When she’d gathered everything she required, she returned to the bed and knelt beside him. She smelled of strawberries and sex, two scents that made it extremely difficult to keep from taking her again.
“We could always stay in bed,” he murmured, and she flicked the pointed tip of his ear in response.
“Ow,” he chuckled as he covered his ear with his hand. “Vicious woman.”
“Hmm,” she grunted as she taped a bandage to his back.
He applied a bandage and some tape to what remained of the hole in his chest. Feeding on her had improved his injury, but the sooner he completely healed, the better they would be.
He kissed her forehead. “Thank you, beautiful. Now, let’s go check on them.”
Lexi reluctantly rose and stepped away. He felt her eyes on him as he strode over to his armoire and removed a black tunic from inside. The healing edges of his wounds pulled as he slid the tunic over his head, but he kept his discomfort hidden.
When he finished, he pulled on a pair of loose-fitting brown pants and boots. He lifted his father’s sword from the corner of the room, slid it into its sheath, and slung it over his back.
“It will be nice to get some of my clothes,” Lexi murmured as she finished dressing.
“I like you in the fae attire.” He stopped to admire the way the tunic fit her. “It’s sexy.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips as a blush crept up her neck.
“Okay, then it will be good to have clean clothes,” she said.
“Why didn’t you have Amaris bring you more things?” he asked as he strolled toward her.
“I wanted to keep everyone away from this room as much as possible. Niall slept in the hall, but he assured me that he could hear a ghost piss and would awaken before anyone made it to the doorway.”
“It’s true; the man wakes at the smallest sound but passes out faster than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I was also hoping the palace would help keep us protected, especially you.”
“It would.”
Stopping before her, he rested his hands on her hips as pride swelled in his chest. She was weaker than most immortals, half human—probably—and one of the feistiest women he’d ever encountered.
“My protector,” he murmured.
“Damn right.”
She pulled away and, turning on her heel, stalked out of his room and toward the portal in the sitting room. When she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot while she waited for him, Cole’s amusement grew.
“I’m also eager to bring Torigon home,” Cole said as they stepped into the portal and darkness enveloped them. He missed his horse.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the end of the third day, Brokk had surpassed annoyed and entered the realm of pissed off as he and Sahira waited for the woman to stop being such a stubborn, judgmental ass.
That didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.
Since she walked away the other day, she hadn’t returned to her lodge. They had no idea where she’d gone, but they’d spent the past three nights sleeping on the ground outside her home.
Sahira didn’t complain, but the set of her jaw became tighter with each passing day. The phoenixes watched them with open curiosity, and he swore every creature in the realm passed by to study them.
Most of the crones and animals ignored them, except for the pixies. And how he wished the pixies would ignore them too. Even their music, which he’d always found beautiful and enchanting, was grating on his last nerve.
He’d forgotten how much the pixies could talk. It had never bothered him before because he was never subjected to it for endless hours, but now, it had been three days straight of their incessant gossip. He fell asleep listening to them prattling on and as soon they realized he was awake, they started all over again.
It was torture, and he was beginning to suspect Kaylia had decided to unleash a form of psychological warfare on them. That bitter, old crone had probably told the pixies to drive them crazy, and it was working, or at least it was for him.
Sahira barely acknowledged the pixies’ existence as she drew runes in the dirt and cast stones that she’d received from the crones kind enough to offer them some food and water and to show them the restroom.
If this went on for much longer, he would have to find a way to feed. But, for now, normal fare was helping to keep his thirst for blood under control.
Brokk had no idea how Sahira could shut out the endless chatter of the pixies as they went on and on about the sasquatches’ squabbles and the dwarves' arguments with the gnomes. They discussed how the pegasusses believed they were better than the unicorns and how the unicorns thought they were better.
And, of course, there were all kinds of goings-on in the pixie world. By the end of the first day, Brokk was contemplating puncturing his eardrums rather than listening to one more pixie chatter about another one.
By the end of the second day, it took everything he had not to smash his head off the ground. And by the end of the third day, he was trying not to break down and cry.
The newest pixie to bless him with her keen insights into the pixie world was prattling on and on about how her sister was boning her ex-boyfriend. The pixie kept one hand on her hip as she waved the other hand in the air while hovering before him.
“She should have known better!” the pixie declared in her sweet, tiny voice that had become nails on a chalkboard to his ears. “I told her that he was bad in bed.”
Inwardly, Brokk heaved huge sobs of misery as he rested his head on his knees and covered his ears with his hands. He sang a Five Finger Death Punch song to himself until he felt a small tap on his shoulder.
Hoping that it was Sahira telling him that Ms. Queen Crone was back, he lifted his head to discover the pink pixie standing on his knee. Her head fell to the side, and her pink hair flowed around her shoulders as she studied him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Brokk lowered his hands from his ears. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” And then, without missing a beat, she plunged back into the daily soap opera of Pixie Land. “So, I told Mayflower she was being an idiot and would only be disappointed and that she had no idea how awful it was. But she knows now. Oh, she knows. And then she tried complaining to me about it.”
Pink dust floated from the pixie as her hand flew to her chest, and she jutted one of her hips out. The tiny, pink dress she wore clung to her curvy figure.
“Then I told her, ‘Mayflower, I warned you he was a two-pump chump.’ And she was all, ‘But he’s so cute, Marigold. How can he be soooo bad?’ And you know what? I have no idea how it’s possible, but it’s true.”
Brokk started banging his forehead off his knees as he stifled a groan.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the pixie asked. “Because you’re acting a little crazy.”
He briefly contemplated splatting her like a fly, but he couldn’t kill the tiny creature, even if she was driving him nuts. Besides, the sasquatches would probably rip his arms off afterward, and he was rather fond of his arms.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
“I’m Marigold, by the way. You can call me Mari.”