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I love you.

Queer thing, being in love. It’s a hodgepodge of emotions that regularly changes its melody, from terrifying as hell to baffling, exquisite, consuming, infuriating, intimidating, thrilling, erotic, tender, simple, complicated, soft, hard, and a stack of other words Juniper would know to list.

But one thing stays constant: the way my pulse stalls every time I look at her, hear her, touch her. No need for bargains or games anymore. No favors or repayments. When I’m with Juniper, it’s absolute and unconditional.

It’s not about me. It’s all about her.

“So, um, what do you think?” she presses. “Will you meet him? Will you be part of my family?”

A family. Again, my tongue flops in my mouth. “My, my, my,” I whisper. “I think you’ve left me speechless.”

Her mouth quirks, joy blazing across her face. “Thenshowme what you think.”

That, I can do. I swipe aside the blanket and snatch her. Dragging Juniper onto my lap, I seize her grinning mouth and tease the seam until she parts on a sigh. My tongue flicks into that precious cavern, licking and scooping out more delightful noises. Her fingers trickle into my hair, her thighs splayed around my pelvis, emitting heat.

Keyed up, I slant my head and kiss her with an intense sort of softness, tasting the forest on her lips, sucking on that mortal tongue with deliberate slowness. She keens, the sound driving me wild. Her wetness slickens my waist, that sweet root rubbing against my cock.

Then and there, my brain dies a full death. I harden to the point of pain. My mouth tugs on Juniper’s lips, her tongue swerving with mine as I turn, my back flush with the sofa. I adjust Juniper atop my waist and drape her spread legs over my shoulders.

She gasps, the sound tilting in an upward, adventurous slope. We haven’t tried this position yet. She clasps my nape for balance, her clit bracing against my shaft, dislodging a groan from me.

The flames undulate, gilding her jaw and tits, the nipples ruching beneath my digits. I sketch the tips, watching them toughen into stones, relishing the sight. When that’s not enough, I thumb that tiny, swollen nub between her hips, swirling my fingers until she’s on the verge of convulsing.

We pant, fed up with waiting. Clutching her ass, I find her entrance with my tip and give a gentle snap of my hips. Juniper moans, her warm walls clutching tightly around my prick. I pitch my waist, pistoning into her with measured thrusts.

I watch her jutting above me, her mouth open. Fuck, she’s everything. This is everything.

Our hips roll, bumping together. Her head drops, and she hunches to brush my mouth with hers. I lunge into the soaked grip of her body, my efforts relentless until I feel her seizing up, on the brink of release.

Heat charges up my thighs and straight to my crown. With each pass of my hips, my cock plies her deeply, thoroughly, languidly.

Like this, we growl against one another.

Like this, I fuck her slowly. Like this, she fucks me back.

Juniper arches and cries out, her hair brushing my knees, where fur and skin meet. As the room burns, she comes around me, and I shout to the rafters.

When the aftershocks subside, I lower her legs from my shoulders, and she curls against my chest. We catch our breaths, an intense calm washing over the room.

Home is what this feels like. Her, in the cabin. And Sylvan, in the glade.

I’ve never lived with anyone before. I’ve never shared tasks with a partner, both of us flexing our muscles—her brain, my tongue—on a regular basis while learning how to fit our lives together like keys into latches, seeing which ones fit and which will open doors to other raptures. How I look forward to more of it.

I drag my finger up and down her spine, from the peak to the tattoo below. It’s official, I’ve got a Juniper hangover. I’ve been talk-drunk and sex-drunk over the past few days since we’d shut ourselves in this house, determined to know one another inside and out, from our demons, to our griefs, to our moans.

But after hours of fucking, sleeping, bickering, teasing, confiding, debating, bathing, and eating—not always in that order—it’s time to come up for air.

It’s going to be a long couple of nights. Lark and Cerulean are expecting us in the mountain, in their wildlife park at The Fauna Tower. After that, we’ll segue to Cypress’s yurt in The Heart of Willows, apparently with Juniper’s apple pie in tow.

Moth will be there, along with Tinder. With simmering tensions among the Solitaries and increasing animosity toward our small clan, a shitstorm is brewing. I’ve felt it in the roots, and my brother has sensed it in the wind. We’re meeting to discuss a game plan.

I’ve got a feeling Foxglove will come around. Call me a hypocrite, but despite her attempt to save Sylvan’s life, she shot Cypress and tried to suffocate Juniper in that Fae ring. Whether I’ll be able to stomach the nymph’s company while moving forward, I have doubts.

Nevertheless, if Foxglove does convert to our side, my tongue will do its best to behave and act civil. I’ll only be sarcastic and moderately threatening half the time—cross my scoundrel heart.

As for Elixir, I’d like to shackle my fingers around his jugular for attempting to drown my woman. But that would probably work against the greater goal. The river Solitaries are ruthless and don’t pace themselves. They’d retaliate fast on his behalf.

Besides, I’d been just like Elixir not too long ago. I’ll have to keep that in mind if we have a prayer of getting through to him. Between Cerulean, myself, and our serpentine sibling, Elixir’s the most visceral, which means he’ll be the hardest to reach. He’s a viper for a reason—swift and venomous. And like I’d told Cerulean, Elixir sees what others can’t, which is ironic given he’s blind.