Page 77 of To Stir a Fae's Passion

Hazel gave him a look that spelled out Oh, really? in an extra-italicized, sarcasm-dripping font. “It’s been less than two weeks since he butchered the royal court.”

“Who tortured him for a quarter of a century.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Mom, please. I only just found him. Leave him alone. He just wants to get to know his son and enjoy his newfound freedom.”

Hazel arched a brow, the move so reminiscent of Lily’s best withering glare. “It’s the latter one I’m especially concerned with.”

“He promised he won’t cause any trouble.”

“Well, you tell him I’m holding him to that. I’m watching him. If he takes even just one step out of line, he’ll find our dungeon to be as cozy as the fae court’s.”

Basil swallowed. “Got it.”

He looked out toward the lawn, where Isa stood up next to Rose. His mate’s movement inexorably drew his attention to her sleekly muscled body, to those gray eyes—incandescent with the inner fire he’d actually, literally touched while he unmade her—and everything else fell away.

He inhaled on a rush of need that set his blood ablaze, and got to his feet to follow the invitation in the sly smile she sent his way while she strolled toward the second backyard entrance to the mansion, which was around the corner…and happened to feature a staircase leading up his room.

“I’ve…gotta go,” he murmured to whoever else was in the kitchen with him, his feet already carrying him into the foyer.

He barely heard the snickers that followed him out, his mind and body focused on the sole reason his heart was beating. And when he intercepted her as she sprinted for his room, when he caught her around the waist, shouldered her amidst her giggling protests, and dumped her on his bed so she bounced off the mattress with a gasp, that heart of his, the one he’d fused inextricably with hers when he wove her back into life, threatened to burst with too much love.

“Never too much,” she whispered, and held out her hand.

He smiled—and pounced on her instead.

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