Page 23

Chapter twenty-three

W hen I’m not being thrown into it, this enormous bath is wonderful. I really needed a good soak, so when Tae said there wasn’t a normal tub in Llywelyn’s rooms, I was disappointed.

But now I don’t know what I was thinking. This is a thousand times better than a pokey white plastic bathtub. All this space. All this heat. This is decadence and luxury, and I really could get used to it. It is even pretty to look at. All deep-green tiles and ornate arches. I should never have allowed my bad memories to taint my opinion of Llywelyn’s private Turkish Bath.

I let out a loud sigh as the last of my tension leaves my muscles. My head drops back onto the rolled towel Tae thoughtfully placed on the lip of the sunken bath. I could happily stay in here all night.

Although, getting out means putting on a robe and going to bed. Since it is late in the day and long past dinner. And bed isn’t a bad thing, at all. No, far from it. Heaving myself out of this glorious hot water, leads directly to climbing into a ridiculously comfortable bed. One that will have Llywelyn in it.

My cock stirs. I wonder if I can send Tae to ask Llywelyn to join me in here? That would be a truly marvellous way to end the day.

A soft footstep on the tiled floor lets me know that Tae has padded into the room. I open my eyes.

The little fairy holds up a beautiful book. It is roughly A5 in size, and a deep azure blue. Embossed with patterns similar to Celtic Knotwork.

“No charms,” he explains softly. “Library. Old book. Omegas. ”

My eyebrow rises. “Good thinking Tae, thank you.”

My gaze runs over the gold letters swirling along the spine. It is written in Fey and the translator sewn into my ears doesn’t work on writing.

“Can you hide it in my drawer?” I ask. I can figure out a way to decipher it later.

Tae nods and scurries off with the book. I have no idea how I have won him over, but I am so glad that I have.

I exhale and settle back against the rolled towel. The water sloshes, and a drip falls somewhere. Damn it, my mind is whirling now. My moment of peace has passed. My thoughts are once again trying to figure out why Llywelyn was so insatiable that night. Tae could well be onto something. It could be something to do with Llywelyn’s omega traits.

Memories of that night start to flow and my blood heads south. Right, that’s it. Bath time is over. I haul myself out and wrap myself in the large fluffy robe Tae left out for me.

I head to the main sitting room and find Llywelyn curled up in a wingback chair by the fireplace. A cheery fire is crackling away, even though it doesn’t feel cold enough to need it.

Llywelyn’s long elegant fingers are dancing over knitting needles. Russet coloured wool is spilling down. He is making a new stuffie. A fox, by the looks of it.

I watch him silently. Llywelyn is engrossed in his task and I don’t think he has noticed me. He looks calm, relaxed. And I’m stupidly proud that he doesn’t feel the need to hide his hobby from me.

He is wearing his white nightgown, and his golden hair looks freshly washed. There really shouldn’t be anything sexy about someone being ready for bed and knitting by the fire, but my arousal clearly thinks there is. Maybe it is the nightgown? My lust could have been trained like Pavlov’s dog to associate things with it. Or perhaps it is the simple, cosy domesticity that is appealing to my world-weary heart. Or it could be nothing more than the fact I was already horny before I saw him. It is the entire reason I hurried out of my bath.

Who knows? And I guess it doesn’t matter. Not everything needs to be analysed.

He glances up at me as I step closer, but his fingers don’t stop working. I take the seat across from him. I can’t pounce on him. These things need to be worked up to.

“Tomorrow, can we go somewhere the wolf-shifter pets will be?” I ask.

His body recoils like I’ve thrown a bucket of cold water on him. He scowls viciously and my heart sinks. I thought making plans would be a nice, gentle topic of conversation. Nevermind that I’m asking him instead of telling him. It is a step forward for us.

“Why?” he snaps.

I inhale carefully. It is fine. He hates going out and being utterly ignored. Being a resyn is hard for him. I know this.

“I want to see if they would be interested in an alliance. And if they think their free kin would be. You can promise to free all shifter pets if they put you on the throne.”

Llywelyn throws his knitting on the floor. “And insult the powerful fey nobles who own them?”

“We would have to tread carefully, of course. Weigh up the pros and cons. Decide who would be the most beneficial ally,” I say.

Llywelyn’s golden eyes blaze.

“But that’s all a moot point,” I continue. “If we don’t even know if the wolf-shifters are interested.”

