“I have a problem,” Niall said.

They were eating breakfast together in the window of the drawing room, in the new “breakfast nook” Niall had made for them. He had pulled a small table and two chairs from one of the opulent guest suites upstairs, and set it up where the writing desk had been. The desk had been banished to the dark corner of the room, boxes of her grandmother’s magical tools stacked on top of it – a fact that made Aisling instantly love the drawing room. On the wall behind the table was the mural they’d painted of Widdershins wandering down a sandy beach – Aisling had tried to make it look like the beach in her dreams, but she wasn’t that great at art. Niall made the table look festive with a lace tablecloth and the finest silver. Instead of a vase of flowers at the center, he’d placed one of the decapitated dog statues. Aisling couldn’t see it without smiling.

Having Niall here makes this so much more bearable. The last few months had been some of the best she’d ever had in the house.

She set down her spoon, and met Niall’s ice eyes. “What’s your problem?”

“You see, when I came here, I didn’t exactly plan to stay that long. And so, I hadn’t packed any spare clothes.” Niall held out the front of his shirt and wrinkled his face in disgust. “I’ve been airing these out overnight, but they’re starting to reek.”

“What about that suitcase you brought with you?” Aisling said. “I thought that had clothes in it.”

Niall looked uncomfortable. “That’s right. It did. But … I lost it, to the void at the rear of the master bedroom upstairs.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. Besides,” he said, winking, “I have a feeling you’d prefer me naked, anyway.”

Aisling snorted into her porridge, even as her body flared with heat at the idea of Niall wandering around the house without any clothes.

Niall lifted one arm above his head, sniffed his armpit, and wrinkled his nose. “Seriously. Smell me. I’m like some kind of stink monster.”

“Get away from me.” Aisling shoved him away, her body shivering with delight as their skin connected again. Over the last few weeks, she’d gotten more used to the sensation when they touched, but that didn’t mean it had stopped. If anything, it was growing stronger, more urgent. Like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

After they’d cleared up the breakfast dishes, Aisling showed Niall the small doorway at the back of the kitchen. “Here’s the laundry,” she said, gesturing to the large enamel tubs and old-fashioned wringer.

“What is this sorcery?” Niall touched the handle of the wringer, wrinkling his nose. “It looks like some kind of torture device.”

“That wringer has been here for over 200 years,” Aisling said. “My grandmother liked to do things the old-fashioned way. A good thing, too. Because if there’d been an electrical washing machine, I’d be screwed.”

“Can’t you just enchant some little birds to do your chores for you?” Niall asked. “I saw that in an old human storybook once.”

“There aren’t any little birds around here,” Aisling said. “And Widdershins is afraid of water. You’re going to have to use good old-fashioned elbow grease.”

“Help me. Show me what to do. I usually had a—” he stopped talking abruptly. A good thing, as Aisling had a feeling the words “slave do it for me” were about to come out of his mouth.

“Crank handle. Push clothes through. It’s pretty easy.” She grinned. “Besides, you’re so strong, and you’ve only got one outfit. You’ll be done in a flash.”

“You’re cruel, witch.”

“Get used to it, fae.” They started calling each other witch and fae, in that teasing, cruel way that had, over time, become not so teasing and cruel, but instead more affectionate and sweet. Aisling worried that by doing it, they were removing the power from the words, bringing themselves closer than they should be. But she couldn’t help it. She was close to Niall, whether she wanted to be or not. And she couldn’t deny that even as she tried to resist the pull of their bodies, she longed for them to be closer still.

“Don’t watch.” Niall turned away from her, and tore off his shirt. His back muscles rippled as he bent down to unbutton his pants. Aisling stood in the doorway, transfixed by the way he moved and the complex tattoos winding their way down his spine and across his shoulders. They depicted battles against fierce monsters, souls burning in bright orange fires, their tortured faces contorting as they were consigned to ash. Why would someone immortalize such a sight in their flesh?

“I know you’re watching.” Niall didn’t turn around as he turned the tap to fill the tub with hot water. The muscles of his ass pulled taut as he stepped out of his pants. Beneath, he wore a pair of cotton boxer shorts, tied with a drawstring around his waist. The muscles of his thighs pulled at the shorts, which did little to disguise the curve of his tight ass. Aisling gulped, her face stinging with embarrassment. She didn’t turn away.

“How do you know?”

“I can feel your eyes on me.” He glanced over his shoulder as he opened the tap, and flashed her a wicked grin.

Those icy eyes saw straight through her. Aisling’s cheeks burned with heat. The room suddenly seemed very small, the walls bending inwards. “I don’t exactly have a television in here.” She tried to keep her voice light. “This is the best show I’ve seen in years.”

“I’ve read about televisions, but I’ve never seen one. The fae have no use for such things.” Niall tossed his pants into the steaming water, and stepped out of his boxers. Oh god. Aisling’s stomach churned with nerves. The air around her sizzled with energy. She tried to tear her eyes away, but they remained transfixed on Niall’s strong thighs. Several long scars crossed them at the back.

“What are those marks?” Aisling asked.

“Lashes.” Niall started scrubbing the armpits of his shirt. “The fae are harsh on those they feel are less than perfect.”

“How were you less than perfect?” Aisling asked, unsure how someone with a body like that could be anything but worshipped.

Niall continued scrubbing, still not turning around. “I disobeyed my colonel. He wanted me to drain a witch we found hiding in the forest. She had only a few units of atern left, barely enough to summon the flame for a campfire. I said the exercise was pointless. She had several items on her that were humming with atern, so she had likely pushed her power into them. She would be more valuable alive, where she could be questioned. He had me thrashed for disobeying orders.”

“What happened to the witch?”

“He drained her himself, then tossed her body to the wolves.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“That you were thrashed. That you couldn’t save her.”

“Save your apologies. Don’t make the mistake of thinking I was trying to save her, Aisling. If she’d been kept for questioning, she would have been tortured. He might even have done her a favor.”

The brutality in his words stung her, pushing her out of her daydreams. She forgot, often, that Niall was a warrior, trained in killing. And that as nicely as he treated her, he fundamentally believed her to be of an inferior race, not worthy of respect or freedom. He’s fae. Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears. Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s different.

Niall lowered his shorts, and Aisling’s mother’s voice died. His smooth skin, the taut muscles of this thighs, his warrior’s body …

Turn around … turn around …

Niall rinsed off the shorts in the warm, soapy water, then emptied the tub to rinse them. She watched him in silence, in awe of his graceful, light movements, the way his muscles shifted.

He’s fae he’s fae he’s fae he’s fae …

He came here to save me. He is different. I know he is.

“Niall?” she asked, taking a step toward him. “How many … how many have you killed?”

“Don’t ask that question,” he said, still not looking up as he placed his shirt between the rollers and started to crank the handle. The machine was many centuries old, and difficult to operate, yet he made it look so effortless. “You won’t like the answer.”

Aisling turned on her heel and ran from the room, slamming the kitchen door shut behind her. She didn’t stop running until she reached the ballroom, where she threw open the door and ducked inside, sliding the gilded bolt into the lock to seal herself in. She slumped against the heavy door, and burst into tears.