Page 81 of Fallen Court

“But it can’t be the Hunt.” Part of me just needed to have him say, to have him reaffirm, that there was at least one danger we were safe from.

“No, but someone sympathizes with them.” Proof of what he told me last night. An oath was only words. It was impossible to know someone’s heart. “They can’t touch our family, though. Not while the bona fides is intact.”

I snuggled closer to him, watching ink drift down his arms. I wished I could give him peace. Because it wasn’t just the city that we had to worry about. We were safe in New Orleans. For now. But my own thoughts chased me like those tattoos.

“Have we heard from the other courts?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. A lot had changed in the course of the last few weeks. Only one court remained an ally, after all. That stacked the odds that news would be good against us.

“Ciara spoke with Fiona earlier. She said everyone is being helpful, particularly Sirius.” His lips grazed my skin again, and a shiver of anticipation raced down my spine. Lach circled a fingertip over the peak of my breast, and I bit back a gasp. He seemed completely unaware of the effect of the small, mindless touches. Meanwhile, it was an effort to remind myself that talking was necessary if we wanted to actually solve our problems, especially with the incessant pull of our new mating bond begging for a deeper connection. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

“Me?” I asked absently. Only half my brain was paying attention. Each second, I found it harder and harder to focus.

“He’s your friend.”

“Our friend. The Astral Court didn’t agree to help only because of me. Face it—they like you.” I poked his arm.

“A fate worse than death.”

I flinched at his choice of words. He hadn’t meant to hit so close to the mark, but…

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly. His arms moved under the water, circling my waist and tightening around me. “I’m not that easy to kill, princess.”

I swallowed in a futile attempt to fight the rawness creeping up my throat. “I know. I’ve tried.”

“Exactly.” He nipped my earlobe. “Between my disregard for the rules and your homicidal instincts, no one can touch us.”

I forced a laugh, but that hollow fear lingered.

“Have you decided about Samhain? This séance?”

I might have appreciated his obvious attempt to redirect the conversation if he’d chosen another subject.

“No,” I admitted. “I was hoping to find my answer at the bottom of that bottle.” I tugged free of his hold, half lurching out of the tub to grab it.

“No one finds answers at the bottom of a bottle.”

I swigged from it anyway. “Summoning dead people wasn’t how I planned to celebrate Halloween.”

“Samhain is on the first of November,” he challenged me, brow raised. “What’s your next excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse. She said we would meet at midnight.” I twisted around, moving to the other end of the bathtub, where I stood a chance at finishing this conversation instead of mounting him. I tangled my legs with his to make the new arrangement work. “I want to do Halloween.”

“You do?” he asked slowly.

“I never have.” I lifted a shoulder as I took another drink.

“Even when you were a kid?”

“Tragic childhood, remember?” I kept the words flat and lifeless so he wouldn’t take them too seriously.

“You never went trick-or-treating?” He stared across at me, a vein twitching in his forehead.

Why was he acting like this was weird? “Did you?”

“I’m nearly two hundred and fifty years old. Of course not, but—”

“It’s not a big deal,” I cut him off, wishing I’d never admitted any of it to him. “I just never did it, and the last few years I took a shift at the hospital, since I don’t have kids. Halloween was always a busy night.”

He rubbed his lower lip, drawing my attention to his mouth. “So you’ve never even been to the Garden District on Halloween?”