she relished the hot water. Her breasts—and certain other parts of her—were extra sensitive, a welcome reminder of what she and Kian had done and what they would do again soon. But as she ran the soapy loofah over her body, she realized that the other reminders he usually left during their passionate lovemaking were gone. There were no bruises on her hips, no scratches, no bite marks.

Brow creasing, she lifted her thumb and examined it. Anytime she’d had a split on one of her fingers, it had hurt for days, and sometimes felt like the most painful thing in the world. Kian had sliced open her skin last night, yet there was no cut, scab, or scar of any kind there now. Only pale, unbroken flesh.

You’re still human, but you’re also more.

Willow rubbed her finger and thumb together. There was an echo of soreness there, but it was distant and diminished. “Is this what he meant?”

She finished her shower in a daze. Binding with Kian had changed her in some fundamental way, had made her more, but how much so? He said she'd live forever, but what else did it entail?

Turning off the water, she grabbed a towel and dried herself off before wrapping it around her body and exiting the bathroom.

Her cats were immediately underfoot, staring up at her with huge eyes, meowing loudly, and rearing back on their hind legs.

Willow laughed. “I guess you’ve warmed up to me plenty now?”

She was careful not to trip over them as she made her way to the dresser. Their meowing didn’t quiet as she pulled on some underwear, tossed her towel into the hamper, and dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a tank top.

When Willow moved toward the doorway, Loki growled, startling her, while Bebe and Remy darted in front of her. She stopped and looked down at her cats. They were all gathered around her with their backs arched, fur standing on end, and faces turned toward the hall.

“What’s going on?” she asked with a frown. She took another cautious step toward the doorway, and they all growled and hissed.

They’d never acted like this before. Was it because of the change she’d undergone? Or perhaps Kian was here, and they were holding some sort of feline grudge against him for bonding with her?

Willow found that thought a little funny.

She chuckled. “You guys are just going to have to get used to him.”

A tall figure dressed in dark clothing stepped into the doorway, filling it.

Willow started, heart skipping a beat. “Kian, you sca—”

She gasped, eyes widening and skin crawling in alarm.

Not Kian. Not fucking Kian!

“Don’t worry,” Lachlan said in a deep, cold voice that slithered up her spine, “they won’t have to put up with me for long.”

Ice formed in Willow’s veins, freezing her in place. Everything she’d felt in that alley, everything he’d done, rushed back to her in that instant. And this time, there was no pretense, no illusion. Lachlan had dismissed his glamour. His eyes were the color of dying embers, matched by hair that was now fiery red, and his skin bore a golden sheen. A single pair of curving horns rose from his temples, as black as his soul. The five o’clock shadow that’d darkened his cheeks and jaw was gone, having given way to sharp, elfin features that only enhanced the cruel glint in his stare.

He was beautiful, but it was a hollow, indifferent, sinister beauty, capable of inspiring nothing but unease.

Loki, Bebe, and Remy spat, hissed, and growled at her feet.

“You, on the other hand…” A malicious smile curled upon Lachlan’s lips. “Come here.”

Willow felt his power flow over her, felt its arcane fingers prodding, searching for something to latch onto, seeking control, and her stomach sank in revulsion. But her feet didn’t move.

The fae’s features darkened, eyes flaring crimson. “Now!”

She remained in place.

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