The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

4. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Glenna Lonan

“The rules”—Cian leaned me against a tree, kissing down my throat while unbuttoning his shirt—"no coercion magic.”

We had disappeared into Caledona Wood to swap clothes. Filena and Braelin led a party in the opposite direction to find more fruit and nuts before the sun set.

I slid the cotton shirt off his shoulders and tossed it onto a bush while answering, “No kissing others.” Followed by, “What about touching?”

He grinned against my racing pulse and possessively cupped my breasts. Clearly, I wasn’t talking about us. I started to roll my eyes, but the feel of his hot breath on my neck, just beneath my ear, set my skin on fire.

“I want to kiss the rouge from your lips until it stains mine,” he murmured.

Gods . . .

I had been with a fair share of males and females the past couple of years. No one talked much during sex. Not really. But Cian? I could orgasm just from the erotic things that came out of that man’s mouth.

“Touching others, eejit,” I redirected and he nipped my earlobe.

“Faces and arms only.” He quickly began unfastening my bodice. “What genders?”

“Males for you, Lady of Man. Females for me.” I would suggest others, but mortal society didn’t tolerate anything different. Also, flirting with our same sex would lead to less mixed signals.

He slid the bodice down my arms and hung it off a low-hanging branch. A familiar twinge of shame crept up my neck at the dirty, fraying state of my corset, camisole, and petticoats. Cian didn’t care. His clothing was in poor shape too. But my vanity struggled. Aye, I liked pretty things and to feel pretty in those pretty things. It wasn’t my fault Caravan pecking order decided I should be poor because of who raised me.

This past year, I had let a couple elf struck village lads buy me one used hat as well as two used dresses tailored for larger women that I then modified for my non-mortal size, but no underthings. Males, regardless of race, grew possessive over the strangest things. A frilly strip of cotton covering a lady’s unmentionables might as well spell “my property.”

A cool evening breeze danced around us, pebbling my bare arms. But it was the intensity of Cian’s hawk-eyed stare that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

For years, I believed the nosey arse had trained his trickster ways to read people. But he had a familiar. Strangely, one that hadn’t appeared in his life until recently—one whose magic remained a mystery to all. Moira, his mam, speculated that Barry had protected Cian’s magic while Cian protected Filena until the Sisters Three set her and Rhylen’s fates into motion.

I longed to ask Cian about his magic, but this was his secret to share. Unlike mortals, we fae didn’t see secrets as offenses. We lived by the rules of magic, bargains, tricks, and curses. Secrets were our power over others as well as our downfall—our luck, good or bad.

Still, it didn’t take much to conclude that Cian had intuitive magic, like Filena. It was the only explanation as to why the gobshite always knew things.

My brows wrinkled.

And why he didn’t truly look at me before we were . . . what in the feck were we? Lovers, aye. Friends in lust reveling in what was no longer forbidden? Also, true. We couldn’t keep our hands and lips off one another—touching fed an addiction, seductions our game long before we turned them on each other.

Stars, I would sacrifice all my dresses for him to choose me as his mate the way I chose him.

But he wasn’t ready.

He loved me. I knew this without question. I just wasn’t convinced it was romantic love despite his confession that I was his ruination. Cian Merrick was truly honey-tongued, like the Love-Talkers of legend—

“Glenna,” Cian spoke softly and I blinked back my whirling thoughts. The barest tip of his finger traced the swells of my breasts. “One day,” he whispered, his voice rough, “I’ll buy you a corset from the finest shop in Den Merrow.”

Tears blurred my vision. Once again, he knew .

Just like he knew I’d been struggling without my cake witch sisters, who had remained in West Tribe. Filena and I also no longer shared a bed. Holding my best friend all day while we slept soothed the loneliness. It made our conflicting schedules more bearable. Now we had all the time in the world to spend with each other, but she was my brother’s bonded mate and I no longer shared a wagon with her.

“. . . silk stockings, satin-tied drawers too . . .” Cian’s velvety voice pulled me from my grief and I loosed a shaky breath. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

The ache in my chest sharpened. Why did he have to be so romantic at times? I couldn’t fall harder for Cian Merrick, not if I wanted to hold onto any future happiness. I meant what I had promised him two weeks ago: I would never break his heart, but he . . . he could break mine.

I loved him. I loved him so much I accepted every part of his nature, including the part that was too chaotically restless to settle down with one mate. He’d had enough people attempt to fit him into their narrow-minded cage. I refused to let him become something he wasn’t for me—or anyone.

Aye, my tongue had slipped and called him “mate” in a moment of weakness.

But I wouldn’t again.

Shite, tears pricked my eyes once more. If I started crying, I wouldn’t stop. Nor did I want Cian to read too deeply into my emotions. Flirting and playful bickering would have to remain my shield.

“Ci-Ci,” I drawled, straightening my shoulders, “you’re too much of a strumpet to buy me a corset.”

He pretended to gasp. “Insolent hen.”

Playing up the sass, my eyes swooped to the deft fingers quickly unhooking my corset—the one he planned to wear.

The lad’s face tightened with the effort to hold back a laugh. “No wings.”

