Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(91)

I stare at it, not wanting to touch it. I know with sharp clarity why it’s there and who it’s from.

I shouldn’t know so definitively, but I do.

The bag is sitting on a black envelope with a silver seal. It’s tied with a satin strap, diamonds on the ends. I pull the envelope out from under it and turn the square over in my hands. The seal is pressed with a complex design of Celtic knotting, a bird at the center: a raven. I bend it and it makes a satisfying snap.

A silver ribbon spills out of the envelope, a large rusty key tied to the end. When I tug on it, the paper contents pull smoothly from the envelope. I study the key as I unfold the black paper; it looks Victorian, like something out of a Bront? novel. But then I swallow a gasp as I realize the paper’s not just paper. Small silhouettes of birds and trees and swirls are cut out in an intricate piece of artwork to create a frame coated in gold leaf.

At the center, in proud silver script, it says:

My Love,

A small token from the House of Morrígan: a villa in Spain, fully stocked and ready for your pleasure. The steward will contact you in a day or so with the paperwork. Whatever you choose for your future, it’s yours with our affection.

The sunrise is breathtaking over the vineyard.

Additionally, this bag attached carries a personal gift, a small token from me. I hope to have a chance to explain its meaning soon.

K.

My heartbeat thunders in my head. I pick up the velvet bag, pulling off the satin ties with shaking hands. Then I tip the sack over.

A smooth white figure tumbles out into my palm. A delicate milky-glass owl.

My throat tightens.

I touch the cool surface tentatively with the tip of my finger, almost expecting it to move, it looks so real. So like the owl in my dreams.

“Fionn,” I whisper, an ache filling my chest, missing him.

Missing a bird I’ve never known in real life.

It’s three inches tall, each speckled feather painted with intricate detail, a shadowed spot on the breast where the arrow struck. The head is tipped to the side, as if in curiosity. The large black eyes glitter knowingly.

It’s stunning. And I want to ask Kieran why, why would he give this to me? How does he know about my Fionn? No, not my Fionn. Lily’s Fionn.

But it’s no use. I felt the bird’s soft feathers; its talons gripped my gloved arm. I loved Fionn. Somewhere inside me, I loved him.

The memory rises of the king touching the bird’s still form, drawing it back from death. I watched his warrior form collapse into the snow, my heart stopping in terror. I sat beside his bed. I prayed for him, for help from the goddess. I gave myself to him. I gave everything.

And it was horrifyingly beautiful.



Something caresses my cheek, lifting me from sleep. It slides down my neck and makes a circle on my bare chest, a rush of remembered heat flowing through my bones.

I open my eyes slowly, almost afraid of what I’ll see when I face him again.

He’s lying beside me, playing with a white feather, turning it in his fingers, holding it up to the rising sunlight spilling through the casement. When he realizes I’m awake, he turns his head and a slow smile tips his mouth.

I blink at him, my pulse skipping as I look into those silver eyes, remembering what was woven between us in this bed.

He stays silent, rolling close, kissing my lips delicately. His hair brushes at my cheek, his fingers caressing my jaw.

I remain still, unsure, searching his features as he moves away.

So many questions are gathered in my head, too many doubts, fears.

I barely know what to feel.

“My sun,” he whispers, kissing the tip of my nose, “my fire. Don’t be afraid.”

“You’re well?” I ask, thinking of my desperation to bring him back only a few hours ago and how I took from him. How I haven’t taken for so long, and never from someone so full of rich power.

“I am well.” His thumb slides over my collarbone. “But I hunger for more.” His eyes meet mine. “Do you?”

The memory of his icy energy filling me, coating my insides as we made love, as I fed, sends a shiver through me. Of course I wish for more. My skin aches with longing at the thought. But I shake my head, needing control right now. Needing to understand what’s happened.

My whole world shifted in a moment. I need my feet under me again to make sense of it all.

“I would have a bath,” I say, sitting up. “And perhaps some quail eggs.” I move to the edge of the bed, but his fingers trap my wrist, stopping me.

“Why do you run, my love?” he asks. “Am I still so repulsive to you?”

“I wish to be alone,” I say, trying to keep the tremble from my voice.

He releases my wrist, and a traitorous part of me aches with the loss.

But I shove it aside and gather my clothes, clutching them to my chest as I slip from the room.





THIRTY-SIX

SAGE

I open my eyes to an unfamiliar world. Then the sound of the waterfall drifts into the room, and I realize this is reality. I rise slowly, uneasy, an odd feeling of disassociation hovering over me. The sensation of the king’s grip on my wrist still lingers, the conflict inside, wanting something I despise. But it was just a dream.

I touch the bedspread, making sure the soft yellow cotton is real.

Sunlight fills the room. I wonder what time it is.