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To the ones who wish on eyelashes, dandelions, and stars. The universe hears you. xx
Little do they know; logic and duty aren’t the reason I won’t ever find my match. They’re the reason I already lost her.
That motherfucker eats egg whites. With vegetables. Why not just scrape bird shit off the castle windows with a leaf and put some salt on that?
“How bad is it this time? Does she have us all dressed as matching show ponies?” Bast snorts. “And ruin your carefully crafted pirate aesthetic? Never.” That merits a slight smirk. “Good.
flashing a look that somehow manages to be impish and submissive all at once.
The way she’s looking at me—like a perfect angel, begging me to play with her—is exactly what I like.
Okay. Well. That’s… fucking adorable. Am I just supposed to go on with my life? Like knowing there’s a squirrel named Nigel wandering our grounds hasn’t made my entire year?
She has no jewelry. And, goddamn it, that’s wrong. She should be dripping in diamonds and aquamarines. My omega should always— Whoa. WHOA. Wait. What?
How can I want something so much and also hate it so fiercely?
I live and die and hope and hate every second that it takes for her to turn around. But then it’s done. And we’re face to face.
She inhales sharply as our palms meet. I understand why when an answering snap of electricity thunders through my veins. Crackling up my arm, right down to the quiet corner where my heart sits. Covered in ivy.
So as my hand slides against Asher’s—and a wave of delirious dizziness swallows my insides—I force myself to inhale.
He was to be the frame—and I the picture. He liked those sorts of metaphors; they helped his rational mind grasp abstracts.
I always loved watching his gears grind when he tried to understand simple things. He could build a nuclear reactor if he wanted to—but learning how to rest his hand on the curve of my waist sent him into a scowling mood. Ash.
I feel sick and scared and ecstatic. Because he’s looking at me. Seeing me.
Dark, shining beams connect with my gaze. The voice inside me rises, higher and more frantic. I’m here, I’m here, I’m right here. And, this time, Dair answers her. “Hey,” he murmurs, low and urgent. “Hey, I see you. It’s okay. Stay with me, all right? Stay with me, baby.”
I remember thinking she was the perfect blend of softness and wit. A good girl, begging me to break the rules. Everything that makes my blood roar.
He wants her in his space. Maybe in a way I don’t even fully comprehend. This whole time, was the poor guy’s self-imposed exile some sort of penance? Has he kept his room—and his life—empty because he was waiting for her? Damn. I almost never understand Asher, but I get that.
Her crystalline gaze drops to the tattoo branded there, the image I got to remind me of her. A perfect anatomical rendering of my heart, wrapped in delicate vines of ivy. Our omega gasps. Her burned scent starts to brighten. “A-ash…” I purr without effort, bending to rub my forehead against hers. “If you’re the same girl I knew,” I murmur, “then you are the one I’ve loved and missed every damn day since I made the mistake of letting you go. And that makes you my queen.”
She sighs more deeply, nuzzling my forehead as she leans into my body like a good fucking girl. The best girl.
My Alpha snaps back to the surface, flattening my logic under his feral need to be with the omega who spent thirty-six hours crying for him. Needing him. God, he loves that part. No one’s ever needed us before. And with good reason. But now that this sweet, delicate woman does? He’s not fucking that up. And neither am I.
“I told myself I wouldn’t kiss you until you forgave me.” She swallows, her scent turning saltier. Until I sigh, drawing her lips into mine. “I think I lied.”
Witnessing her awe, having her cling to me while she learns more. Trying to trust me, I realize. And goddamn it, I will be worthy of that.
“You are perfect. Gorgeous and so fucking sweet. I’ll always get you off, no matter how much it tortures me. You can have it anytime you want, and I’ll fucking crawl for the privilege of being the one to take care of you.”
Asher’s face becomes more severe as he growls at whoever he’s speaking to. Dair’s posture unwinds—with relief? And Bast’s face beams with a grin that could rival the sun.