He glares at me for several long heartbeats. “I want to stay in my rooms.”

“I know,” I say softly.

His lungs stutter. For a moment, I think he is going to cry, but he jumps to his feet in a raging fury instead.

“You don’t know! You can’t know! No one does!”

I stare up at him. How did we get to a blazing row? What is happening? I’m so confused right now.

Llywelyn makes a noise in his throat that sounds for all the world like an angry cat. Then he moves, so fast it makes my heart freeze in primordial terror. All the ornaments on the mantlepiece come crashing down as Llywelyn swipes at them.

I jump to my feet, but he storms away from me. Throwing chairs, upending tables. Smashing vases. It is like watching a tornado.

“I wanted to stay home with you. I wanted everything to be nice!” he snarls.

Then he runs to the bedchamber and slams the door behind him. I hurry over. Drawn to him. Sucked into his storm. What the hell has brought this mood on? What can I do to help?

Suddenly, Tae is in front of me, blocking my path with a determined look on his face. My heart thuds low and heavy with trepidation. I remember his pointed teeth and his demonic eyes.

“I need to see if he is alright,” I plead to the little fairy.

Tae shakes his head. “Best to leave him.”

Tae herds me away from Llywelyn’s bedroom. He manoeuvres me over to a blank wall while I helplessly comply. His hands glide in a pattern over the plaster and a door forms. I blink as my mind rejects what my eyes are telling it.

Tae opens the new door and shoves me inside. It is a small windowless room. Just big enough for a neatly made single bed. I’m being exiled. Kicked out. The fey equivalent of being told to sleep on the sofa.

Weakly, I stagger forward and sit on the bed. It is comfortable at least.

“He gets like this?” I ask Tae quickly before he can leave.

The little fairy nods, and a wave of relief washes over me. I’m so glad it is not another strange malady like his intense horniness was. That would indicate that someone had a very insidious hold on his mind.

The wall shakes as Llywelyn throws something against it. Tae cowers .

“Does he ever hurt you?” I blurt as my eyes fix on his tattered wing.

Tae’s green eyes fill with anger. He shakes his head vehemently, clearly outraged at the idea.

“Ever… use you?” I press. I have to know. If Llywelyn flies into rages, who knows what else he does.

Tae’s face scrunches up into the most intense look of disgust, affront, and insult that I have ever seen.

Oh lord, is that a weight off my mind. I feel lighter now, like I can breathe. I hadn’t realised that my dark assumption had been festering inside me.

Another smash slams against the wall. Tae darts out of my new room, and shuts the door. I quickly take the two steps to the plain wood and check I’m not locked in. The door opens smoothly. I shut it again and sit back down on the bed.

The walls are a faint, luminous blue. Just enough light to not be pitch black. Not that I need to see. There is nothing to look at.

Robotically, I lie down on the narrow bed. Every time I think I have a handle on Llywelyn, he surprises me and I’m proven wrong. He really is an unpredictable sonofabitch.

I really didn’t think he was the type to throw a strop like this.

I did think he hurt Tae.

And I am so very glad I’m wrong about that. Even though I now feel guilty for ever thinking that was true.

As for this sudden rage of his, I know tantrums can be a trauma response. I’m not disgusted. I’m surprised. And deeply concerned.

Oh god, am I?

I sit with the feeling for a few heartbeats. Yes. I am deeply concerned for Llywelyn. He is throwing things around, trashing his rooms, and I’m not riled or pissed off. I have no urge to retaliate. Instead, I’m worried. I want to go to him. I want to help. And this feeling has nothing to do with the mission.

I run a hand over my face. I knew my feelings for Llywelyn were complicated. I knew I longed to keep him safe and take him away from the mess that is his life. But this is something far deeper, and it scares me.

I lift my head up. I haven’t heard anything smash for a few minutes. It has fallen quiet.

I get up and press my ear against the wall, pathetically grateful that while I have been kicked out, I’ve not been sent far and there is only a thin wall between us. He is not so very far away.

Faint sounds of sobbing reach me. My guts twist into a knot and my heart pounds against my ribcage as if trying to break free and reach Llywelyn.

For the first time in my life, I really don’t know what to do. I hate how powerless it is making me feel. I fix things, that is what I do. I find problems and I make them better. With ruthless efficiency.

But I can’t solve this. There is nothing I can do. Someone I care about is sobbing their heart out and my only option is to lie here in the dark and listen.

This is going to be the worst night of my life.