“Armor?” I can’t stop looking at his rumpled hair. “This is incredible. How many times did you risk your life to make it?”
“Oh, come, Alyssa. I know my way around a needle and thread. Sewing is hardly fatal.”
I laugh, reminded of our childhoods when he would string moth corpses onto threads and fasten the morbid strands to his hats for decoration. An eccentric habit he practices to this very day. “Seriously. You could’ve ended up a stone statue. Or sliced to pieces. How many wings did it take?”
He shrugs. “I lost count after one thousand seven hundred and twenty-two.” A sideways smirk curls his lips.
I grin. There’s still something in the bag. I drag out a pair of crimson knee boots made of leathery material, along with shoulder-length gloves and leggings to match. “Are these painted?”
“Oh, they’re very real. Made entirely of a bat’s hide. The creatures are quite huge once full-grown. I had my griffon round one up for me.” He puts everything away then cinches the garment bag closed and hands it off to the sprites.
I wind my hands in my miniskirt as the tinkling little netherlings disappear through the trees again. “You always keep me on my toes.”
He surprises me by catching me around my waist. “Then I shall have to amend my strategy. My intent was to sweep you off your feet.”
Before I know what he’s doing, he lifts me, my boots dangling at his shins. He spins us both, wrapping us in his wings until I’m dazed and giggling.
“I wanted to lift you above me and swing you in circles until we were both dizzy and laughing,” he murmurs against my neck as we tumble to the ground, trapped beneath his tented wings.
My body aches on impact—but it’s a delicious ache. I can hardly breathe with the weight of his ribs covering mine, with the scent of his tobacco surrounding me, smothering and intoxicating. The curve of his smiling mouth glides along my collarbone and I gasp at the velvety sensation. I force his head up so I can look at him . . . break the spell.
He slips the bejeweled headband from my hair, sweeping stray strands from my face. The slickness of his gloves grazes my eye markings.
“I wanted to kiss your lips and share your breath,” he says softly as he leans close.
It hits me that he’s fulfilling the desires listed in the note he sent with the lingerie.
I remember the last kiss we shared—the taste of his tongue, the way it made my spirit soar but trampled Jeb’s into the ground.
Jeb—who’s out there with Dad, trying to pave the way so we can get to Mom. Even with Red’s hatred seeping through him, he’s still endangering his life to help me.
I push against Morpheus’s shoulders. “I—I’m not ready—”
He lifts my hands over my head and holds them against the itchy, phosphorescent grass, pinning me in place. His grasp is gentle enough that I could break free at anytime.
“You came here to destroy Red,” he says. “Which means you are ready . . . ready to claim your throne because you’ve embraced your love for Wonderland. And lest you forget, I am Wonderland. As are you.” Even in the eclipse of his wings, the sparkle from my skin lights up his face. He drags me into that inky gaze framed within long lashes, sets me adrift in the madness and beauty there.
“Jebediah has given up on you, but I never will. I can offer you the security you desire. If you’ll but be mine, your heart will forever be sheltered in my care. Yes, we will quarrel incessantly and fight for dominance. And yes, there will be ravishes of passion, but there will also be gentle lulls. That is who we are together. You’ll never need fear that your love is not reciprocated. For although you’ve made me feel things I am not equipped for . . . I cannot stop feeling them.” His chin quavers. “You opened Pandora’s box within me. Set loose the imaginings and emotions of a mortal man. And there is no closing it ever again.” The jewels under his eyes twitch between dark purple and blue. “As much as I abhor being anything akin to human, Alyssa, I wouldn’t dare try to close it. Because that would mean losing you.”
The confession is lovely and brutal—laced with honesty that I not only hear in the rasp of his voice, but feel in the quaking of his muscles as he holds my hands over my head.
“You think me egocentric and incapable of sincerity,” he continues, entwining our fingers so the scars beneath my lace are pressed to his gloved palms. “’Tis true. Your mortal knight was willing to die for you with no way out, selfless to a fault. I had the vorpal sword when I let the bandersnatch take me in your place; I knew I had a means of escape. Perhaps that made Jebediah’s sacrifice greater. But I have made sacrifices, too. I stayed away so many years after our childhood, after your mum went to the asylum, so you could live your life.”