Page 36 of A Court of Ravens
“Flowers?” I repeat, incredulous.
“Aye. They like those.”
I snort. “Flowers won’t fix this, Tomas.”
Not when I’m about to tell her our union could either bridge worlds or burn them down.
Tomas yanks the knife free with a twist, barely glancing at it before setting it spinning between his fingers again, the motion effortless, idle. “And they wear puffy white dresses for mating ceremonies. Looks like a sheep’s arse if you ask me.”
“Ridiculous.” We wear kilts, after all.
“Aye. But there’s whiskey at the end. They call it a reception.”
“Well, as long as there’s whiskey, I’ll fucking endure,” I mutter, rolling my shoulders like I can shake off the ridiculousness, but the thought of my little Shadow Witch wrapped in silk and corseted up like some delicate thing meant for display sends a strange heat curling in my gut. “If she expects me to prance around like some love-struck idiot, she’s in for a rude awakening.”
Human courtship is an exercise in absurdity—empty gestures, pretty lies wrapped in ribbons and bows. Flowers won’t change the way I want to claim her, mark her, and own her in ways no polite ritual can capture. There’s nothing civilised about what’s between us. Nothing soft or simple. Bonding makes much more sense. No pomp, no pretence, just raw need seared into flesh and soul. My beast rumbles its agreement, satisfied by the certainty of it.
Tomas laughs. “You’re already halfway there, mate.”
I take another pull from the bottle. “Yeah, because discussing my ability to gallop faster than her car is first-date material.”
“Better to tell her before she finds out the hard way.”
“Been there, done that. Didn’t end well.” I grimace at the memory.
“Dessert, then. Drop the bomb after she’s had some fucking cake.”
“Great plan, genius.” I glare at him. “What’s next? Offer her a bloody gift basket?”
“Couldn’t hurt. Better than a bunch of dying plants.” He shrugs, tone flat. “But you’re overthinking it. She’s either in, or she’s not. Nothing you say will change that.”
He has a point. “I’ll be my charming self and impress her. I can handle that much.”
Tomas grins, eyes glinting with pure fucking delight. “Aye, remember the time you thought juggling flaming, enchanted swords in front of that noble lass would get you in her skirts? Instead, you torched her father’s priceless family tapestry—an heirloom almost as legendary as your cock-ups—panicked, and hit it with a spell that turned the flames into a flock of fire-breathing pigeons. Which, might I add, then proceeded to shit all over the high table and all the guests while setting half the hall on fire.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Real smooth, that one.”
I’d forgotten about the pigeons. Probably a good thing that we’d been in the Uisce Court, every square inch surrounded by water and fucking fountains big enough to swim in at every turn. I take another swig of whiskey. “Better than your ‘kidnapped’ love story.”
Tomas grunts. “A proper courtship should always start with a well-executed ambush.”
I shake my head. “Keep Cyn distracted tonight. I don’t need her poking around.”
Tomas nods, his expression turning serious. “Aye. I’ve got it handled. You’d better hope the lass is tougher than she looks. Because if this goes tits up, it won’t just be you who pays the price.”
I stand. “Good talk, Tomas.”
He grins. “Go ruin her for any other poor bastard who dares look at her.”
“I’ll fuck her so deep, she’ll taste me every time she swallows—long after I’ve salted the earth with the blood of any bastard who so much as breathes in her direction,” I mutter.
Tomas actually barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sick, depraved bastard.”
I roll my shoulders, muttering a curse as I head for the kitchen, his laughter following me down the hall like the smug prick he is.
ChapterFifteen
FELICITY FORREST
“The Shadowborn don’t fight for the light or the dark. They fight to keep the balance. And sometimes, that means becoming the very monsters they are meant to stop.”
