He gulped. Had he? Won her? That test…
Brochan gripped the sheets and scowled. He couldn’t eject the stupid decision from his mind. His entire destiny rested on the results. Pass or fail, fail or pass? If he lost one, he lost everything.
Using his wing joints to push from the bed, he glided directly in front of her, wrapped an arm around her waist and laced a hand through her hair. “Agree you are my wife, kitten.” The words were rushed, his urgency unhidden. “There will be no male more devoted than I.”
“Believe me, I know,” she said, melting into him. “And you know what you must do to make your wildest dreams come true and get all this”—she waved a hand to indicate the length of her body—“forever.”
Not yet, not yet. Not ready. Sweat beaded over his nape. He wanted her agreement to a union more than anything, and he wanted it now. Needed to bind her to his side in every way imaginable. They were a family now, yes? A rock-solid unit that stayed together, no matter what. Even if a certain someone failed a certain test.
He tightened his hold. “Come. Show me what improvements you’d like me to make on the palace. Your every request is my fervent command.”
This pleased her, he could tell. She softened against him, reaching around him to glide her hands over his backside.
Mine! He would win her. He would. In the meantime, he prayed Farrow returned with a Forsaken. Brochan’s every priority revolved around keeping Viola safe. He could not rest until he laid her enemies at her feet.
Just get through the day. Whatever you do, avoid the test.
“Who are you,” she asked, canting her head and nipping his earlobe, “and how long can you stay in Brochan’s body?”
Dead serious, he told her, “I am a new man, and I’m never going away.”
* * * *
“A portrait of me smiling will hang over there.” Viola pointed. She and Brochan strolled hand in hand through the foyer. Fluffy trailed behind. “A portrait of me frowning will go there. And there, I’ll be scowling. Over the fireplace will be a sketch of us. In it, you’ll be smiling, frowning and scowling at the same time. And yes, it’s possible. It’s all in the eyes.”
Brochan muttered a response, clearly not listening to her genius. He was too busy vibrating with aggression and nerves. Well, his distraction was Viola’s gain. She ate him up with her gaze, not even trying to hide her leer. He wore his standard apparel: a white T-shirt and black leathers. He looked amazing, blue skin bulging with muscles. His dark hair remained askew, and his horns stood straight. Molten silver eyes whirled with joy, fury, satisfaction and terror.
What bothered him? Why wouldn’t he tell her?
Sighing, she led him into a sitting room with dirty sofas and overturned tables. Open balcony doors welcomed sunlight and fresh air scented with roses, the garden right outside. Yes, the oasis and gardens had sprung up anew.
“I don’t know if you’ve met me,” she announced, her tone stern, “but ignoring me isn’t the way to win me.”
“I have a proposition for you,” he burst out, as if he’d held on to the words too long. He massaged the back of his neck, growing sheepish. “What if I can keep Fluffy eternally charged without the need for other life? Would you wed me then?”
“Yes!” Viola gripped his arm and jumped up and down. “A thousand times yes!” She would do anything. Even postpone her test.
“And what if the procedure… killed him?”
“Oh.” She froze, her shoulders wilting. “I’m still intrigued, though. So. Let’s hear it. What might save or murder my child.”
“Our child,” he corrected, and she hmphed. “My wings are the source of my deathlessness. Their poison is a part of me, deeply rooted. If we transplanted a root into Fluffy, and it took, he would become like me.”
A definite risk with an incredible reward. Dread cut through her excitement. “How would that affect you?” She wouldn’t risk Brochan. Not even for something as grand as this.
“I will mend. I’ve had a wing ripped off before, and it grew back.”
“But will you be in pain?” she asked, curling into him.
He smiled down at her. “If it works, kitten, I will be in raptures.”
Viola flattened her palms against his chest. His heart raced. Their eyes locked. She rose on her tiptoes. He bent his head—
McCadden strode into the room, stopping when he spotted them. He darted his gaze from Brochan to Viola, then back to his brother. With a deep breath, he approached.
As Fluffy jumped between her and the Fallen One, Brochan released her. He severed all contact and cleared his throat. “Has something happened, brother?”
Her stomach twisted. Sensing an opportunity, Narcissism peeked from the shadows of her mind.
Perhaps Brochan is still ashamed of your relationship?