Page 32 of The Fae’s Treasure

“That’s a bat. A bunny. A squirrel. A moth. This one is my favorite, a stag. You shall have a stag, Rory, when you’re bigger, with a pretty painted saddle.

I sit up with a gasp.

My bedroom is full of woodland creatures.

No. Not stuffed toys. Not picturebook images.

A huge red stag with a ruff of fur and velvety antlers snorts next to my bed.

“Oh, a badger. He’s a happy little fellow, Rory. Bonwit gives him bacon out in the back garden most mornings.”

“Dairmuid!” I hiss, drawing a sheet over my naked body protectively—only to discover that it isn’t naked. It’s draped in mint green, gauzy material—a nightdress that would probably cost thousands of dollars if it were sold here in the mortal realm, but that I am pretty sure Dairmuid just “whipped up.”

“Mommy’s up! Go, love.”

I almost scream. I certainly jump out of bed, and nearly step on the fat little badger that’s waddling across the floor. I thought Dairmuid was tossing Rory to me.

He isn’t. He’s floating him over, and today, Rory’s wings are poking out through his onesie, the same way Dairmuid’s wings slip through his clothes.

I catch Rory in my arms, watching in awe as his little wings open and close with slow, sleepy flexes, the same way his little fists do. “Hi, beautiful boy,” I whisper, kissing his head.

He stares up at me, red eyes not quite so crimson today. More like an amber. A beautiful, rich, vibrant amber, with red in their depths. “So beautiful,” I repeat, nuzzling his head.

“He’s been up since dawn. We’ve practiced naming our animals, and we’ve had breakfast. We’ve petted Sprite and bothered Uncle Bonwit in the kitchen. He’s had a bottle and two clean nappies.”

Okay, one, that just shows that Dairmuid is killing it as a dad.

Two, I love animals, and I always wanted pets, but Mom wasn’t open to the idea of more than one at a time, so the whole “bedroom filled with furry friends” is kind of cool after I’m done being in shock.

Three, “Why is Bonwit in my kitchen?”

“He’s cooking. He loves to cook. And he can’t be on watch all the time; it’s tedious. Don’t fear, the pooka police officer and a coven of witches are on the porch. They’re determined that they will put up enough wards and charms, protections both divine and magical, that Saz won’t be able to get through easily. It might still be possible, but...” Dairmuid looks at Rory, snug in my arms, and his face shifts.

“But she’s his mother. She’ll always have a way to reach him?”

“It will exhaust her, drain her energy. When she arrives—if she arrives, she will be less of a threat.” His face is grim.

“Is there something I could do?” I whisper.

“You’ve done it. You’ve activated ancient magics that bind you to this babe. You are something precious and powerful. Rory will always be in good hands with you.”

“Yes, he will be—but you’ll be here, too. Won’t you? You said you would be.” I hate how desperate my voice is, and how easy it is to be vulnerable around him. It took a full year for me to let Aaron see me without foundation and mascara. Now, I’m standing here with rumpled hair and morning breath, clutching a baby, and begging some stranger not to leave us.

“I will never leave you. But I... I have decided that Sazara is evil and a danger. If we cannot break her hold on Rory and sever her connection to him by pressing fae law ahead of blood claims, then I will have to bring her here, and end her.”

I make a little gasp, but it’s not really that I’m shocked that he would kill to protect his child. I would, too. It’s how hot he looks when he’s determined and deadly like this, how grateful I feel, how protected I am. I bite my lip as Dairmuid races to explain, thinking I’m upset instead of in agreement.

“It’s a horrible choice, I know, but think, my lady. If we do not break her hold successfully, then one day she will come for Rory. It could be five days or five years from now, when we are not by his side to protect him. It could be sudden. A blink, a rip in dimensions.” Dairmuid illustrates, pulling a beautiful glossy black raven from his fae realm and then shooing it back. “Or, even if we do break this hold, and we are heavily protected, Saz will learn from her mistakes. She will attempt to lure another immortal into her snare, and she will use them to unleash herself in the mortal realm. She will come for you. Come for Rory. Revenge, you see,” Dairmuid talks himself out of breath, then paces away from me.

I pace behind him, one eye on the critters who are exploring my room with curious sniffs and tentative paws. “I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t judging. I don’t want her to exist if she’d hurt her own baby. Or you. Or anyone. Dairmuid, can you send Bambi and company back now?” I ask, narrowly avoiding a bat that swoops overhead.

“Who?”

“The animals. Can they go home, please?”

Wordlessly, Dair opens a slit in the air and clicks his tongue. He whispers an encouraging-sounding phrase in that enchanting language, and the animals swoop, scurry, and scamper out.

“You can take Rory and go, too,” I offer bravely. “If it will give you more time, or anything that helps—”