Seriously?
When Jo brought over more clothes, MizB had mended all of them, even the ones that were supposed to be ripped. But Jo had bitten her tongue.
Both MizB and Gram continued to cook, MizB “just in case,” so Jo pushed food around a plate when the family sat down for meals. She helped with dishes she’d never needed in the first place, wishing she had a rune for the chore.
Atop the mantel were two new framed pictures of Jo and Thad. Jo liked them because both had her giving the camera the bird, with her lips poised to say “Fuck off.”
She went to bed at four, and never missed breakfast.
It isn’t so bad here. She stared at Rune’s talisman, sleep overtaking her. Except for missing him. . . .
* * *
At last, the week had come to a close.
As Rune had done each day, he traced from the carriage house into Josephine’s room the moment she’d drifted off. But this time, he would remain until she woke.
The late night sky was thick with black clouds and thunder rumbled, but she slumbered on.
Sound sleeping was a vulnerability. He’d meant to help break her of that, but then he’d realized he’d always be there to watch over her.
He did so now, pulling up a chair beside her bed. He picked up the talisman from her bedstand, turning it in his hand over and over as his gaze lingered on her features. Her thick lashes, her finely-boned face. The gentle bow of her lips. The mouth that spoke so candidly and pressed against his flesh so ardently.
Though only seven days separated them and he’d always been close, Rune had missed her till his mind was wrong and his chest constantly pained him.
As Josephine had done as a ghost, he’d haunted the Braydens’ home. No one from the Vertas had disturbed them. In fact, only one Lorean had tried to visit—Natalya, the dark fey.
Josephine likely wouldn’t have welcomed her, so he’d traced to intercept the female.
Natalya was definitely of his species, with her plum-colored eyes, black claws, and the telltale pointed ears. She’d been yanking on a cap when he’d stopped her.
She’d raked her gaze over him. “You’re the dark fey everyone’s talking about, an assassin like me. Rune, right? I’m Natalya.” Another long look. “Where have you been all my life, gorgeous?”
In the past, he would’ve deemed this female heavens-sent for him—before Josephine had claimed his heart, his mind, his body, his fucking dreams.
When Natalya had propositioned him—“A little secret between two banebloods”—he’d simply said, “Josephine is everything.”
At that, Natalya had stopped eye-fucking him, and they’d spoken about the few others of their kind they’d met. She suspected he was the oldest living of them all. Not the firstborn, but still the oldest.
Was that why Orion had sought him out so long ago? Perhaps his liege hadn’t thought Rune less because he was a halfling; perhaps Orion considered dark fey to be a species unto themselves.
With Rune as their primordial.
The idea had shocked him, but he’d still managed to talk up Thad, emphasizing how powerful the young man was becoming. Once fully transitioned, Rune had assured Natalya, Thad could withstand any poison. . . .
Rune was glad to have gotten that meeting out of the way. With an unknown out there, he never would’ve been able to convince Josephine he was hers alone.
Soon his mate would feel confident in him. Soon she would wake to find him here, and he was . . . nervous.
She hadn’t spoken about him, and he still couldn’t fathom what he’d say to her. When he needed his silver tongue most, it’d deserted him.
How to express his regret for the past? How could he tell her his hopes for the future when he didn’t know what that future would entail? My liege might have murdered your mother, your entire world. Rune had come no closer to a decision regarding Orion and Apparitia.
She turned on her back, her hair tumbling over her pillow.
Her scent soothed his uneasiness, until it was replaced with a weary relaxation. He hadn’t slept in eight or nine days.
Outside, the night darkened even more, but the room was warm and comfortable. Gods, he’d give his bow hand to be able to sleep next to her once again.
He watched the rise and fall of her chest and imagined lying with her in his glen as a breeze washed over them.
His lids grew heavier, and he leaned an elbow on the edge of the bed.
Even a Møriør needed to rest once in a while. Maybe he’d close his eyes for ten minutes. . . .
SEVENTY-TWO
Rune was in Perdishian. He thought. Perhaps he dreamed?
If so, this reverie was the most lifelike he’d ever experienced.
He stood at the glass wall, gazing out. He breathed in air that smelled like cold stone and metal. His ears twitched with each of the stronghold’s groans as it moved through space and time.