“That’s not important right now—”
“Virus.” His voice was getting stronger, and Phillipa was lightheaded with relief. But just because Wesley was regaining strength didn’t mean this was any time for her to lose hers. She had to get everyone—Ainslee included, whose color fluctuations were quite concerning—back to Broadstone Hall in one piece.
“Family,” he added.
“The Queen’s Curse,” Ainslee said softly. “That makes sense.”
“What do you mean? The Queen cursed him? This is terrible news! Even if my mother falsified those documents, Wesley is already damned.” She shook her head and put her hand against his cheek. She would swear he smiled. “Maybe bringing him back to the Ball isn’t our best course of action.”
“It would serve him right if Her Majesty did banish him, but that’s not what I’m talking about. The virus is also known as monstrum plaga. It originated in the time of Queen Elizabeth, hence the name. The affliction can be quite cruel.” Ainslee sighed and leaned forward to place an amethyst on the wolven’s forehead. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. If this crystal works, you owe an immeasurable debt to the fae, wolven.”
“This is not the time to threaten him.” Phillipa barely dared to breathe. How many times had Ainslee’s crystals lifted her mood when she simply couldn’t bear to go on? The fae had gotten her to the Ball, but her magic wasn’t infallible.
Wesley’s eyes opened, and Phillipa and Ainslee gasped in unison.
He sat up, kissed Phillipa on the head, and then he put his big hand out to Ainslee. Phillipa nodded to her, and she cautiously stepped onto his finger. “I do owe a debt, fae, and I intend to pay in full. But first, we must get back to the Ball and stand before the Queen.”
Chapter Eighteen
Wesley
The little fae’s magic was the most delectable he’d ever tasted. The amethyst had been placed on his forehead, but the power had flowed through his veins, leaving a berry lavender taste on his tongue. Like he was deep in the forest.
All beast.
“Now may I tell him what a despicable wolven he is?” The little fae still stood on his finger, arms crossed in front of her, wings on point, and a scowl on her face.
“Ainslee, we need to stay allies until we get back to Broadstone Hall,” Phillipa said. “Right now, the two of you need to put your differences aside—”
“I saved him, didn’t I?” The fae glared at him.
“Perhaps it would be best for Lady Ainslee to get her grievances off her chest before we proceed.” He grinned.
“Are you making light of the suffering you caused my kin? Because if you are, I can take back my magic.”
“No, I deeply regret any pain I caused them. I am trying to be kind to you, fae.” He refrained from telling her that her magic was absolutely intoxicating. It would not help matters. “I feel this would be smoother if you were able to air your discontent.”
“Discontent,” Ainslee harrumphed. “Fae died because of you, and I will probably be cast out of my village for saving your life. The only reason I did it was because we both love Phillipa, and if there is one thing we agree on, is that she does not deserve to be committed to that hospital.”
“Yes, we can certainly agree on that.” He turned to Phillipa, who was beaming at him. “She is very easy to love.”
“Is that the only reason for your feelings, wolven?” Phillipa asked, and the fae flew to her shoulder.
“No.” He took Phillipa’s hands in his. He loved how small they were, how the skin was calloused from her gardening endeavors. How her skin looked ethereal in the rosy light of the fae’s glow. “I love you because you follow your heart instead of rules. And because you never stopped believing I would come back for you.”
“I love you too, Wesley.”
He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but with the fae still glaring at him, that urge would have to wait. And how sweet it would be when he finally got to fully indulge in her lips, mouth, her body…
“I’m sure everyone at the party is worried about you,” he added, clearing his throat. The taste of the magic was still there, and the urge to kiss her, to take Phillipa right here under the moonlight, had yet to fade. “We should get back.”
“How will we do that?” Phillipa looked over Wesley’s shoulder. “I fear I shall slow you both down, and if my mother’s carriage returns for us…” She shook her head. “Are we even invited back to the ball?”
She shuddered. No matter what the Queen decided about their actions that evening, Wesley knew he had done the right thing. Phillipa’s mother had no reason to punish her daughter for her grief, her hope, or her love.
She had been willing to go through all those things for him. For that, he would make her a Queen.
“I can fly,” Ainslee offered, fluttering off Phillipa’s shoulder. “But I don’t know if I have enough magic to get you both there.”
“Phillipa will ride on my back,” he said, brushing his snout against her cheek. “It will be the fastest way.”
“Wesley.” Even in the low light of the moon, there was no missing the way her cheeks pinked.
“Duchess, would you rather arrive and scandalized or dead?” he asked.
“When you put it like that, scandal has never sounded so good.” She grinned at him. But as he went down on all fours, she gasped. “Wesley, your jacket is bloody from the wound. Are you sure you can do this?”
“Yes, I am sure, my love.”
“Put the amethyst in your pocket. It will help you heal,” Ainslee suggested.
Phillipa slid the stone into his pocket, and then lifted her skirts to mount his back. Her body was warm and wonderful against his, a better elixir than any stone. He wished he could feel her bare skin against his fur.
His cock hardened at the thought. Soon.
He took off in a trot, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The fae’s spell didn’t completely erase his pain, but he could deal with what remained. Once he was confident he would not throw Phillipa off his back, he found his rhythm and picked up speed.
The run back was easier with Ainslee guiding the way and knowing Phillipa was safe. His shoulder hurt, his paw smarted, he couldn’t feel his tongue, and the Queen might very possibly be sending him to the firing squad, but he’d saved Phillipa from that terrible fate.
To think, because of her love for him, she might have had to go through such anguish. He could never let that happen to her. When he was human, he’d been cocky. Felt like he was invincible, even though he knew the virus was present in his family. He was too strong, too important to ever succumb.
That bravado had carried over to his wolven form. He thought the world owed him the cure. The fae owed him their magic. He would be forever grateful that Countess Stalbridge had stopped at his den and insisted he come to the Ball. The stately dowager saved his life.
He would never take anything for granted again, especially this woman.
Broadstone Hall was still celebrating, even in this early hour of the morning. The sun would rise soon; the sky had already turned slate blue.
Master Bow was the first one out of the house. “Wolven! Phillipa! Is that you?”