I scoffed. “Then no cigarettes.”

Cian’s lips now parted in true horror. “My one vice? No bargain.”

“ One vice?!” I laughed.

A corner of his mouth tilted in a dangerous, sensual smile and I nearly groaned.

“Don’t you dare seduce your way out of—"

“Be a good girl.” My face fell flat right before his thumbs teased the hardened peaks of my nipples beneath my thin camisole. My traitorous core clenched and the sensual curve of his smile grew. The bastard knew. “Help me into your corset, Glenna darlin’”—he lowered that deliciously wicked mouth of his to my ear and whispered—"and I’ll remind you of my other vice.”

“Not if you feather ban me, you won’t.”

The heat of his lips trailed along my jaw, “Where are my wings?”

“The gods knew you’d already be too pretty, eejit.” I pushed him back. “Now, darlin’ , make that big mortal head of yours focus.” He smirked—again—and I tapped his head. “ This head.”

Leaning away with a breathy laugh, he wrapped my corset around his torso. I circled to his back to loosen the ties as he reclasped the front. The graceful way his muscles moved in the dusky light while the same bewitched twilight caressed the elegant lines of his face made my mutinous body react all over again. Cian’s halfling beauty and duality was utterly mesmerizing to me.

He wasn’t as tall or as large-bodied as a Raven Folk male. I was larger than mortal women too. Apparently, the size of a tall, well-toned man and why Cian could wear my dresses.

“Hands on the tree,” I ordered.

Obeying, he leaned onto the mossy oak and I pulled to tighten the laces. More like yanked, as if I were holding reins, and he shot me a playful glare over his shoulder.

Flashing him a smug grin, I asked, “The bet?”

“We break hearts in a nightly show”—his voice caught when I tugged—"for one week. We ‘curse’ them to a lovesick heart.” He grunted with another pull. "Gifts break the spell.”

I tied the ribbons into a bow, then angled toward his front. “Any gift?”

“For our bet, aye. But let’s direct to our tribe’s needs as much as possible.” Cian ran a hand through the silky waves of his golden hair before turning and the air caught in my lungs.

Those disheveled locks would be my downfall one day. And I swore he did it on purpose just to torture my Raven urge to preen my mate.

Mate . . .

My heart stumbled a beat.

Before I could stop myself, I reached out and brushed a few strands from his beautiful gray eyes and . . . his gaze caught on the scrape on my upper cheek. Fear paled across his face for a mere second. He blinked rapidly and looked away.

Oh no, he wouldn’t retreat over an accident.

He was nothing like Hamish MacCullough.

I understood his fear, though. Well, not personally. But I didn’t need intuition magic to see how my injury triggered his trauma. If that despicable mortal wasn’t rotting in jail right now, I would peck at his mind by any means possible until he broke the way he had tried to break his family.

I lowered my hand from Cian’s hair to straighten the front of the corset. To snap him out of his self-loathing, I pretended to push up his breasts and his lips twitched.

“Owen is right,” I said. “You do have nice he-vage.”

“I’m offended you needed Owen to point out something so obvious.” Cian unbuttoned his pants. “Also, pink rouge is an excellent choice for my complexion.”

“Pink doesn’t convey ‘I’m-an-upstaging-hoyden.’” I stepped out of the skirt and petticoats I’d untied from around my waist and handed them to him. “Red does—”

“Feck. Me,” Cian moaned. His lids lowered in a heady look that fluttered the muscles of my stomach. “I might go feral over this.” His fingers caressed a pink garter ribbon around my black-stockinged thigh. “Is this new?”

It wasn’t. I had nicked the decorative underpinning from a dalliance a couple of years ago and wore it only when I meant business. Like beating Cian at his own game.

“Oh aye.” Schooling my face, I took his pants from his hands and tossed them beside his shirt on the bush next me. “A gift from George last night, it is.”

His gaze darted to the phallus boot of nightmares perched on the ground beside us then back to my ribbon- and rosette-festooned garter. “That wee traitorous bastard.”

I shrugged. “George has a list—”

“A list?!”

“Aye, he can read.”

The betrayed shock on Cian’s face was so comical I burst into laughter.

“One . . .” I sputtered out, “does not question . . . the thieving ways of . . . a faerie raccoon.” I was laughing so hard, I could barely throw Cian’s words to me two weeks ago back at his wide-eyed, slack-jawed face.

But you couldn’t lie to Cian Merrick. Not for long, at least.

Mischief darkened his smiling eyes. I took a single step back, sputtering another laugh. Cian pounced before I could shift and I squealed, dashing out of his grasp. To crow taunts from an upper branch would be the icing on the cake. The bite of happiness I craved. He wrapped his arm around my waist and spun me to face him.

“The punishments I have planned for you . . .” he teased across my lips. “But not in the woods so close to camp.”

“Remember who gives you treats.”

He grinned, a boyish, rascally kind, and excitement shivered in my roaring veins. “Treats or treats ?”

