Page 34 of The Fae’s Treasure

He nods. “Can it happen so fast for humans? It cannot for fae. Not usually.”

“Never happened to me.”

“Not even now?” he asks, fingers stroking lightly along my chin. His head dips, eyes closing.

“Never before,” I amend, letting him kiss me.

Babies are objects that spark great love—and ruin great romance.

At least in our case. As I’m kissing Deanna, the smell of the woods lingering in her room, her in my arms, and the sight of tears sparkling on her lashes—Rory makes a strange noise, and thick white matter splatters his little outfit and Deanna’s beautiful fae-made dress.

The mood shatters in one way, but shifts into something that Deanna likes almost as much as our romantic, physical moments. I can tell by the way she smiles when we both spring into action, getting him out of his little suit, wiping his mouth, finding another outfit. Helping each other with these mundane, not entirely pleasant tasks.

“Breakfast!” Bonwit calls.

And the cocoon around us opens. Life begins.

There are people who want to meet us, who pay calls—the banshee with her own baby and a bundt cake. The vampire from up the street with a pot of mums and an offer to babysit. People have heard of our trouble, and they rally round in warm, practical ways.

“If I were to inform my father of this... He would demand Rory be whisked away and hidden in some other realm, a bubble inside a bubble inside a demon-proof universe, and raised alone so he would never put another fae at risk. He would insist his demon heritage be hidden from the Autumn Court,” I realize aloud as a coven of witches and gaggle of well-wishers follow Deanna from room to room, warding and complimenting her minimalist decor. (That’s the word they use. I think it looks far too bare.)

Bonwit is feeding Sprite leftover bacon and rubbing his little round white belly. “Possibly. Possibly not. I admit, Dair, I didn’t know how you’d feel about being a father. It’s never happened before, not in all the centuries I’ve known you, and you’ve not been some solitary monk.”

I shrug. The funny thing is, I have been. I’ve met pretty fae ladies and countesses and handmaids at balls and parties. Winter Fae with silvery dresses and pale blue lips, or lips as red as berries and snow-frosted hair. Summer Fae with blazing blue eyes and fire in their fingertips. Spring Fae that taste like cherries and are soft and dewy, new and unopened.

None of them ever came to visit more than a few times, and our meetings were always at parties. Saz was the only one I met on my lands, claiming to be exploring. She was the only one who made it obvious she wanted what I did—passion. A quick, hard tangle of limbs and hungry mouths, and away she went. Back again a few days—or a month—later.

I never made the others welcome, never learned about them, never encouraged them.

“Dair. You all right?”

“I am solitary, Bonwit. I never let any of the others get close. Saz made it clear that she didn’t want closeness—right until she began asking for my soul. I suppose she thought enough time had passed to show her true colors. And then... She wanted something else. A baby to barter with.”

“Aye, but if she hadn’t threatened to hurt him, I’d have put even money that you’d have invited her to raise the boy and bring him ‘round occasionally,” Bonwit murmurs, eyes flickering over to the living room, where Deanna and her tour have landed again.

I want to snap back that I would have done no such thing—but I don’t. It’s true, perhaps. “Well, we’ll never know, not now. I love Rory.”

“Any man with eyes can see that. You love Deanna, too. Hard and fast. You can barely stand to be three feet from her.” Bonwit picks up Sprite with a worried frown on his face. “What are you going to do?”

“Stay with her and raise my son, if she’ll have me.”

I can tell by the way Deanna’s head suddenly stills, then swivels slowly, that she heard me. That I spoke too loudly. Several of the others, the vampiric woman wearing a baby girl in a pink carrier, the banshee, and one other whom I haven’t properly met, jerk their heads up as well.

A chorus of “Awwww” swarms over me and makes me shift uncomfortably.

“Well, she didn’t scream ‘no’ outright, so that’s good,” Bonwit mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

I pull him outside, and the puppy waddles after us. “I can’t ask her. Not yet.”

“I’m fairly sure you just asked her, and the entire nosy town supports you for it,” Bonwit says, eyes rolling skyward in mock exasperation.

“When I ask her... I have to make a bargain that protects her and Rory. I have to offer her something that she might not want, Bonwit, because it’ll complicate everything for her. She’s mortal.”

“What are you planning to offer?” Bonwit’s eyes go wide.

I let out a sigh and look around. “My soul and undying love, if she’ll match it with an undying love for my son, which she can claim as her own, a gift from a fae.”

Bonwit drops the spare rasher of bacon he was holding and Sprite hurries to gobble it up. “Your soul?”