28.
Sheyla’s mostly-feigned mood only lasted until she reached the doorway.
It was impossible to stay angry when her entire body was limber and she felt as if she’d run ten klicks—in a good way. She got more food for herself, paused over opening more tins for Ded and Alastor, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to spoil them. I won’t be making a habit of this, after all. She even delivered the plates, pausing to steady one balanced on her forearm.
“Are we good?” Alastor was asking Dedrick.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
Silence, but Sheyla had an odd feeling, one that had to be coming from Alastor. “I just wanted to be sure… since this is most likely the first and last time.”
He’s thinking about the end, too. Not unexpected but it hurt more than she’d anticipated.
Dedrick answered, “I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“I’m accustomed,” Alastor said, in as bitter a tone as Sheyla had ever heard. “When have I ever done precisely as I wish?”
That answer would probably slice her to ribbons—and besides, she already knew the truth was never—so she bumped the door wide. “Here’s the feast I promised. I apologize in advance.”
Sheyla propped herself up against the headboard and snuggled beneath the covers, shoulder to shoulder, with Alastor in the center. Since he was the one who’d brought her and Dedrick together, that seemed fitting. When she considered the matter properly, it was more like Dedrick was sharing Alastor with her for a little while, because she had a life waiting, and Alastor had so many fucking obligations that she ached.
Mostly, she had been joking about round two. Since it would be hard to top such spontaneity, it might be a bad idea to challenge such a stellar memory. Questions percolated, but she didn’t know if she should ask.
Eventually, she indulged her curiosity. “What will you do now?” she asked Alastor, once they finished eating.
“Rebuild Hallowell. I doubt Tycho will try again, but it wouldn’t be right for me to march out without helping to restore order.”
Dedrick was nodding. “I agree. If other settlements need reinforcement before you finish here, I can take five platoons or so and handle the defense.”
Sheyla realized that just because they’d secured Hallowell, it didn’t mean the war was over. It would be fought all over the map, until the last of Tycho’s troops retreated, perished, or swore fealty to Alastor. Likely that heralded a lengthy campaign… and her role in it was over. That shouldn’t fill her with such melancholy.
“Did Chancellor Quarles survive?” she asked then.
“She went to ground when the bombardment started, but I saw her at Old Town just before we came to St. Casimir,” Alastor answered.
“I’m surprised she hasn’t demanded a meeting yet.” Such practical talk might seem strange to an outsider when they were still naked and lounging, but her nature didn’t lend itself to sweet nothings or a quiet mind.
“Soon, I’m sure.” The prince didn’t sound eager. “I hope you’ll both come to Zan’s memorial rites. Gavriel told me they’re holding the ceremony tomorrow.”
There were a lot of dead to bury, but she had a soft spot for the cheerful, good-humored Eldritch who had escorted her without complaint. Alastor hadn’t explained how or why Zan died, and she didn’t press. Once they left this bed, the world would reassert its claims on each of them, whether she liked those requirements or not.
“Of course,” Dedrick answered.
Sheyla added, “I’ll pay my respects too.”
Next to Alastor, Dedrick stretched and sighed. “It can’t end until we kill him.”
No question that he was referring to Tycho, and Alastor nodded, tilting his head against Sheyla’s so she could breathe in the spiced sweat of his skin. Lickable, really. While visual beauty seldom aroused her, certain scents drove her wild.
“He may recall the remainder of his troops to Golgerra, but no, it will never be finished until he’s dead or I am.”
An old song came to mind about a fork in the road, and Sheyla nearly hummed a few bars, so strongly did she need distraction from the pain twisting up her insides. “Let’s enjoy the respite, shall we?”
A wolfish light kindled in Alastor’s green eyes. “We were only waiting for you to say the word, lady.”
Dedrick smiled. “I admit, I’m curious what you plan to do with us.”
I have no idea. Let’s find out.
Wicked impulse drove her into Alastor’s lap, where she settled, knowing he found her ass irresistible, and she reached for Dedrick, pulling him into a kiss. After sex, he smelled different than Alastor, a darker scent, and she tasted that variance as well. Despite his size, his kisses were softer, slower, though that could stem from lack of familiarity. The hands on her breasts belonged to Alastor, so expert that she squirmed against him, eliciting a groan. She couldn’t see his cock, but she felt it, swelling from half-hard to a full erection. Curious how their kissing had affected Dedrick, she drew back; he was stiff, but his prick lengthened as she admired it.
“Touching works better,” he invited.
This was a new experiment, so she was attentive to his responses in curling her fingers around him. Each press and pull elicited a fresh expression, a flutter of lashes or a soft nip of his lower lip. From Alastor’s accelerated breathing and the rock of his hips, he was getting hot watching her learn to work Dedrick’s cock. Her nipples were hard, and her pussy felt slick and swollen. It was getting more difficult to consider her next move. Large hands curved over her smaller one and forced her to jerk harder and faster, then Dedrick pulled back.
