Page 43 of Foundling

This time, he had the sense to be the one to end the kiss. Lingering just long enough to nip her lower lip, Attalus sat back on his bedroll, utterly content with the sight of her swollen lips and adorable bafflement.

“My turn, I believe,” he said.

Those jewel-hard eyes glittered when she frowned at him. “You haven’t even answered my first question.”

“And you’ve answered none of mine.”

“You haven’t asked me anything.” Leita scrubbed her hands over her face. “Was your real crime annoying the daylights out of the anax?”

“Perhaps, but I didn’t stay long enough to hear my other charges.”

Plopping her cheek in her palm and setting her elbow on her knee, she rolled her other hand, bidding him continue with his story.

There wasn’t much left to tell—at least not that he remembered clearly. He described the bite and the venom and how a fang had been left in his side. He told her of his flight north, not sure how long it’d taken, but eventually following the great column of smoke to the raging wildfire.

“Eventually I woke long enough to drag myself to this cave,” he concluded, “and that’s where you found me.”

“Venom…?” she repeated in a murmur.

He didn’t know how she managed it, but Leita looked even more troubled than before. Her frown would become permanent if she wasn’t careful. Although he couldn’t say how truly old she was, she seemed young to Attalus. Why then did she carry so many troubles?

He intended to find out. Right after another kiss.

This time, she didn’t gasp or grumble but met him with stoic dignity. He might’ve laughed at her determination to suffer through, but Attalus had always been one to enjoy a partner’s pleasure as much as or more so than his own.

Sliding his tongue across her lips, he coaxed them open enough to slip inside. Twining their tongues together, he eased her closer, enough that he could suckle and nip. Attalus cupped her cheek, holding her where he wanted as he canted his head to deepen the angle. He didn’t imagine the little moan that hummed in her throat and swallowed it down greedily.

He lingered longer than before, taking another kiss after he found her amenable to the last. It was a while before he finally pulled back, leaving behind a few quick presses to her lips.

Gods, these lips. They might just drive him mad. For a feral woodland creature, she certainly had a plush little mouth. Those precious fangs of hers intrigued him; he’d heard rumors that fae were known to bite during sex. His scales were hard and his hide tough, but would she try anyway? He’d let her chew him up if it meant wearing her mark.

He couldn’t resist gently pressing his thumb into her swollen bottom lip, intrigued with the way it gave under the slight pressure. His claw rested perfectly in her slim philtrum, a wicked point against her perfect iridescent skin.

“And what about you, agae? How have you come to be here?”

He felt her swallowed and didn’t like how she pulled back at his question. She didn’t retreat far, really, but it was still too far. His wings itched to curl around her, to offer her comfort and warmth, but he saw in the vulnerable way she sat there, shoulders hunched, that if he moved too much, she’d flee.

“I’m…not an everyday fae,” she finally admitted, using his words from before.

That was obvious, but Attalus merely nodded, encouraging her to continue.

In halting words, she told him, “Centuries ago, the last Queen killed her family. Her own daughters and sisters—everyone. So that none could take her place. My family was in the countryside when it happened. When the soldiers came for us, my mother and sister pushed me across the border. Then drew off the…”

The story grew more horrible with every word, each image dropping from Leita’s lips as though they were poison. Lips he’d just kissed uttered such horror…and called him back to the day of his own mother’s death.

“I watched my father rip out my mother’s throat,” he said before he could stop.

For the first time since she’d started speaking, Leita met his gaze. Her expression and resolve hardened, and she nodded. “Then you understand why I had to kill her. The Queen.”

Attalus nodded. He would’ve given anything to be the one to slay his father—not for the dais, but for his mother. That Araxos was the only one strong enough to actually deliver a killing blow still ate at his insides.

“Last autumn, I was found and…persuaded to return to the faelands. We killed Amaranthe, and as the last of the royal line, I had to…” Taking in a big breath, she said, “I am the Fae Queen.”

Attalus’s ears rang with the admission. The Fae Queen. The most powerful being in the land, possibly on the continent. The Fae Queen was his mate.

Through his stupor, he managed to ask, “Then why are you out here alone?”

Leita shrugged, her gaze flittering away. “I’ve been…struggling to connect with the faelands and its magic.” She scrunched her lips, obviously unhappy to say it. “I thought, out here, I might do better.”