The wrist cuffs he’d wear after their ceremony were in there, too—wide leather embossed with Celtic eagles. He pulled those items out and lifted the petite irons, four with straight, masculine lines and patterns, four with feminine ones of curving lines and knots—both sets done with Celtic styles.
There was the sage he’d use to purify their ceremonial space, and the paint he would use to mark the four directions, the four seasons.
Kelan put everything back in the box. He’d waited his entire life for his claiming ceremony with Fiona—he could wait until she healed, too.
*
Fiona began to doze, but startled awake. Took a minute to get her bearing. The lights were on. She was back at Ty’s. She was safe. For the moment, Kelan was also safe.
But every time she shut her eyes, the satyr would slip into her dreams. The ordinary would become distorted. The floor would come alive like it did in King’s rotunda. Things she thought were solid would change into something else.
She thought of the dead rose King had sent her and the threat it held. Sitting up in her bed, she folded her legs and began to rock. King had already killed three people in her life: her mom, Danny, Alan. He’d taken Lion and the watchers. He’d been playing this game for a long time. He knew its rules, its strategy.
Kelan and the guys were smart as hell, but nowhere near as devious as King. They weren’t on equal footing. It was not going to end well. And she would be to blame.
Fiona got out of bed and began to pace about her room. Maybe she should pull her savings from her bank. She could buy a beater, drive as far as it took her, then buy another. She’d pay cash for everything, find a job that paid her under the table.
Did King already have eyes on her bank account? If she moved her money out, would he know she was getting ready to run? He’d known she was at the diner. What didn’t he know about her?
Leaving meant losing everything. But staying meant that, too. Her friends here had taken her in when she had no home or family to turn to. How could she selfishly stay and be the cause of the terrible things King would do to them?
Fiona looked at her clock. It was late. She cracked her door and listened. The house was silent. She stepped out of her room, moving swiftly to Kelan’s. His door wasn’t locked. She went inside and shut the door behind her. Peeking around the corner of the short hallway, she could see he was sleeping soundly, one big arm bent over a pillow covering his face.
How she wished she could crawl into bed with him, but that would probably scare the living hell out of him. Instead, she tiptoed over to the armchair in the corner of his room. Folding her feet in front of her, she stared at him, knowing he was warm and solid and everything that was not a satyr.
Kelan stirred. He might have sniffed the air…she wasn’t sure, but he called her name, then lifted the pillow from his head. “Fiona?” A quick glance around the room, and he found her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I tried to be quiet.”
“Come here.”
She didn’t wait to be asked twice. She uncurled from her chair and crawled into bed with him. He pulled the blankets up over her, then moved his pillows so that she had what she needed to be comfortable.
“You warm?”
She nodded.
“I’m glad you came in.” He rubbed her back.
“How did you know I was here?”
He smiled. “Unless a big pink strawberry sprouted legs and walked into my room, I knew it had to be you.”
“My shower gel.” She pushed up on her elbow. “Is it too strong?”
“No. Makes me want to eat you, though.” He smoothed a bit of her short hair from her face. “Just thinking about it is making me very, very hungry.”
She moved to lie on top of him and wrapped her hands around his shoulders. “I wish we’d been together last night.”
“I wanted to. I’m trying to give you the room you need to heal.” He cupped the back of her skull. “I just don’t really know how to do it. I tend to tackle things head-on, but I think you need a softer approach. I was waiting for you to come to me. Like you did tonight.”
She pushed up from his chest, still sitting on him, and pulled her tank top over her head. He sucked in a sharp breath as he looked at the skin she bared. He ran his hands up her belly, over her ribs. His hands on her breasts were warm. He flattened his palms and rubbed them over her tight nipples.
He moved his hands down her ribs, to her waist, then her hips, where they stopped at the fabric of her pink flannel pajama bottoms. “Can we get rid of these?”
Lifting up to her knees, she pushed them down her hips, then sat back between his legs to take them all the way off.
Kelan smiled as he sat up, then leaned over her, moving her back against the mattress. He braced himself over her. The soft light touched his face, letting her see the intensity in his dark eyes. She reached up and took hold of his silky hair as it fell forward; it was the only soft thing about him. She tugged it until he was close enough to kiss. And then his lips were against hers. She wrapped her hands around his neck.
He lowered his body over hers, holding some of his weight on his elbows. There was no sadness in his eyes, no hint he knew she was leaving.
This was the Kelan she wanted to remember always.
He touched her face with one of his hands as he kissed her again. His mouth opened. She held her palms against the hard line of his jaw as his tongue entered her mouth. His breath, warm and sweet, mingled with hers.
Her body felt so small under his. She moved her hands to stroke his wide shoulders, the muscles of his back that were so tense. She moved her hand lower, to his hip. He spread his legs, settling himself between hers. He wore a pair of black boxer briefs, and she resented that thin layer of fabric between them. Her hands made the return path up his back, over his shoulders, down his big arms as he kissed her chin, her neck.