“I don’t want to come yet.”
“Taste her,” Alastor suggested in a black velvet voice.
Sheyla gasped as he kissed her neck, her shoulders, as Dedrick lowered his head to her breasts. Even here, he was maddeningly gentle, pressing butterfly kisses. His warm lips drove her slow undulations against Alastor’s cock. His hands were everywhere, caressing her, stroking Dedrick’s back and shoulders, urging them to greater pleasure. Her belly quivered as Dedrick licked lower. She grabbed his head and pushed it down, in no mood to be teased.
“Fuck, yes.” The muffled, profane praise came from Alastor as he lifted her, gliding smoothly inside. “Make her come. Let me feel it.”
With the prince’s cock inside her, she tried to move, but they held her still with tender hands, and Dedrick kept her thighs spread so he could lick and sip at her aching clit. She’d never known anything like those dual sensations, but when she fell into those feelings, they spiraled into sheer need. Liquid heat washed over her, and she circled her hips, to feel Alastor more and to get more friction on her clit. Dedrick teased her a little, so she pulled his hair, and he rewarded her with exactly what she needed as Alastor started to move.
Sheyla came so hard she almost passed out.
After that, it was a straining tangle of urgency. They fucked each other and then her, until she literally couldn’t move. She’d never lost track of orgasms before. By the time Alastor came with a grunt, the last to finish, she was slippery with sex and sweat. Cuddling wasn’t something she’d done much of, but now she understood the purpose. It’s what happens when you lack the energy for anything else. In Dedrick’s arms, she received soft little kisses from Alastor, but she lacked the energy to respond.
“Thank you,” she said finally.
Both Alastor and Dedrick were laughing again. She didn’t bother asking why that was funny, though the prince was kind enough to elaborate. “It’s delightful when you’re so polite after fucking us both into shadows of our former selves.”
Put that way, she got it… and she laughed, for once feeling like part of the whole instead of an alien on the fringes, unable to comprehend the local customs. For a bit longer, she relaxed, but a repetitive and annoying sound plucked at her attention. My comm, she realized. Scrambling out from between them, she grabbed the first article of clothing she found from the floor and padded out of the bedroom.
Fortuitous because when she picked the unit up, the screen activated to display her mother’s furious face.
“Fuck,” Sheyla said.
Alastor froze when she swore, trained to expect the worst.
Instead of an alarm sounding, however, someone began a tirade. “What are you wearing? And your hair. I raised you better than this. Your father is going to die, you awful girl. I hope you can live with yourself, killing a perfectly healthy soul in the prime of his life, so you can—”
This must be Sheyla’s mother. Impressive, she doesn’t even pause to breathe.
He wasn’t trying to listen in, but it was impossible not to hear the screeching. His poor doctor hadn’t been granted a single opening to respond and her mother ranted on without flagging. Madame Halek would surely hear the bed springs if he shifted, and that would only exacerbate the situation.
“Explain this to me, Sheyla Halek. Why did I speak to Dr. Seagram before you? How is that your mentor can let me know you’re alive, but you can’t be bothered. And just wait—”
“I’m sorry,” Sheyla finally cut in.
Alastor dared a glance at Dedrick, whose eyes were watering with the effort not to laugh. That didn’t make his own plight any easier, so he buried his face in the pillow and tried not to eavesdrop. No luck.
“Your apologies are meaningless. Come home and prepare to spend the next two days on your knees, begging for forgiveness. Do you think this family is an optional service? Don’t you care how hard your father and I worked to send you to school in Hallowell? And for the love of all gods great and small, have you no consideration for your brothers? Darvid won’t eat, Zaran fights with everyone and Avi barely sleeps. Nightmares that he won’t talk about because he overheard how dire things were in Hallowell. Our boy is afraid you’ve been burned to bone dust and you can’t even—”
“Mum!” Sheyla shouted. “I’m not trying to hurt you or Pap. I’m sorry about the boys, Avi especially, but you don’t seem to understand—I went to war, not on vacation, and I have a few things to finish here. I’m burying a friend tomorrow.”
This didn’t seem amusing anymore. Alastor prickled with guilt over keeping her this long, though strictly speaking, the bombing of Hallowell hadn’t been his idea. Because Ded could read him like a book, he touched Alastor’s shoulder with a rueful expression.
Free to speak, he’d say something like, it’s not your fault. Alastor couldn’t entirely agree.
More ranting from Sheyla’s parent, the length and breadth of which he couldn’t help but find impressive.
Until Madame Halek snapped, “Enough with the demonkin and their issues, Sheyla. If you’re not home in two days, I’m sending Zaran to collect you. When you get here, you’ll accept the mate your father selected for you, no backtalk, no nonsense.”
Tense silence from the other room indicated the end of the call.
