Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I don’t know what he means, what he refers to, but when he reaches for me, I have no power to stop him. I want this. I want him. I want this togetherness. I didn’t know I was lonely until he filled my world with his presence.
He draws me onto his chest and holds me, breathing in deeply, then exhaling as he tightens his grip around me. He doesn’t release me but holds me for long minutes, then quickly reaches for the covers and tosses them on both of us.
“Sleep, little fae,” he whispers.
So I let him. For tonight. Just for tonight… I let him hold me. I fall asleep to the sound of his slow, rhythmic breathing.
Chapter Fifteen
Keenan
I wake with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on sleeping beside me, curled up to my chest. Her long, long, black hair hangs down her back in waves of silk, and the purity of her expression gives me momentary pause.
What did I do last night? My head pounds from the drinks I had, my mouth as dry as cotton. Motherfucker. I haven’t had a hangover since I was a fucking teenager. She barely stirs when I sit up and get out of bed. I tuck the blanket back in around her, a sort of pride or maybe joy filling me at the opportunity to take this tender moment of caring for her.
I’ve never cared for anyone before. I’ve protected them. I’ve defended them. I’ve learned and led, listened and spoken. But never have I taken care of anyone, not like this. When my brothers were little, I was off to Saint Albert’s, boarding with Malachy, and not brought back to be with them until I’d been trained in the way of The Clan.
I sit on the edge of the bed, cradling my head in my hands with a smashing headache, and reach for my phone.
“Pain relievers,” I croak into the phone when Sebastian answers.
“Sending them up, captain,” he says. “And drink what I send you as well.”
He’s no fool. He knows why I’m hungover and will help me relieve my misery.
I hang up the phone, when I feel gentle hands on my back.
“Are you okay, Keenan?”
“Hungover, lass, but I’ll be fine.”
“You said last night that you would be.”
“Did I?”
I don’t remember. Fucking hell.
“Yes,” she says softly, looking up at me with those wide eyes that steal my heart with every flutter of her lashes. “You said you’d deal with the aftermath today. And here you are. I’m sorry, I wish I could help.”
Is the girl that innocent that she thinks my headache is the aftermath I referred to? Jesus.
I get to my feet and head to the shower. “I’ll have food sent up,” I tell her. I want to crawl beneath the covers and hold her again, as if she’s my talisman against the work that I do, the demons I wrestle. But I can’t lose my edge, my focus.
“Get up and ready. You can shower after me.”
I ignore the look of hurt on her face and get clean clothes from my dresser, when my phone rings.
“Yeah?”
“The body was disposed of, sir.”
Tully.
“Well done, Tully. Any blowback?” I need to know if the man we killed last night was missed by anyone. If we should brace for retribution.
“Nossir. Seems some were happy to be rid of him, truth be told.”
“Aye. Well done, you. We’ll call a meeting later today to discuss what happened, and my plans for the school this afternoon.”
“Yessir.”
We disconnect the call, and I head to the shower. I take a steaming hot one, but even the scalding water isn’t enough to cleanse me, to rid me of what haunts me. Angrily, I shut the water off and head back to the room. Caitlin’s sitting at the desk, a book in hand, dressed in a dainty pink dress. She doesn’t even look up when I enter the room.
I don’t speak to her when I dress. I answer the door when our food and my medicine arrive, and point to the tray I slide in front of her.
“Eat,” I order.
Without looking at me, she obeys. She butters her scone and eats it with her hot cup of tea, following it with a bowl of fruit, and eggs with sausage. Her eyes stay on her plate, as she effortlessly eats the entire meal, then pushes her tray to the side and picks up her book again.
“Caitlin.” My voice is stern and sharp, but she doesn’t flinch.
She looks back up to me. “What?”
My hands clench. “Is that the correct way to speak to me?”
Pursing her lips, she corrects herself. “No, sir. What is it, sir?”
“Why so narky, lass?”
“Narky, sir? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Cranky. Out of sorts.” I know why, but I want to hear her say it. Women don’t handle hot and cold well, and clearly, my little fae’s no exception.