Copper Veins(67)

“There was no child?”

“No child.” He closed his eyes for a moment, relief softening his features.

“First, I am going to give you rules, and then I will make you a promise,” he murmured, smoothing back my hair. “You will not go to an apothecary without someone from this world. If you do not wish for me to accompany you, take the Bright Lady, or even a silverkin. Those who sell such items as Queen’s Lace are not to be trusted.”

I nodded, but Micah wasn’t done. “If you are ever confused, talk to me. If you are hurt or in pain, come to me. Don’t let me find you dying on the floor, not ever again.” His voice roughened at the end, though his eyes remained dry. I wondered if he’d used up his tears earlier.

“I will,” I whispered. “All of it. I promise.”

“And now, my promise.” He cupped his hands around my face, so close our noses almost touched. “You are mine. My wife, my lover, my companion. I will never abandon you, or our children, whenever we may meet them.”

I was crying again, but these were good tears. “What did I ever do to deserve you?” I wondered, tucking a bit of his superfine hair behind his ear.

“As I recall, you enticed me by taking off nearly all your clothing before you napped in your mechanical,” he smirked.

“I wasn’t enticing anyone,” I protested. “It was hot.”

“Mmm. Hot.” He traced my cheek, then pressed his lips to my forehead. “I often wonder what I did to deserve you.”

Me? “Micah, I’m a mess!”

“Not a mess,” he murmured. “Passionate. Righteous. Beautiful.” He kissed me again. “My copper girl.”

“I think I might just want your baby,” I whispered.

“It’s unfortunate you didn’t feel this way earlier,” he quipped, and I laughed. My various hurts screamed in protest, but I couldn’t help it. I loved him so much.

“Forgive me?” I asked, though I deserved no such thing.

“Of course,” he said, tucking my head against his throat. I loved that, too.

“When we do have children, can we still cuddle like this?” I asked. “All of us?” I felt his face stretch into a smile.

“Of course.”





28


Micah and I stayed in the guestroom that night, hiding from the world behind the cheery yellow bed curtains. For a while, we just looked at each other, lost in each other’s eyes. Cheesy, right? But it was true—I had fallen deep into those silver eyes of his, and I never, ever, wanted to find my way out.

After a while, our gazing was joined by little whispered endearments, greeting card-worthy declarations of love and devotion. Micah told me bits and pieces of his early childhood, that long-ago time before his father had died. Then, Micah had been a treasured only child and the center of his parents’ world.

“Such love, such happiness,” he murmured. “That is what I want for our family.”

I nodded—I remembered such feelings well from my own childhood. “Then we should build a wall around the manor, one higher than the roof, to keep everything bad away.”

“How would we ever leave?” Micah asked.

“We’ll make a door, silly.” We laughed at that, my assorted bruises causing me to wince.

“I believe it is time for me to teach you a bit more about your abilities,” Micah murmured, his fingertips gliding along my cheek. “A bit more about the magic that stirs within you.”

“What sort of magic?” Based on my string of bad decisions, it was probably an intelligence spell.

“Healing magic.” Micah’s hand traveled under the covers and around my hips, and he laid his hand flat against my mark. “You remember the Goblin Market, when I drew my silver inward to heal myself?”

“I do.” The image of Micah’s beaten, naked form was permanently etched behind my eyelids. “Is that what you’re going to teach me?”

“Yes. Do you feel this?” He pressed a fingertip against my mark, and a pleasant, liquid warmth emanated outward with the pressure, like ripples on a pond.

“It feels nice. Warm.”

Micah smiled, then slid his fingertip across my back, around my hip and to my belly. Once he’d reached a spot just north of my navel, he pushed up the hem of my shirt, and motioned for me to look. There was a small circle of copper where his finger had been. While I stared, amazed by this new mark, Micah bent forward and kissed my belly. When he raised his head, his lips were copper.

“You took my metal!” I squeaked. “Give it back!”

“As you wish.” Micah kissed me on the lips, and that now-familiar warmth melted back into me. Micah kissed a trail from my mouth to my cheek, tugging the copper along with him. Once he reached the bruises, the warmth dissolved away, along with my pain.