Page 23 of Rory

“You’re filled with melia magic, lass,” he whispered, stroking his thumbs over her high cheekbones. “’Tis in every part of you, likely since you were born.” That also explained why her body called to his.

“Melia. That’s what you call the tree Fae, right?” When he nodded something glittered in her eyes. “Why would I be full of their magic?”

“I cannae tell you. It’s shaped your body as you grew. I reckon ’twas what stole the sound of the mortal realm from your ears.” He caught a tear with his thumb and stroked it away. “Dinnae weep.”

“This place was made by melia magic.” She said that as if something else had occurred to her because of it.

“Aye. ’Tis why you hear again in our world.” He wouldn’t tell her that the Fae magic had also rendered her barren, for that seemed cruel. “’Tis likely why the alterations here have slowed to a stop for now. The enchantment, ’tis aware of you, and may see you as melia.”

“But you said I’m mortal. I know I’m mortal.” Harper tugged away his hands and stepped back, her face paling. “I’ve never met a melia, whatever that is. What happened, did they hex me or something?”

He knew so little about the reclusive Fae that it frustrated him to no end. He wondered if she might have come into the world as he’d had, but how would she know? She had been a newborn babe.

“I dinnae ken how ’twas done.” When she started to stride toward the door Rory caught her arm and pulled her close. “Dinnae go.”

“You don’t want me here.” She glared at him, but a slight tremor shook her bottom lip. “This is why you don’t like being around me. This melia magic dripping off me or whatever. It’s disgusting to you. Is it like that Bodach guy’s power?”

He shook his head. “’Tisnae, lass. Bodach’s a begunk. Your blood magic came from the forest Fae. Mine came from druids who once worshipped the forests.” More than that he couldn’t tell her, for he couldn’t bear for her to look upon him with disgust. “We’re very similar.”

“Why do you think that?” Harper asked, her voice low and unsteady. “You don’t know me. I could be anyone.”

“I see you, woman, and ’tis all I may do to keep my hands from you.” Admitting it in a whisper seemed cowardly, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I wish to embrace you for hours and hours. I desire touch you all over, and put my mouth to yours, and all such things as lovers do.”

“I know about Inga Holm.” She said that gently, as if she feared hurting him.

“Aye, but she’s gone. You and I, we’re alive and here.” If she didn’t leave now he might even try to do some of those shocking things to her. “You should leave me now.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere.” Harper reached up and twined her arms around his neck. “I’ve never been kissed, have you?” When he shook his head she smiled as if he’d delighted her. “Then let’s give each other our first one, Blue Eyes.”

Rory gave into his longing, bent his head and put his mouth to hers. Her lips, so soft they glided as damp silk against his, sent another cool thrill through him. She tasted of herbs and honey, and made a small sound that struck him as deeply as a blade buried to its hilt. As he slowly caressed her mouth with his, the chill they shared grew heated, like a fire built atop ice. Every breath that passed from her mouth to his burned him as if he were drinking strong spirits from a frozen jug. Beneath his hands her skin became sheened with tiny beads of sweat, echoing his own flesh.

I shall melt her, and melt with her.

He savored the sound that came again from her lips, which stretched out into a low hum of pleasure that sang harmony with the reckless desire pouring through him. He gathered her closer, unafraid for once of harming a mortal female, for Harper had both the size and resilience to accept his touch without harm. Now he understood why Farland and Grace disappeared together so often, returning hours later smelling of one another, their eyes slumberous and secret. They embraced like this, and more.

’Tisnae the same for us.

The clan’s seneschal and chatelaine were pledged to marry each other, Rory reminded himself. He and Harper were hardly more than strangers. He knew how men and women coupled, of course, for Tasgall had taken him aside after some maids had taken to tag-tailing after him all hours of the day and night. His eldest brother had explained in detail how such intimacy happened, and in truth it had dismayed him to think of engaging in such an act with a small, fragile mortal female. He’d never imagined finding himself wanting to do the same, but now he did.

“Bid me cease,” he murmured against her lips, unable to stop kissing her. “Remind me you’re no’ my woman.” He moved his lips across her cheek, up to her brow, and then down her nose to her mouth again. “By the Gods, I wish you belonged to me.”

“I belong to myself, but you can borrow me any time you like,” she whispered back, catching his bottom lip with her teeth before she used her tongue there as well. She sucked at him, and that sent a surge of hot blood straight to his cock. “You talk too much. Kiss me more.”

Rory slid his hands into the bright fire of her hair, and he did as he wished with her, tasting her with his tongue and luring hers past his lips. It should have seemed unnatural to do such, for mouths were made for speaking and eating and breathing. Yet as Rory kissed her she became his language, his feast, his air. Never once in his long life had he been so entirely absorbed by something so carnal, or tempted to put his mouth in other places. The curves of her body beckoned to him like ripe fruit; he wanted to kiss and taste and suck every luscious inch of her.

If only I could give her a bairn. To watch her belly swell, aye, ’twould be bliss.

That unfamiliar need pounded inside his baws and his head until he gave into imagining her in his bed, pumping his seed into her each night until they made a child together.

Aye, such a sweet fancy, Chomha’s voice came from his conscience, sharper than any time she had spoken to him in life. Did you forget to give thanks to the gods that you may never pass on to that innocent what you carry in your veins?

Rory had always been aware that he could not sire children, thanks to his Fae blood. Even if he had been capable, he would have never willingly done so, for he would taint them with the dark magic in his blood. The reminder made him break off the torturous, wondrous kiss.

“Now we’ve gone and done it, Blue Eyes,” she said, resting her brow against his before he could step away. “We’re in a whole heap of trouble.”

“We neednae do more.” He ignored the ferocious desire pounding inside him and kissed the place where her forehead met her fiery hair. “Mayhap we shouldnae act so reckless.”

“I agree,” a cool voice said.