How to Keep a Fae (Coveted Fae #1)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Jayga

“ A daline!”

A conflict of anxiety and relief hit me hearing her name called for me. I half expected them to allocate me to someone else and was prepared for it, even knowing I’d do something stupid if they did.

I’ve been on patrol since August left with his father, a fucking imperial, on some fancy quest, leaving me here to deal with the fallout.

“Jayga!” She jumps into my arms, forgetting all about her witchy house mistress.

I stagger into her chamber, crushing her against me, both of us shaking. Her nose is pressed against the crook of my neck, and I can feel her tears.

“Hush, love. It’ll be alright,” I say. I have no fucking clue if it’s going to be alright. I’m just spouting nonsense—anything that will stop her from weeping .

She peers over my shoulder. “Where’s August? Is he hurt? Did they… did they send him to someone else?”

Her frantic words land like blows.

“I... No.” I try to set her down, but she clings tighter. Fuck! I’m not prepared for this. I’m not fucking clever like August is.

A bitter laugh wants to bubble up. He said his mother was a breeder. Did he not think to mention the other important part of his bloodline, that his father was an imperial?

“He’s gone on a quest,” I say. “At the request of an imperial.”

I don’t yet mention that the imperial is his father, a fucking highborn… About as high as it gets.

He made a promise to her. Swore he loved her. He made a promise to me, too. I don’t care if his fists feel like a boulder smacking into your jaw. I’ll beat the bastard bloody if he does anything to upset the sweet fae in my arms while he’s gone.

I stride over to the nest and sit down on the edge with her still clinging to me like a little monkey. I stroke her hair and purr. Eventually, with a bit of coaxing, she lifts her head.

“Why aren’t you with him?” Her bottom lip quivers. She’s lost a little weight, likely due to her heat.

I can’t think about that now at the risk of completely losing it…. But thoughts of her all alone, hurting, needing us—just fucking no.

“Well, it’s not for the likes of me to know where he goes and with who.”

“You’re a warrior too,” she says. “Why do you make yourself sound less?”

A derisive grunt escapes me. “I’m an orphan rat taken from the streets of Bleakness. August is a fae whose father is—” I shut up. She doesn’t need to hear more about how worthless I am, and it’s not my place to tell her August’s story, either. “Alive, and that’s more than mine. ”

The last part sounds lame, and I’m almost glad she’s too upset to unpick it.

“I didn’t know,” she says. “About your situation. A lot of alpha warriors are brought here from other worlds. I’ve heard about Bleakness and the slave markets there. I’m glad that they found you and brought you here. I’m glad it’s you holding me now. That another terrible fate did not claim you.”

Her words trigger a crushing sensation. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me, nor pity of any kind. I like to focus on the present, not linger in the past. I hide behind humor because that’s better than giving in to the specters of my past. But she’s glad I’m the one holding her when no one else was ever glad about anything I’ve ever done. I have a job here, the reason why they feed me and kit me out with quality armor, but no one thanks me for it. No one is glad I am here. Until Adaline, I doubt anyone would have missed me should I have fallen in battle. Just another soldier, one of many. Sure, there are a few who would have supped a beer to my memory. Maybe even spoken fondly, or not so fondly about me, from time to time.

Adaline gives a fuck.

Because of her, August probably does too.

Once more, this woman can disarm me with nothing but words.

And I’m glad they found me too because even as much as this hurts and I feel fucking useless, I want to be here holding her, too.

“Who took him? Do you know how long they’ll be away?”

“I don’t know the details. I’m sorry.” It’s only a small white lie. And besides, August can explain his illustrious lineage… When he gets back. If… No, I am not going there either, but imperial quests are not without risks, even for someone as competent as August.

She begins sobbing again. I hold her feeling fucking useless .

I stormed over to Cecil after the practice the day August left, opened my big mouth, and demanded to know what was going on.

Cecil gave me a flat look. A couple of guards had been standing close by with their clubs at the ready like I was a damn whelp who needed a beating back into his place. But he’d waved me into his office and told the guard to close the door. Then he told me fuck all, because apparently, he didn’t know anything either besides this being at the imperial’s request and no business of ours.

“The imperial is his father,” I had demanded of him. I had no reason to disbelieve August, but I needed someone else to confirm it before it would sink in.

Cecil had inclined his head. “He is. The Imperial did not deign to share the length of the quest with me nor what it might entail.”

The ancient warrior master could be a hard bastard at times. But after what he did for us and Adaline, I saw him in a new light. He wasn’t simply the crusty old goat whipping us all into shape. He was an advocate within the bounds of what he could control.

I thought he was on our side—was grateful for it.

“What about Adaline?” I’d asked the final burning question.

“She will be allocated to you, as agreed.”

All the while I was out on the week-long patrol, I convinced myself August would be back, that his bastard father would only need him for a few days.

Only he wasn’t back.

And now I’m floundering.

Drowning in her heartbreak. Me, a fucking nobody from the streets of Bleakness. What do I know about dealing with emotions? If I had parents, they were probably lowlife scum or helpless victims of disease or poverty. Either way, they were gone before they could offer me any life insight, good or bad.

I’m not equipped for a broken fae feeder missing a man she loves.

Her sniffles peter out. “You’re injured,” she says quietly. “Please take what you need.”

I shouldn’t, though, should I? If I do, I will be betraying my best friend. “August’s not here.”

She bursts out crying again.

Fuck!

“I’m hurting. Please, Jayga. I ask only that you love me while he cannot. Who knows what tomorrow brings? Maybe there will be a time when you will be away, and I must be with August.”

My gut clenches as I get an insight into how August must have felt walking out the hall, knowing I’d be here with her while he was elsewhere.

I’m a simple male. Uncomplicated. I don’t claim to have excessive intellect—average at best. But I do have a strong sense of right and wrong, of what is fair and equitable and what is not.

