His hand is still on my cheek. A flash of edarratae draws his gaze to it, then the lightning hits me, an erotic burst of pleasure that makes my entire body ache.
His muscles tense, and he’s standing in front of me as rigid as iron when all I want to do is melt into his arms.
“Aren,” I say, my voice uncharacteristically raspy.
“Sidhe,” he curses. His stiffness disappears, and his mouth captures mine.
Instantly, I’m alight, burning from the inside out as if I’ve been scorched by lightning. The power, the need, the magical bite of his kiss seizes me. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then slide one hand behind his neck pulling him closer, closer.
My lips part, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He does, and I moan, heat gathering under my skin. He tastes of the Realm, exotic and sweet and primal. I want more—the way his body shudders tells me he does, too—but he ends the kiss in a tender, exquisite pull that leaves my head spinning.
“Hi,” I whisper when I can breathe again.
He gives a slow, almost imperceptible shake of his head before he responds, just as softly, “Hi.”
We’re still touching, still close enough that all I’d have to do to reignite the kiss is to press forward a fraction of an inch, but between two rapid beats of my heart, someone else’s breaks.
I close my eyes, grimacing. There’s no way I can hide this . . . this need. Even a world away, Kyol can feel it, and the tight ache in his chest makes me feel like absolute shit.
Aren’s suddenly rigid again. He knows the reason why I grimaced, and in an instant, we’re half a room apart. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, an action that does nothing to quell my desire. I want my fingers there, wrapped in the sun-bleached strands.
“Why would Taltrayn tell me you need a healer?” he asks. His voice isn’t soft anymore. It’s hard and emotionless. Somehow, I’ve managed to hurt him as deeply as I’ve hurt Kyol.
Fantastic job, McKenzie.
“I don’t know,” I answer because I need to say something to fill the silence. Plus, that’s the truth. Kyol knew I wasn’t hurt, so why would he . . . Oh.
“Lee,” I say. Then, because I feel like I might explode if I don’t move, I walk to the other side of the couch.
“He’s the one who’s hurt.” I peer down at the passed-out human and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs one slow, steady breath at a time.
“Lee?” Aren walks to my side. When he sees the sleeping human, he asks, “Why is he here?”
“To tie a vigilante to my bed.”
He’s silent too long, and when I look at him again, his eyebrows are raised, waiting.
I give him a brief summary. He listens without comment, and that unnerves me. He’s not acting like himself. He’s usually relaxed and carefree, not quiet and tense.
“The blood on you is from him?” Aren asks, kneeling.
“No. Some of it’s mine. Some of it is Kyol’s.” I wince when I say Kyol’s name out loud. It feels like I’m driving a dagger into Aren’s heart. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t give any indication that I’m hurting him now, but I feel like crap all the same. Kyol is the reason why Aren’s stayed away from me these past three weeks. Aren was furious when he learned about our life-bond. The only reason he didn’t strike Kyol down instantly was because he knew how much Kyol meant to me.
But, apparently, Aren doesn’t know how much he means to me. I tried to tell him that I was his, that the life-bond didn’t change anything, but he wouldn’t listen. He was too hurt and angry to accept my words then. I think he might still be too hurt and angry to accept them now.
“Most of the blood is from the fae at the tjandel,” I say past the lump in my throat.
Aren looks up. “The tjandel? You were in the Realm?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Briefly.”
His jaw clenches, and his silver eyes remain locked on mine for a handful of heartbeats. I don’t know what thoughts are in his head. He used to be open with me. He’d tell me what he was thinking and planning even when I didn’t want to hear it. Now he just lowers his gaze back to Lee and asks in a completely neutral tone, “Why were you there?”
Because Kyol was hurt. But I won’t say his name out loud again. Instead, I tell Aren, “The elari ambushed a group of swordsmen.”
He unsheathes the dagger that’s on his left hip.
“You know about the false-blood,” he says as he carefully cuts off the bandage Kyol wrapped around Lee’s ribs.
“Lena told me,” I say, watching Aren place his hand over the gash in the human’s side. Lee doesn’t budge, not even when one of Aren’s chaos lusters darts across his rib cage.
Oh, crap.
“Is he dead?” I ask, squatting next to the couch. “I’m going to kill him if he is. He’s not, is he?”
“No,” Aren says quietly. “He’s not dead.”
Is that a smile on Aren’s lips? I stare at his mouth while he heals Lee, but the more I look for any slight bending of his lips, the more I doubt what I thought I saw.
He must feel me watching him. His head starts to turn my way, but then, he stiffens. His jaw clenches with what I’m certain is determination, and he locks his gaze back on Lee.
“Aren—”
“I’m finished,” he says quickly, rising.
I stand, too. “Can we talk?”
“No.”
His response is so terse, it feels like I’ve been punched. “No?”
“There’s nothing . . .” His words fade when he looks at me again. He seems agitated, torn, and I hate that he’s this distressed.
“This is about the life-bond?” I ask. He doesn’t answer for a long time. He just stands there, staring at me with apprehension in his silver eyes.
“If it weren’t for that . . .” He swallows. “If it weren’t for that, I’d never leave your side.”
I give a short, sharp laugh as my stomach does a somersault. “If you think I’ll let you go after saying that, then the In-Between must have screwed with your head.”
“I—” He snaps his mouth shut, shakes his head at himself. “Then I didn’t mean it.”
There’s a slight smile on his lips, and finally, his eyes are lighter, less serious. I want to kiss him again. I want our arms wrapped around each other, our bodies pressed close, but when I take a step toward him, he takes a step back.
“McKenzie.” He retreats another step. This time, an infuriated squeak cuts through the air.
Aren nearly falls onto the couch in his attempt to get off of Sosch’s tail. The kimki squeaks again, then he darts out from underfoot, leaping straight from the floor to my chest.
“Sosch!” I yell, staggering under the weight of the fifteen-pound furball. “Sosch. Down!”
He moves to drape himself across my shoulders, his tiny claws pricking my skin.
“Sosch.” Aren’s mouth splits into a grin as he regains his balance. My balance is still off, though. I steady myself on the edge of my secondhand breakfast table, then bend down to Sosch’s bowl of Goldfish.
“Here.” I hold one up to his mouth. He devours it and the next two I give him. “Now down. Perch.”
Sosch jumps off my shoulders, stops at my feet, then raises his front legs off the ground. Balanced on his hind legs, he stretches up just past my knees.
“Perch?” Aren asks, staring as the kimki eats two more crackers.
I nod. “It’s different from ‘sit.’ I thought about using ‘stand,’ but ‘perch’ is cuter.”