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Yes, my precious Lark.

Fly. Sing.

Once I’m certain she’s reached those heights, I throw my head back, throw my hips into her, and holler. My cock strains and then releases, the climax extending to the fringes of my wings. I shout, coming for so long that my vision blackens, my body convulsing.

Heaving, I collapse into her spent arms. We sag against one another while striving for breath. My face burrows into Lark’s neck, and her mouth presses into the point of my ear.

The constellations douse the room. My wings slip into my back, her limbs flank my waist, and our stomachs rest together. Most glorious of all, I’m still inside her, unwilling to leave her body.

As the time passes, we remain that way, tangled and listening to the calls of wild animals from the park.

Eventually, Lark utters, “You spoil me rotten.”

Amused, I lift my head. Propping my temple on my upraised fist, I glance down at my mate’s face, her cheeks brimming with sated color. “You flatter me, mortal.”

“And you love me, Fae.”

I feel my eyes kindle. “That, I do.”

Lowering my head, I take her lips. Lark sighs into my mouth and kisses me back, her tongue moving languidly with mine. The moment our mouths break apart, fitful noises slide from our tongues, both of us riled up to fuck again, to savor this one emotion worth fighting a war for.

My hips nudge, my firm cock rolling leisurely and deeply inside Lark’s heat. She moans, linking her ankles over my ass and angling our hips together.

Yet before I can fulfill my desire to make love to her for a second time, a whistling sound reaches my ears. I go still, then register the familiar noise. Lark does as well, seconds before the crossbow bolt whizzes through the draperies and stabs the wall opposite our bed.

There’s no note attached to the projectile, but there doesn’t need to be. We know who it’s from. This greeting is the equivalent of someone throwing pebbles at a window frame.

We glance at the bolt, then untangle ourselves. My cock slips from Lark’s body, and we sweep aside the blankets. She throws on my shirt, which hangs halfway down her thighs, and I step into the loose trousers before we charge to the window.

My mate halts before the arched view. I tower behind her, brace both forearms on the frame, and glance over her shoulder in wary amusement.

Below, Juniper stands on the lawn. Her head cranes up at us, green eyes punching through the darkness.

As I’d suspected from the lack of blood clotting the air, she’s in one piece and not sporting a gaping wound, which extinguishes the first immediate concern.

To the contrary, spectacles perch atop Juniper’s nose. Through the lenses, her pupils reflect the urgency of a human who hasn’t had much sleep, of someone who’s been in the throes of distraction and obsession, and who’s been captivated by an undeniable temptation.

Which leads to the second conclusion: She’s been reading.

She’s been reading and has something vital to share.

It’s not the first time this has happened to us, though Lark and I were in a more…complicated position…the last time Juniper interrupted. Wisely, she has learned her lesson and elected to summon us from outside.

“For fuck’s sake, hon,” Lark gripes, crossing her arms so that my shirt sleeves drape over her knuckles. “Can’t you let your sister orgasm in peace?”

“Get dressed,” Juniper orders in a hushed tone.

“Why the fuck are you whispering? You worried one of the resident llamas are gonna overhear you?”

“And get down here this instant. Both of you.”

“Before I get my second wind with Cerulean?” My sullen mate peeks at my amused face. “Pun intended.”

I suppress my chuckle. “I’m sure she has a good reason.”

“I do.” Juniper looks elated with herself. “I know who can tell us the second way.”

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