Nothing about this situation is fair or right.

And I am powerless to fix it.

But I can, as she has asked, love her while he is gone.

I cup my hands around her cheeks and press my lips to hers in a brief, chaste kiss. “I heard you went into heat.”

She nods.

“I tried to hide it,” she says, tears spilling down her cheeks.

I brush them away with the pads of my thumbs. A strange, sickly, fluttery feeling emanates from the center of my chest.

Her lips tremble. “I thought if I could hide it long enough, you would return.” She huffs out a little breath. “Stupid, I know. But I convinced myself that you might tend me, claim me, and then we would be together, and no one could do anything about it.”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. We found a wagon full of captured omegas once after tracking and killing an orc party. One of the girls had gone into heat and died before we found them.

Before we could get back to Sanctum, another girl went into heat.

We were in the middle of fucking nowhere. We’d just buried her sister in the forest. Committing that pitiful, frail body to the earth had already put us in a tense, murderous mood. Her heat scent threw a bucket of raging hormones into the mix.

Our patrol leader was a mature, level-headed alpha. He said stress could stop omegas having heat, but it could also bring them on.

He gave her a choice. She could take the leaves we kept in reserve for severe wounds, which half knocked you out, or she could pick an alpha.

She picked an alpha.

They were given a tent well away from us lest we all go into fucking rut.

Somehow, we got through it. They mated. The lucky bastard now has a mate and babe and works in the blacksmith’s hall.

It ended well for them. But I’ll never forget the sister we left behind in that lonely forest.

“My sweet, foolish queen.” I press my lips to hers and hold her, feeling her trembling against me. “How I would have loved the privilege to tend you. But you must know it is dangerous for an omega to suffer through her heat without either alpha or herbs.”

Gods, I could have lost her. She is not the only one shaking .

“I know,” she says. “I didn’t stop to think about the risks to myself, nor the consequences for others if it went badly. Even so, what if another warrior had been allocated to me? It could have gone wrong in so many ways.”

“It’s over now. You’re here safe. We all make mistakes. Learning from them is the important part.”

“You are very wise,” she says.

“Not really.” Life has just shown me things that are hard to forget.

I press a kiss to her forehead, her cheeks, her cute little button nose, and then to her lips once more. “I don’t know how. But we shall find a way. Until then, take no risks.” We are not mated. I’m a human nobody. She is a fae. Yet, my heart recognizes she is my one. “I won’t survive losing you.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers, her tear-ravaged eyes searching mine, looking for answers I don’t have.

When I next kiss her, she opens sweetly. I pour all my love for her into the kiss, keeping it gentle.

Her tears fall the whole time.

I lift my lips and press my forehead to hers. “My injuries are minor. I do not need to take your blood. We can just lay here together in your nest.”

“Please,” she says. “Please love me. Please make me forget what is wrong and remember what is right. The times when we are together are memories to cherish. August is not here, but through you, I feel like, in a small way, he still is.”

My resistance crumbles. I’ve heard mated alphas talk about how they live to serve their omega. Today, I understand what that means in the deepest, most profound ways.

Adaline is hurting. I cannot take her hurt away, but I can serve her… I can gift her my love.

I set her on her feet. Help her strip from her clothes and settle her in the middle of her nest before I likewise strip down .

Her pretty eyes glisten with the sheen of more tears as she watches me.

She sighs when I come down over her, wrapping me in her arms and legs.

I purr. Letting her drive this however she needs.

“Love me,” she whispers against my ear.

I kiss her cheeks, her chin, her throat, her rosy nipples, down her belly, and up again to the delicate line of her collarbone. Then I kiss each arm down to her fingertips and kiss them, too.

I kiss every part of her like it is the first time, but also like it might be the last.

I coax her slowly toward passion, watching her response, listening to her soft breaths, letting them guide me. When she is finally there, her pussy slick and her body restless with need, I slide into the hot, wetness of her sheath.

We both sigh, our arms wrapped tightly around one another. We fit perfectly together like this was how we were meant to be. Her heart beats against mine. A sense of intimacy cascades over me like a waterfall, washing away fears for tomorrow and leaving behind peace.

Home.

The word has always been a foreign concept to me. I was born in Bleakness, but I never considered that godless pit home. Then I came here, one of many alpha lads assimilated into the war machine, and I thought maybe this was home.

Today, I understand home is not an illusive place, but a state of being.

With Adaline, I will always be home.

I begin to move over her, my hips rocking, and Gods, it feels so good… she feels too good. She moves with me, our mouths joining, our hands seeking, caressing as I stroke deeply into her flesh with mine, letting her welcome me into her ov er and over.

Harmony.

Escapism.

A moment of clarity before we must step out into a harsh, uncertain world.

The pleasure builds slowly. When her tight pussy fists over me, and I come, it feels like I’m reborn.

We lay tangled and sweaty in the nest. I purr for her and stroke her hair. No one summons us, and we make love again.

But like all moments, this one must end.

She sobs piteously.

I pray this is the last time I must love her alone.

It is not. Nor the next time, nor the one after that.

I never felt alone before, even when I was a rat looking for scraps on the street, but now I do. Every time I stop at her doorway, every time she thrusts the covering aside with hope shining in her eyes.

Every time I watch her hope fade, leaving a sweet, broken fae behind, I experience a little death.

Wounds do not always show on our flesh; some burrow deep inside where eyes do not see.

Alone, I am not enough.

I fool myself into believing this will get easier over time, that the iterations of two will allow the memories of three to fade.

It does not. It gets harder. And as the weeks transition into months, we exist in an alternate reality as a pale echo of all we once were and felt.

We go on because we must.

We go on because August is still out there somewhere, and because there is yet hope.