House of Pounding Hearts (The Kingdom of Crows #2)(43)

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I don’t much care what Lorcan likes, Eefah.” I start opening the drawers of the center island which has been filled with underthings and accessories I would’ve bled myself dry to own back when I still longed for frivolous things.

“You care about Antoni?”

I jerk my fingers away from a lace choker embellished with sequins, the likes Catriona loves to wear. “As a friend.”

“Only as friend?”

“Yes.”

“Then do not venture to his private room.”

I frown.

Eefah stares around the outsized closet as though on the lookout for a lurking Crow. “If you want to keep friend, do not go.”

I close the drawer a little roughly and squeeze Mamma’s rock in my fist. “Are you saying he’d harm Antoni?”

“He does not trust him.”

“And yet”—I raise my arms and twirl on myself—“I’m here.”

“But so am I, Fallon.”





I soak in a scalding bath that reddens the pallor I acquired during my short stay in the Sky Kingdom. Eefah isn’t hovering inside my white marble bathroom, but I’ve little doubt she’s standing guard outside the closed door.

Although I’ve tried to relax, our earlier conversation runs on a loop through my mind. She’s here because Lorcan doesn’t trust Antoni. Since the Sky King is betrothed, I cannot imagine his concern is born of jealousy. Lorcan Reebyaw must be worried I won’t fulfil Bronwen’s new prophecy if I become consumed with reviving an old flame.

After the last soap bubble pops, I heave myself out of the bath and secure a towel around my chest, then trudge over the delightfully heated stone and pick up a gold comb. As I run it through my wavy locks, it strikes me that nothing and no one is keeping me from rekindling something with Antoni.

The mirror before me darkens and the white marble is replaced by black slate. I blink but my vision doesn’t clear of the sudden obscurity. Water pounds against stone and steam suffuses the air that I’m panting too rapidly.

I draw my arms through the steam to disperse it. Where in Luce have I—

Oh.

Oh.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my body to project itself outside of Lorcan’s bathing room.





Twenty-Three





When my lids pull up, I’m still standing inside Lorcan’s bathing chamber, and the male’s naked backside is still facing me. I’m tempted to apologize for intruding on such a private moment but get sidetracked by the sight of the water sluicing down the ropy muscles of his calves and thighs and—

I swallow. I don’t think I’ve ever stared at a man’s ass, and I’m staring. I try to reason that the Crow King has seen me naked plenty of times. It’s only fair that I’m seeing him without his leathers and feathers.

Feeling a tad less contrite, I allow myself to pursue my perusal of the disrobed monarch. It isn’t like he’s tossing on a towel anyway. Perhaps he hasn’t sensed my presence, what with the spray drilling the stone floor in his open shower.

His trim hips and trimmer waist flare out into a V-shaped back with an impressive shoulder span. I deduce that flying, even in Crow form, builds some serious upper body strength. He curves a hand over one giant knob of a shoulder to lather oily soap into his skin, kneading the muscle beneath.

As the filmy cleanser streaks down the runnels between his shifting muscles, my gaze hooks onto a puckered patch of skin beside his spine. I’ve seen my fair share of injuries from the humans and halflings who’ve dropped by our house for one of Nonna’s healing poultices to know about scarring.

How come the immortal shifter’s body bears scars? Each time I freed him from one of the obsidian spikes wedged through some part of his bird body, his flesh knitted back instantly.

Actually, his smoke and feathers knitted back. I have no clue what befell his flesh since, until his five crows reunited, I’d never seen him in flesh.

His spine suddenly stiffens, and his bent neck snaps straight.

I gather he’s sensed me.

The comb I’m still holding drops from my fingers and clatters. I jump; Lorcan doesn’t. He merely twists his head to peer over his chiseled shoulder at me. The first thing I notice is the absence of his black face powder. Without it, he seems almost—

Who am I kidding? There’s nothing normal or natural about this man. He screams preternatural creature with his glowing citrine eyes and those lethal cheekbones of his. And that nose. Real men don’t have such straight, symmetrical noses.

There I go with his nose again. What is my deal?

I clear my throat and tighten my towel. “Um . . . hi.”

Note to self: wear clothes before exporting body into Lorcan’s realm. Or better yet, stop exporting body where body needn’t go.

When he still hasn’t said a thing, and I’ve not winked back into my own bathroom, however many times I try to whisk myself away, I decide to make conversation. May as well profit from this fortuitous meeting.

“Um, the scar on your back . . .” I shift on my bare feet. “Is it from one of the obsidian screws I removed from your bowl-shaped crow?”

The Sky Kingdom may have running water like Timeus’s house but it does not boast heated floors.