“Damn,” Dedrick said.
Alastor couldn’t disagree. He’d lost the mood to lounge, so he punished himself with a quick cold shower. It wasn’t that he regretted a single moment he’d spent with Sheyla, but he did mind being used as a weapon to shame her.
Demonkin.
That was how her family regarded him. Since she’d become as necessary to him as water and air, the sting was inescapable. To her mother and father, it probably wouldn’t matter how many times he defended an Animari settlement, how often he showed mercy instead of brutality.
I’ll always be a monster in their eyes.
He was shivering when he came out of the bathroom, his fingers clumsy and numb as he dressed. Ded hugged him briefly before taking his turn at washing up. For long moments, Alastor tried to decide what to say to Sheyla, still so quiet in the next room.
She surprised him by coming to the doorway before he made up his mind. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. My mother can be… volatile.”
“Mine once threw a doctor off a balcony for pronouncing me incurable,” he said lightly. “Hope you’re not too overset by a sound scolding.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Everyone will calm down once I’m back.”
Why did that sound so awful and inevitable? Steady, he told himself. He’d promised to take what she offered freely and not hold her when she chose to go.
Keep your word and your dignity.
An imperious knock sounded at the door, likely Gavriel or Korin. Alastor didn’t think it had been the full day of peace he’d requested, more like half. He couldn’t hide from his responsibilities any longer, though. Little as he liked it, the world was calling.
He opened it to find the two he’d predicted together, glaring at each other with a peculiar tension. “Strange bedfellows. Do come in. We have cold water, natural daylight, and tinned meat. I’m afraid that is the extent of my royal amenities.”
Gavriel and Korin spoke at once, talking over one another until he couldn’t parse any of it. He was in no mood for games, so he folded his arms and stared, trying for icy incredulity.
“I was here first,” Korin said, scowling at the Eldritch.
“Since I like you better than Gavriel, please proceed.”
The Noxblade snarled and flung himself into a chair, waiting with poor grace.
“My offer is simple,” Korin said. “One of the reasons I stayed to fight with you is because Raff is considering an alliance.”
Alastor’s brow shot up. He wondered what Sheyla made of this, whether she cared, or if she was already packing up what little she’d brought.
“You’re his second. To clarify, are you marrying me or is Raff?”
“Whichever you prefer,” she said.
“Perhaps I’d like one of each, a matched wolfkin set. Is that all right too?”
“You’re mocking me,” Korin decided, seeming unconcerned. “Yet I assure you that we are completely sincere. We’re willing to open free trade between Pine Ridge and Golgerra and train your people in our drone technology in return for—”
Alastor held up a hand. His head was a mess, and it was too soon for him to have any mind for political machinations. “One of my small pleasures. While I’m cognizant of the great honor afforded me, I need some time to reflect.”
Korin accepted that, bowed and exited, leaving Alastor to angle a look at Gavriel. “Let me guess, you want to marry me as well?”
The Noxblade snarled a laugh achingly devoid of humor. “I don’t, but my lady has an offer for you.”
In what seemed like another life, Alastor had entertained the idea of pursuing Princess Thalia, but now the prospect made him want to flee to human lands, where he’d probably die of one of their bizarre viruses. Since Gavriel would eviscerate him if he didn’t respond appropriately, he displayed only mild reluctance.
“You’re not going to call her, are you? I’m not feeling social.”
“Then let me relay the terms. Your achievements have impressed our princess. ‘To start with so little, defend Hallowell, and end the final battle by turning the enemy without a single shot fired? Remarkable. Together, we could accomplish much.’ Her words, not mine.” Gavriel’s expression said he still thought Alastor was an asshole. “She is open to negotiations that would establish her as consort instead of Golgoth Queen, so long as you permit her to retain her title as Queen of the Eldritch. You would have full rights as consort, no title as king in our lands.”
“Two rulers, united in diplomacy and military might,” he said.
That future sounded lonely. It sounded like hell.
“You’d be a fool to refuse her.” That was the most honest thing Gavriel had ever said to Alastor, and for an instant, his heart was his in eyes, bleeding for the fairy queen who would never love him.
“Would I?”
That little nudge was all it took for the normally acerbic Noxblade to extol Princess Thalia’s virtues for a quarter of an hour. Alastor was no more interested in the match when Gavriel finished, but he did know quite a lot about the assassin’s unrequited love.
Poor bastard.
“Thank you for your candor and your visit. Now, kindly get out.”
When the coast was clear, Dedrick stepped out of the bedroom, wearing his, Well, that was a thing, expression. “Two favorable offers. Will they expect you to be faithful?”
“Unlikely.” Alastor tipped his head in question. “Did she hear?”
“Hard to say. She’s in the bathroom right now, but…”
Sod everything, I want to stop. Haven’t I earned the right to do as I wish?
The worst part was that he couldn’t.