Rather than answer in words, I brushed my mouth against his. “Our bet,” I murmured, trailing my hand down his chest, lower, lower, stopping to grip his hipbone. “If I win—”

“Aye?” His quickened breaths pulsed against my lips. Very little separated our bodies. I was in only a camisole, drawers, and stockings. He was in my corset and his drawers. “If you win . . . ?”

“George is mine to direct for an entire month.”

“Two weeks,” Cian quickly countered. “For fashion only.”

My brows shot up. “What other talents does George possess?”

“George moves in mysterious ways, Glennie Lo.”

With a roll of my eyes, I started to pull away. “No more treats for you.”

Cian tightened his hold on me. “Three weeks, you minx.”

“Deal,” I practically chirped in victory.

“When I win”— Cian grinned that up-to-no-good smile again—“you’ll call me your sex god during—”

I grimaced. “Full-blooded gods save me from this half-blooded eejit.”

“They didn’t save you from worshiping me when you thought I was sleeping.”

He arched a brow.

I arched mine back.

Wait.

“Thought?” My eyes thinned. “How long were you awake?”

“From the moment you touched my lips.” He tapped my nose with a wink. “You’ll call me your sex god a minimum of three times when I win—”

“If.”

“No, darlin’, when .”

I made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a taunting laugh. “One time.”

“Two times.”

“One time, Cian.” I stepped back to ensure he got the full measure of my flirty ire. “One. Time.”

“You’ll make it loud, too.”

“Are you asking me to fake an orgasm for you?”

A devilish corner of his mouth lifted. “So, they’ve all been real?”

I threw my head back in a laugh so loud, the forest momentarily quieted. The arse already knew the truth and was riddling me into proving how he was clearly a god in bed before winning that confession from my lips.

“You’re shameless.”

“You forgot the hussy part.”

“And pet your ego?”

He heaved a dramatic sigh. “One time,” he drew out, lifting my leg to his hip. “And,” he added, caressing my thigh, “I get to wear your garter ribbon tonight.”

“That’s my lucky battle ribbon, so no, lad.”

“ Battle ribbon?”

“Aye, accept defeat.”

“I’ll surrender to you”— Cian caged me against the oak tree with one arm—“only on my back while you cry out, ‘Cian, my sex god—'”

To shut the man up, I crushed my mouth to his. He was so infuriating. But sweet moons, his lips were blessed by the gods. The fingers wrapped around my thigh splayed. Strands of his wavy hair draped down my face and I was quickly forgetting my irritation with his riddling ways. Just to rest in his arms, to hear his beautiful heart sing to mine, to know the reverent touch of his laughing soul . . . was a completeness incomparable to anything .

Cian smiled into our kiss for a mere second, then he grabbed my other thigh, hoisting me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist as we fell against the tree at my back.

“You’re a craving I never want sated,” he whispered. The hands gripping my hips ground me against his hardened cock and my breath caught on a soft moan. “My gorgeous Gent of Fem . . .”

That honeyed tongue of his teased my bottom lip. Then his mouth was on mine once more and this kiss . . . this kiss, it devoured me. The hungry way his lips feasted on mine, the sensual dance of his body moving to our pounding heartbeats, I was quickly unraveling.

Let him win every argument.

Every competition, so long as—

Cian’s entire body went rigid. Our kiss froze. My heart stopped with the sudden intensity rippling down his muscles.

“What is it?”

“That wee bastard,” he swore under his breath.

My head fell against the tree in a quiet groan. Twice today, that wee bastard had murdered the mood. Not only that, but Cian had the attention span of a bee drunk on nectar, buzzing and bumbling from one flower to another.

With a sigh, I rolled my head to peer where Cian was looking.

There, beside the vomitous red boot, was its equally as nauseating mate.

. . . How?

For as sweet as George was, in this moment, he was a tad terrifying.

Cian lowered me to the ground. In two strides, he snatched the boots and circled in place, his gaze furiously sweeping across the forest.

A soft chuff sounded nearby, one too quiet for Cian’s mortal ears to pick up.

Barry .

I cracked a smile. I couldn’t help it.

Cian halted his circling a few seconds later, narrowed his eyes, and pointed a boot into the woods past my head. “George, I see you.”

The raccoon chittered.

Cian straightened. “You did what ?”

I peered around the tree, but I couldn’t find the thieving lad.

“Don’t you dare run off!” A split second later, Cian gasped, then kicked into a run. “Come back here, you fluffy, cuddly arse!”

I caught a glimpse of George and Barry dashing into the underbrush, Cian hot on their trail.

I blew a wisp of hair from my eyes, holding back a giggle, and studied the lowering sun to gauge the hour. A dewy chill was falling over the autumn-blushed woods. I rubbed at my prickling arms.

No point in remaining in my undergarments for a man who would rather chase a raccoon than my racing pulse. Turning back to our clothes, I whistled a tune to myself and grabbed his shirt, suspenders, and trousers, and quickly dressed. The final touch? Rhylen’s top hat. My brother was gracious enough to let me borrow it for the night.

Cian shouted again and, this time, I full-on laughed.

Those two heroes deserved a dozen frosted cookies each for their mischief.

And I would join them.

Snatching my bodice and skirts, I jogged back toward camp, unable to stop my laughter.