I nod.
“You do realize how fucking impossible this is?” he continues, excitement growing in his voice. “I mean, theoretically, the odds have to be one in terabazagillion.”
I laugh and lean forward, giving him a hard kiss. “There’s no such thing, but yes… this is freaky odd this happened to us.”
Ronan laughs too, but not for long as his expression sobers. His hands come to my face, and he leans in close to me. “This means that what you and I have is something more than what most fae have. Carrick called it love. I scoffed because our kind doesn’t know how to love. Not the way humans do with their short lives. But he said the fact that we’re sworn enemies and we’ve come together despite the danger we’ve placed ourselves in, means that what we have is something incredibly special. I think he’s right.”
“I think he’s right, too,” I whisper, his words touching me profoundly. Yes, fae aren’t the loving type. We’ve lived too long to be trapped by such a thing.
And yet, I feel something for Ronan I’ve never felt in my life. Truly, it didn’t become solidified until just a moment ago when I realized he was excited about the baby.
I think it actually is love.
I don’t have time to ponder it further as Ronan pushes me back on the couch and covers me with his body. His mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me so wonderfully I see stars. For a brief moment, I make note that I left the spaghetti sauce on low and there’s no chance of it burning, and then I kiss him back.
This isn’t one of those times that the clothes come off quickly, often getting torn in the process. Instead, we kiss slowly—making it eternal like us—knowing we have nothing but time to build upon this wonderful thing we’ve found together.
Ronan’s hand comes to my stomach again, and both of us feel that warm sensation. His head pulls up, and he grins. “Is it weird this sort of turns me on?”
I laugh, looping my arms around his neck. “Well, everything about you turns me on so, no…not all that weird.”
He grins, starts to lower his mouth back down to mine when suddenly… he’s gone. Flying backward off me and sailing across my living room to crash over the top of the kitchen island, disappearing over and tumbling to the floor.
I’m a warrior by nature, and I know there’s danger even though I don’t quite know what it is. I scramble up from the couch, conjuring an iron dagger in my hand just as I take in my sister Rishka standing there with fury blazing in her eyes.
“How dare you let that thing touch you like that?” she hisses, spit flying from her mouth.
“Rishka,” I say cautiously, wondering how in the hell to explain this to her. How do I defend something she’d never understand?
“You’re an abomination to our family,” she snarls, and to my horror, she conjures a bow and arrow, which is already nocked and ready to let fly. With a pit in my stomach, I realize it’s aimed for that soft spot right between my eyes.
A kill shot.
“Please… Rishka,” I implore. “I’m your sister.”
“And not one member of our family will think I did the wrong thing by this,” she retorts angrily, pulling the string back just a little tighter. “And as soon as this arrow finds its mark, I’m going to put one in that filth you were letting touch you.”
I start to tell her I’m pregnant, not sure if that will appeal to any decency she has or infuriate her even more, but before I can even open my mouth, Ronan is crashing into her back so forcefully while roaring in a fury that they both go crashing down on my coffee table, rendering it to splinters along with her bow.
Ronan is beyond enraged. He jumps up, picking Rishka up by the back of her clothing, and slings her into the wall. I wince, not in any worry for my sister, but hoping none of the residents on either side of me can hear this.
He’s too fast for her even to get her bearings because he’s got her pinned to the wall with his forearm against her throat and the tip of an iron dagger pressing into the delicate skin just under her chin. One hard drive upward and she’d die the moment it penetrated her brain.
“Ronan… don’t,” I yell, picking my way over the broken table to them. “Don’t kill her.”
“Why not?” he growls, his face getting in close to Rishka’s. “This bitch was going to kill you just now. There was no hesitation, either.”
“You both deserve to die,” Rishka shrieks, then her eyes slide to mine. She looks fevered and insane. “But before I kill you, I’m going to take your wings off with a dull hacksaw.”