With a whispered spell, I called for the new key I’d created earlier and sent it to hover in front of her. Her blue irises swirled with power as she studied it. “What’s this?”
“Your key,” I told her. “It’s programmed to recognize your magic. I tied it to your wand, which is on your bed inside.”
“Why do I need a key?”
“Because I put a lock on your door, and that”—I gestured to the ornate metal rotating in the air between us—“is the only thing that can open it.”
Her ebony lashes flickered. “You made me a lock?”
“Yes.”
“One you can’t override?” She sounded disbelieving.
“Yes,” I repeated. “I never should have said it was my room. An excuse won’t make up for it, so instead, all I’ll say is I’m sorry and I hope you’ll accept my apology in the form of reinforced privacy.”
She gaped at me. “You’re apologizing?”
“Yes,” I said for a third time.
“Really?”
“Do you want me to go onto my knees, too?” I asked her. “Beg a little?”
Her lips twitched. “Actually—”
“No.” The only way I’d kneel for her was if she spread her legs and welcomed my tongue between her thighs. I allowed her to see that knowledge in my gaze, the very real fire burning inside me just for her. My mate.
Fuck, that was going to take some getting used to.
Yet I couldn’t deny how right it felt between us. Maybe because of her Elemental Fae influence. We were level-three bonded, which, in her world, made it pretty fucking permanent. As did my bite as a Midnight Fae.
Yeah, Aflora and I were tied together indefinitely.
Whether we liked it or not.
Her vibrant eyes held mine for a beat, then she swallowed and grabbed the key to try it in the door. Magic hummed around us, the mechanism searching out Aflora’s identity before allowing her entry. “It’s similar to a gargoyle but without the added nuisance,” I explained softly.
“What happens if I misplace the key?” she asked as the wood whispered open.
“There’s a spell you can use to call it to you, like the one I just recited.” I spoke the incantation again, this time slower, and she murmured it back to me, which caused her key to jump out of the door and hover in front of her face again.
She smiled at it. “That’s handy.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
Her amusement dimmed a little, whether at my words or the thought of entering her room, I wasn’t sure. But I suspected it was the latter when she steeled her spine and stepped through the threshold. I waited by the entrance, not wanting to disrupt her perusal of the room.
She set her key on the nightstand, admired the new bed, draped her cloak over the blue comforter—the same shade as her eyes—and then focused on the shimmering magic near her window.
I waited for her reaction, unsure of what she’d think of the enhancement. “What is this?” she asked, squatting down beside the makeshift pot.
“It’s, uh, a gift,” I replied, palming the back of my neck. “Our flowers and general vegetation are a bit different here, but Mistress Marigold said this will bloom with a fairy plant if properly cared for. And so, I bought you one.” It seemed lame now, like some sort of lackluster apology present. But it’d felt right when I was working on redecorating the room.
“Mistress Marigold?” Aflora glanced at me. “Who’s that?”
“One of the Academy caretakers.” I swallowed the lump growing in my throat, irritated by its presence. Since when did I feel nervous around females?
Ridiculous.