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“It was created with Halloween’s magic. It wasn’t real, Coal. It was magic.” “Don’t talk about our baby that way, sweetheart.” Hex’s eyes bulge. “Our what?” “I was already thinking of names.” Hex massages his temple with a long-suffering sigh. “Again, it was not a real cat.” “You killed our child. So heartlessly. I’m not sure I like this side of you.”
“You tinsel-bombed the St. Patrick’s Day Prince,” he says. “I have never been more proud of you in my life.”
“You’re lucky I do na make you get down on your knees and beg. Though you did call me hot, so would you enjoy that, hm?”
“Was that the apology you had in mind?” I whisper up at him. “Or should I go on about how all the rainbows in Ireland point to the pot of gold in your asshole?”
“Fuck me,” I groan to my plate. Loch doesn’t hesitate. “Only if you say please.”
“You’re all I’ve been able to think about for weeks. The only thought in my head is what your face will look like when I take you apart—like this, like this right now, you’re perfect.”
I know that his kiss tasted like all the dreams I waxed on about in the writing I don’t do anymore, the words I wove while trying to imagine Iris but all I imagined was a fantasy, an ending. He tasted like those fantasies. He felt like those endings. It’s him.
“I’m happy to do it for you both,” Loch says. “Kris can attest. I know my way around a paintbrush.” “I haven’t seen you use a brush,” I note. “You know how to use your fingers, though.” I hear what I say as I say it.
“You aren’t an awakening,” I whisper. “You’re the whole dawn. And I can’t believe I ever thought I’d seen the sun before you.”
