Darkest Mercy

Chapter 40

After washing the signs of the fight away from both of them, the Winter Queen had tenderly lain Keenan in the bed they’d shared. She’d done everything she could to keep him safe, and it hadn’t worked.

It’s not fair to finally have a chance at forever together and have it taken away. She glanced at his motionless body again. Maybe we were never meant to have forever. She’d spent more than an hour of pacing anxiously. Now, she was alternating between weeping, stroking his face, and talking to him.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered tearfully.

Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at her; by then, she had moved on to stroking his hair and crying. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, trying very hard not to bump him or let her cold tears fall on his bare chest and arms.

For a moment, he blinked at her. Then he asked, “Are you dead too?”

“No.” She leaned in as carefully as she could and brushed her lips over his. How do I do this? She sat back and examined his lips for frostbite.

“Don?” Keenan’s face crinkled in a frown. “I don’t understand.”

He’s here. That’s the important part.

“You’re alive.”

“And you are.” Keenan struggled to sit up. He frowned briefly. “I guess giving up my Winter left me weaker than I thought it would. I feel . . . wrong.”

The sob that Donia intended to hold in escaped.

“Don?” He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted—and he couldn’t move her.

Despite her resolve, frozen tears raced down her cheeks and onto the sheets. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” he asked. His voice was almost the same, but it sounded different enough that every word he spoke reminded her of his changed state.

“Getting hurt. This.” She pointed at him in the bed.

He caught her hand in his. “I’m alive . . . with you . . . in your bed. What do you have to be sorry about?”

“You’re mortal,” she blurted. Graceful, Don. She opened her mouth to try to say more, but he was laughing.

There were a lot of reactions she’d considered while he’d lain unconscious in her bed, but laughter wasn’t one of them. He held her hand and laughed until she was a bit worried. Then he shook his head. “Well, that’s new.”

“You don’t understand—”

“Don?” Keenan tugged her to him, and she let herself be pulled into his embrace.

Careful; no frost, no ice.

“I’m here with you. I don’t care about anything else.” Keenan stared at her with something like wonder in his very mortal blue eyes. “You’re alive, and I’m here with you.”

“But—”

“I love you, and I’m here with you.” He slid his hand over her cheek. “Nothing else matters.”

“You’ll die,” she protested.

“Not today.” He covered her mouth with his and kissed her just as thoroughly as he had when he was a faery. His arms slid around her, and he pulled her down beside him.

The fear of hurting him made her cautious, but he had no hesitation. His hand was at the buttons of her shirt. Mortality hadn’t erased his deftness with clothing removal either.

He leaned back for a moment to tug her shirt down her arms, with the same wicked, lovely smile that had first stolen her breath years ago.

“You know,” he said, “after centuries, there aren’t too many things I can think of that I’ve wanted to try but haven’t.”

“Oh?” Cautiously, she slid her hands over his chest.

“Mm-hmm.” His fingertips traced her collarbone and down her arm, while his other hand unzipped her skirt.

She lifted her hips for him to remove her skirt.

“What did . . .” she started, but her words vanished as he leaned over and kissed her hip.

A few moments later, he whispered against her skin, “You know what I’ve never done?”

Absently, she realized that while he had distracted her with one hand, he’d used his other hand to remove the pajama pants she’d put on him. With effort she forced her eyes to stay open and meet his gaze. “What’s that?”

“Made love as a mortal.” He breathed the words against her stomach. Between kisses and caresses, he asked, “Do you suppose you could help me? Be my first? My only? My till-death-do-we-part?”

“Keenan . . .”

He kissed his way up her stomach and chest until he was stretched out on top of her. “I will love you every minute of every day of my life.”

Tenderness they’d shared before; passion they’d shared before; but the desperation she felt was new. His words broke her heart. “I don’t want you to die,” she sobbed. “We just—”

“I’m here with you in your bed, Donia. Neither of us died today.” He kissed the tears from her cheeks. “Make love with me?”

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Unless you want to wait until after the wedding . . .”

More tears slipped from the corners of her eyes even as a small laugh escaped her lips. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. “No.”

He looked nervous for a moment. “But you are going to marry me, aren’t you, Donia?”

“I am,” she promised. “But I don’t really want to wait until after the wedding. You already have my vow. You had it years ago when I promised you forever alongside a hawthorn bush.”

“And you have mine. I’m yours for as long as I live. Only yours. My vow on it.” He lowered his lips to hers, and they celebrated the life, the moment, the time they had together.