“Done.”
“Deal.”
“Except it doesn’t need to be a deal. You don’t need to compromise. …” Cerulean trails off, his eyes broadening. “Compromise,” he repeats to himself, then bows his head and chuckles with incredulity. “I’m an eternal fool.”
“What?” I press. “What is it?”
He meets my baffled gaze. “The choice. Your choice to remain human doesn’t mean I’ll outlive you. As mates we have the power to make a compromise, neither living eternally, nor living briefly.”
Awe floods my senses. “An extended life? How?”
“Magic.”
“Knock it off,” I snap, batting his shoulder.
“Very well, then. A bargain for a bargain.” Cerulean gathers me to him.“Under the vicious stars, an Owl crossed paths with a Lark.”
I peer at him, unsure where he’s taking this.“And the Lark said, ‘We may fly separately, but let our direction be the same.’”
Fables eternal. He’s right.
The Horizon that Never Lies told me the truth, yet the Pegasi claimed interpreting and living out that truth was in my power. It’s our decision, a balance between equals. Mates without the sensory connection, but with a passion that defies our species. Cerulean and me, growing old together, because that’s who we are. That’s who we’ve become.
We’re mortality and magic. We’re lovers and mates.
We’re human and Fae. We’re happy.
“We’ll age slowly,” Cerulean says. “Very slowly.”
“Meaning?” I ask, combing through his hair.
He steals my wrist and brings it to his lips. “Is it possible you’re willing to tolerate me for a handful of centuries?”
It takes me a moment to recover from that. I pretend to mull it over, enjoying Cerulean’s peevish expression when I dither for too long. Yeah, he’s one spoiled Fae.
Fine, I’ll take pity on him. “Only a handful? Reckon I’ll manage.”
“Cruel human,” he scolds, his hands burning a path to my ass, cupping me hard and plastering me to him. “Now, then. You mentioned something about fucking one another into exhaustion.” Those dark lips slant. “Surely, we can do better than that.”
Hot damn. “You wouldn’t tease a girl, would you?”
With an evil grin, he hauls me off the ground. I yelp, laughing and stringing my limbs around him as his wings flap wide. They’re somewhat healed, new feathers germinating over the screens.
It’s enough to propel us. Cerulean vaults us above the wildlife park, his wings riding the wind and shooting us toward the tower. His arms band around my rear, keeping me safe.
The balmy air tangles our hair. I feel the elevation encircle my calves but don’t pay it mind. While strapped around him, I snatch his lips midflight and sense his eyes closing, because he knows the way without sight. Our mouths contort, tongues striking and retreating, tasting one another’s sighs.
He blows through a curtain, his boots hit the floor, and I scramble down, my lips refusing to leave his. We stumble across the unidentified room. Cerulean braces one palm on my cheek and grips my hip with the other, his mouth burrowing into mine. A swift gust hints that his wings have retracted into his back, seeping into his clothes and slipping between his shoulders.
In the kiss, I feel the strength of his angular jaw. Our feet scuff the floor, our hectic fingers fumbling with his coat. Impatient, I pry myself from the clamp of his lips and yank the garment down his arms. He sheds the rest of it, the material slapping the ground.
I take a quick gander around the space. The smooth stone walls, the central fire basin, the arched windows and fluttering curtains, the turret ceiling covered in scales of ivy, the hanging planters that drizzle ropes of greenery, and the bed’s wooden frame and creamy linens, with bolts of cloth looping overhead.
His room. We’re in his room, in the tower’s highest level.
Mounted on the opposite wall from the bed is an old plume with toasty stripes of buff and tan. It’s the feather of a mortal bird, plucked from a human’s mask, from when the wearer was a tyke.
My head snaps toward Cerulean. He grins wickedly. “You weren’t looking.”
