Copper Veins(12)

Dad was a bit deflated, since the purpose behind this excursion wasn’t even here. Although it was horrible, I was glad this little venture was a flop. I really, really wanted to go home to Micah.

Dad withdrew another portal and balanced it in the air. Max hopped through, but before I could follow, Dad touched my elbow.

“This Micah,” he began, “you’re happy with him? He hasn’t… coerced you into marrying him?”

“Micah would never do that,” I snapped. Dad winced, and I tamped down my anger. After all, Dad was only looking out for me, and it wasn’t like he knew anything about Micah beyond that he was married to his daughter. “He wouldn’t. Micah is a good man, Dad. I’d really like it if you got to know him.”

“I just want my girl happy,” Dad said, his green eyes shining. I smiled, then stepped through the portal to the Otherworld. I could just see Silverstrand Manor above the treetops, and I knew my husband waited for me within. I tried to think about only him, and push all the lingering doubts about Dad to the back of my mind.





6


Dad, Max, and I entered the manor through one of the rear doors, specifically the one that led to the kitchens. As I stepped inside, I saw the most wonderful sight—the silverkin were clustered around several old-fashioned ice cream churns. The worktable was hardly visible under all the ingredients, which ranged from bottles of milk to blocks of chocolate to fruit from our own orchards.

“They’ve been at it since you left,” Sadie said. Just as I had predicted, she clutched a dessert-themed cookbook to her chest and was overseeing this little production. “Micah made it very clear to them that the ice cream needs to be perfect, or that Mrs. Silverstrand will be most unhappy.”

I giggled. “Is Micah in our rooms?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Sadie replied, bumping my shoulder with hers. I didn’t bother defending myself, since what she was insinuating was completely and totally accurate. Instead, I left the supervision of the ice cream to her and practically ran up the stairs.

I opened my bedroom door and was greeted by the sight of Micah taking off his shirt. His back was to me, so I was treated to an excellent view of his mark, beautiful tendrils of silver arching across his shoulder blades and trailing down his back like an abstract pair of wings. When we’d first met, Micah’s mark had been as masculine as he: hard, angular streaks against his caramel skin. Since his recovery in the silver cairn, his mark was more delicate—feminine, even—and what were once strong lines of silver were now airy filigrees. I wondered if the change was due to my presence while he healed.

I eased the door shut and made it across the room before Micah turned around, gently tracing the metal on his back with my fingertips. He sighed as if I’d put a warm compress against his skin. He was no stranger to the unbridled sensuality of fingers caressing his mark, and neither was I.

“Back so soon?” he murmured, reaching to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah. Dad wanted to go to the old basement at the Raven Compound. He didn’t know it was here.” I took Micah’s shirt from his hands, letting it fall to the floor as I sat on the edge of our bed. “So. What’re you up to?”

“I was about to bathe,” he replied, setting a knee on either side of my hips.

“Bathe? Why?” I pressed, giving him my best eyelash-flutters.

“For you, of course.” Then his arms were around me, his lips nibbling my neck as he pushed me into the center of our bed.

“No boots in bed,” I said coyly, nodding toward his footwear. Micah blew out an exasperated breath, but shed the boots nonetheless. Then he was on top of me again. Only, I wanted to be the one on top.

He laughed when I flipped him over, only to fall silent as I kissed his lips, his chin, his neck. I let my hands trail over his chest, down to his abdomen and to the smooth leather laces of his pants. I fought with them for a moment, but a few bits of leather were no match for a bride the day after her wedding. I sank my fingers into the soft, silvery curls at his groin, my mouth following close behind. Micah groaned, thrusting his fingers into my hair as his back arched in pleasure. I wondered how long I could make him suffer.

“Sara?” Sadie’s voice wafted through the bedroom door accompanied by an impatient knock.

“Not here,” I murmured before returning to the task at hand.

“Sara, Dad wants to talk to you.” Before I could yell something a bit more forceful at the door, Micah tilted up my chin.

“If your father desires a word with you, you should speak with him,” he said.

“But—”