Page 33 of The Fae’s Treasure

“You are what helps. You are what I need. I just need to find the right words, my lady. My Deanna,” Dairmuid murmurs, coming close to me.

When he’s close, everything in me pulls towards him—hips first.

Last night was magical, better than I’ve ever had, and now I selfishly want more, even while we’re in the midst of a crisis.

“What words? I can help you brainstorm.”

“Words that I say have power, Deanna. Mortals break promises all the time, don’t they?”

“So true.”

“A fae cannot. We are bound by the words we say, and the wrong ones can leave too many holes, too many ways for Saz to worm through. Or ways for something innocent to become harmful,” Dairmuid rests a hand on my cheek, then trails over my arm to squeeze Rory’s little foot.

“If you just took him—”

“A mother wouldn’t want that, surely?”

I swallow hard. “No. No mother wants that. But if you love your baby, and he’s in danger, you send him to where he’s safe. I didn’t know if he’d be safe with you when I first met you, but now... Damn it, Dair,” I wipe my suddenly damp eyes. “Why do I feel like I’ve known you for months instead of hours? Did you mojo the timestream?”

“No. It is because of our connection. It forged fast and deep. Like yours and Rory’s. And you’re right, a true mother sacrifices all for her child’s safety, but I’m afraid... I’m afraid that I don’t know much about demon ways. Saz leaving her child and you claiming him already weakened all her holds on him and this realm. I’m afraid that she will somehow be able to claim that you sending him away relinquished your hold. No, love. I want the right words. The perfect words.”

“What words are you trying to find? Something like, ‘This woman is now my son’s mother?’”

“It has to be a bargain. Something we exchange, and it can’t be that I give you my son in exchange for you claiming him,” Dairmuid says patiently, a weary smile on his face. “I can’t give what you already managed to capture for yourself.”

“Well, what if I offered something? Something big? It has to be something major, right?”

Dairmuid nods. Doesn’t speak.

“Like, my life for—”

My words are broken off with a savage kiss, a kiss that sends me back into the wall with Dairmuid attached to my lips, our baby making a tiny grunt of confusion or discomfort between us.

When he pulls away, I can’t speak, because I need air, damn it.

That’s exactly what he wanted. He looks at me, and lightning crackles in his eyes. I can see storm clouds race, gray and threatening across his iris, and I’m spellbound. Enchanted.

I want to be in this magical world with him. I would do... I would do pretty much anything he asked of me in that second, just to leave my ordinary world behind and stay near the man with a whole season at his command.

“Do not attempt to strike the bargain, my lady,” Dairmuid warns, voice low, throbbing in my ears like the pulsing of heavy rain on the roof. “If you had offered something, something like ‘your life,’ fae magic may corrupt the meaning. And you would end.”

“But you... You don’t want me to die,” I whisper, shocked. “Can’t you control that?”

“If I’m the one making the offer, yes. If a mortal makes an offer, fae law always tries to get the better of the ‘weak little human’ who dares to presume upon our power.”

“Well. Aren’t you full of yourselves,” I huff.

Dairmuid nods, face still grave, but his eyes are slowly clearing. “Indeed, we are. And the only way to learn different is to live among mortals. But once we do, we struggle with going back,” Dairmuid admits, taking my hand with a soft squeeze, bringing it to his lips. “I think now that is why my kind is always raised to believe that we are so superior and humans are so foolish and dangerous. We need to stay away, lest our powers become corrupted and our offspring become halflings.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess that’d be bad,” I murmur. It rankles, hearing that. And what irritates me more? It’s true. Humans are weaker than fae; I can tell that, thanks to Mr. Popping-In-and-Out-of-Realms. And we are weak, foolish, and dangerous. Just watch the news. Just look online. People harming each other, not even for things that matter, but for last pairs of slippers during Christmas shopping, and who should go first at a four-way stop sign. If I could spare myself from being mixed up in all the shittiness mortals make for themselves, I’d do it in a second.

“They tell you that,” Dairmuid whispers, arm lacing around my hips, pulling me to his side. Rory is in my arms. I’m in his. We’re nested, not like dolls, but like I always imagined birds in a nest would be, with the big father bird protecting the little mother, and the mother covering the chicks. “They don’t tell us how brave you are. How beautiful, and inventive, and funny, and skillful. How fast you’ll welcome the stranger in need, or how you’ll protect every child like it’s your own.”

“Dairmuid. Sweetie, you can’t cry. I’ll cry. Rory will cry,” I whisper back.

“They don’t tell us how easily we’ll fall in love.”

My neck cranks upward so fast that I hear it crunch. Dairmuid’s face is deadly earnest. “Fall in love?” I mouth. I’m trying to talk, but the sound is gone, muffled by the ball of emotion in my throat.