Beauty (A Faery Story 3)

She was still here in Tuathanas. She was still dying. She could hear Gillian saying something that she knew should disturb her. Something about crowns and thrones and playing her part. The words burned into Bron’s brain, but she couldn’t filter them now. Her gut seized. She cried. That was the worst. She couldn’t stop crying.

Was she dreaming again? She heard someone asking for a kiss. Pleading and begging just for a kiss.

“Hush, a chumann.” A deep voice forced her from her panic. She opened her eyes, her pussy still burning, and saw him staring down at her. It was Shim but not as she’d dreamed him. This Shim had eyes as deep as the sky just before night swallowed up the day. There was no white to his eyes, just a deep and never-ending midnight. And fangs. They were small, the size of a royal vampire’s, and ever so slightly curved. “I know what you need. You feel the fever, too.”

Yes, fever. She felt it. It was low in her belly, in her pussy and her breasts. But it was also in her head. Something else was happening. She could feel her Dark Ones. They needed, too. They needed to possess her, to be one with her.

“I want to kiss her. You’ve had your turn.” Another voice called to her. She turned and saw her other. Lach. She’d named him Lach. Her heart seized a little. Lach’s face was the same as his brother’s except for the scars. It didn’t mar his beauty, but it did speak of a pain he’d suffered. She reached up and touched him. He tried to turn away, but she held him fast, placing both her hands on his skin. One side was so smooth, perfect, but the other had three long scars forming hills and valleys, a road map of the pain he’d suffered. Burns. Lach had been burned.

For her? Had he rescued her? His eyes turned down as though he was waiting for her to send him away. She leaned over and placed a kiss on the longest of the scars. She started at the bottom, at the hard line of his jaw. She kissed him, over and over, a slow brushing of lips to scarred flesh. She kissed all the way to just right of his eyes. While she pressed kisses to Lach’s face, Shim’s hands moved on her back. She could feel an insistent tug at the ties of her dress. Yes. She didn’t need the dress. She needed to be skin to skin with them, pressed to their bodies, feeling their hearts beat.

Lach’s hands came up covering hers. There was a predatory light in those midnight-blue eyes of his. “You accept me?”

What an odd question. How could she accept something that had always been? He was a part of her. Of course she accepted him.

“Say it, Bronwyn. Say you’re mine. Mine to protect and love. Mine to command.”

Bron nodded. She would agree to just about anything.

His hands tightened. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.” He seemed to need to hear it. It didn’t matter. It was true. She’d always been his. In life. As she moved to death. She was theirs. They had claimed her heart so long ago it was difficult to remember a time when she hadn’t had them in her dreams. It was only right that they be with her as she left this life. If she held on to them as she died, maybe she could pull them with her, be with them in the after?

“Mine. Fucking mine, a chumann.” Lach stroked a hand in her hair and wound it through his fingers, tugging back lightly. He looked fierce as he straightened his body, towering over her. “Mine. My princess. My mate.”

“Our mate, brother. Or are we going to have a problem?” Shim was at her back, his voice a hard grind against her ear.

“I want my fair time, brother. You’ve held her. It’s my time.”

“I had to hold her. I had to protect her while you were busy slaughtering everyone in town.”

“I killed the men who tried to burn our mate. I make no apologies. If you have a problem with me, Shim, perhaps we should fight and see who gets to mate first.”

She felt Shim back off. Lach’s aggression was practically pounding through the room.

“We’re not goblins. We’re not going to fight to death over our mate. Calm yourself. We’re still sidhe. We’re still brothers. Negotiate.”

All the while they talked, hands were on her. Lach pulled her to his body, tugging on her hair and taking her lips. He kissed her, groaning into her mouth, the sound rumbling along her skin. Shim’s fingers tugged at the shoulders of her dress, pulling it down and smoothing over her arms. This was what she needed. Hands on her body. A mouth on hers. Their cocks sliding inside.

Lach’s tongue plunged deep, dancing against her, his mouth dominating. He came up for air, his hands on her hips, drawing her in. She gasped as she felt the hard line of his cock. Lachlan’s cock was nestled against her belly. It wasn’t where she wanted it to be, but it was there, so close she could feel it. Only a few layers of clothing.

“Please. It hurts.” Another flare of pain caught her.

Lach’s hand pulled her skirt up and she felt his palm on her thigh. Rough skin, so unlike the slimy feel of Micha’s hand on her flesh. This touch thrilled her.

“I’ll negotiate, brother. While I take care of our mate. Show me her breasts.” Lach’s voice was low in his throat, the rumble deep and commanding.

“Touch her. She needs hands on her.” Shim pushed the bodice of her dress down while Lach’s hands climbed up her leg.

Her nipples peaked in the cool air. Where was she? She wasn’t in the White Palace. Why had her dreams brought her to this place? It was small, the bed made of straw and ropes. A merchant’s bed. Did she know this place?

“I’ll take her body first,” Lach offered.

“Only if I get first blood,” Shim shot back.

Blood? Why were they talking about blood?

Her breasts brushed Lach’s chest, her aching nipples chafing against the rough wool of his tunic. Lach’s fingers slipped under the gathered band of her undergarment. She trembled as his fingers teased at the outer edges of her pussy.