Her happiness is a sweet, warm breath of heaven. The second it sinks into my lungs, a week’s worth of tension melts away. “God, I missed you, angel.”
I’ve never seen Asher like this; his phone sitting abandoned on the seat beside him and his focus so completely aimed at one person. He doesn’t look like the formidable leader or dominant alpha he wound up growing into. Right now, with his brows and lips quirked up, he seems… young. Defenseless, but brighter. Carefree and more caring, too, somehow. Like she’s accessed a part of him no one else gets to see. Or maybe the part no one else ever bothered getting to know.
Our omega better be careful, or she’ll end up wearing tattooed hand necklaces every night.
“No… my lord.” Beautiful little coquette. She knows I have a love/hate relationship with hearing her call me that. It reminds me of just how proper she can be while also mocking me. The fact that I don’t think she’d ever want to tease any of the others this way makes it our thing.
He walks into the middle of the room and undresses, flinging pieces of clothing in every direction until Ivy’s uncertainty cracks into a tiny smile. Dair loves it. I’ve never seen him look at anyone with the soft, warm regard he has for the little curve of her lips. He doesn’t bother walking into the room before kicking his shoes off and following Bast’s lead. His black suit pants go flying onto the sofa. His dress shirt to the plush padded bench at the foot of the bed. The bastard even takes off his underwear—paying no mind to how Ivy’s eyes widen and snag on his half-hard dick while he
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“Such a dirty princess,”
Did the future ruler of Amizi just say “hoes?” And, Lord—do I like her more because she did?
Two weeks ago, if you’d told me I would be so down bad I’d resort to chivalry… I would have stabbed myself.
“If I didn’t know any better,” she teases, “I’d think you liked me.” Ha. I wish I liked her. That might be manageable. Unlike whatever the hell this is.
“Only stalkers hang around to see what people leave on their plates, Your Grace.”
This flower has more thorns than petals. I’m not sure anyone could sum me up better than that.
“You’re our center.
“Your heart is a thing of beauty, Ivy. If that means we have a queen who talks to ducks, we’ll all be better for it.”
“That’s my whole point, angel. The fact that you can’t change who you are? Might just make us the luckiest men on the planet.”
Look, I know I spout a lot of bullshit. But if anyone lays a hand on my omega, there will be blood.
Her fear shatters into exasperation as she huffs, “Can’t you use that evil mind for good? Just the once?” I shrug. “Best I can do is inappropriate flirting. Maybe a little light recon if someone seems shady.” She’s adorable when she pouts. Even more so when she wags a finger at me. “Behave, Stalker.” Which is how, for the first time ever, I find myself smiling when I slouch out of a damn limo.
That’s some iconic pussy power, babe.
“You’re my princess,” I whisper. “You belong anywhere I am.”
Turned on, I realize. She likes it when I flex my power.
Ivy giggles quietly and breaks our kiss, giving me an amused look. Relief bleeds through my chest as she cuddles close, rubbing her face against my collar. Marking me. I tighten my arms around her, brushing another kiss onto her crown and turning us back to face the window.
I never want her to lose that version of me. I want her to keep him. Me. Forever.
“I have loved you since the day I met you. And I think you may be the only person in the world who’s ever known me well enough to love me back. So, even though I don’t deserve it, I hope, one day, you will.”
“I don’t need to be your queen,” I whisper, wanting him to understand. “I just want to be your…” Mate? Partner? Best friend? Sincerity fills his features as he bends to skim his nose along mine. “Everything,” he finishes, settling his weight between my thighs. “You’re everything, Ivy.”
“Only, always yours.”
“Don’t touch that.” It’s Dair, hissing and glaring at me from across the nest. He’s never whispered at me before, which makes the fact that he’s bent out of shape about me touching a specific blanket even more hilarious. I pinch the soft silver silk and hold it up. “This?” “Yes,” he snaps, leaving our breakfast tray on the lip of the recessed mattress so he can snatch the fabric out of my hands. “It’s her favorite.”
