The Heartbreak Show (Bound By Ravens #3)

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Glenna Lonan

Cian’s lips were a faerie tale. Just the barest hint of his kiss was poison to my already weak-for-him pulse. The honeyed words of love and lust they formed against my skin an enchantment. And oh how the sensual curve of his mouth lit ritual bonfires across my body, each licking flame of his tongue a seductive curl of magic.

I could kiss him for an eternity of eternities.

But, right now, as his trembling lips pressed to mine in a rare, vulnerable search for comfort, I broke for him anew. Stars, I was so angry. Hamish MacCullough better remain behind bars or I might end up there next.

How many times could my heart break for Cian Merrick? And be mended only to break again by his kindness? From his strength and resilience? I was so in love with his illuminating laughter and playfulness after enduring so much darkness, I couldn’t stand for the shadows of his past to dampen even a flicker of his light.

Who cared if he wore a dress?

If he enjoyed lace and cosmetics and ribbons?

If he presented as a woman some days and a man most of the others?

If he responded to she and she responded to him?

Only mortals would decide how the slide of shears across fabric cut from the same bolt decided one’s gender. How the stitch of needles assigned one’s identity. And how, to be true to oneself, it often required an unsafe public display of wearing the clothing labeled as only male and only female.

The fae didn’t give a dying star’s arse about any of that nonsense. We were born from nature’s magic. And true magic began with one’s true nature.

Cian possessed a level of bravery I had never needed to know.

He had remained such a happy, caring soul too.

Despite his fear of becoming what he hated, the only time I had known him to raise a hand was during Bryok’s wedding reception, when we had walked from the confectionary wagon to our family’s cookfire. Fae from a different tribe were escorting Hamish from the revel and the man was rabid drunk. Recognizing Cian, he had broken free from the middle-ranks gripping him and sprinted toward us. Cian jumped in front of me just as Hamish grabbed his arm, raising his fist . . . but Cian punched him across the jaw first in self-defense.

Knocking him out cold.

The Folk carried that disgusting man’s body out of the market, grateful for the dead weight instead of the monster’s thrashing.

When his da was no longer in sight, Cian began hyperventilating, his body shaking to the point of clacking teeth. He could barely string together a coherent sentence. My happy-go-lucky, bawdy-tongued, quick to laugh Cian was shattering in my arms. I held him behind the trees as he furiously wiped away tears, my rage building until I thought I would hunt down that man’s unconscious body and make it a corpse.

His panic over having to explain himself to others only made his shambling emotions worse. So, I had conjured a story we’d act out when he was calmer, about feeding him cake infused with first kiss magic. And it worked. The others believed his anxiety and tremors were exactly that—from a silly prank.

I didn’t know that was his da, then. Only that a mortal had called him Cillian with vile slurs about his personhood while threatening to sell him to Seren.

But that moment cemented our twining hearts.

I was willing to be his comfort, his place of safety, however he needed me—through friendship, sex, a listening ear. Knowing the idea of an “us” was impossible. Believing that he would, in the end, break my pining heart.

I loved him, gods how I loved him.

I gritted my teeth against the memories.

My mate could be kind and playful to those who showed him judgement. But if anyone dared touch him again, I would peck their eyes out to feed to my wood raven cousins in payment to deny their mortal soul passage into the Otherworld.

Cian’s hand trailed down the dusty rose silk bodice he now wore. He visibly swallowed.

“You are so beautiful.” I tapped his chest, just above his heart, and added, “ You , Cian. All of you .”

“I feel . . .” A shaky breath loosened from his chest. “I feel beautiful.”

“I’ll let you upstage me, but only this once.” A corner of his mouth quirked up. I played with a long strand of the wig’s blonde hair. Moons above, I couldn’t resist preening even his wig’s sunny locks. “Georgie Lo?”

Cian play-gasped. “Georgie Mer .”

The raccoon appeared at my feet, a glove in one hand, a gent’s snood in the other.

“Georgie Lo , when I win the final bet, I want a similar darted bodice cut but with a squared neckline and slightly larger puffed shoulder seams. Pair the top with a tighter fitted, gored bustle skirt. I prefer padded over caged, too.”

“ If you win,” Cian drawled back.

George peered up at Cian.

“Losing tomorrow’s show still guarantees my win.”

George’s head swiveled back toward me.

“ Only fashion services, Glenna.” Those storm cloud eyes of his thinned on me.

“Are you admitting defeat?”

“Feck no. But I see your plans, darlin’. No more wig st—”

“Her name is Cordelia.”

Cian’s face twisted in a mild grimace. Biting back a snort, I pet her bald head, now firmly back onto her pedestal.

“Georgie Mer ”—Cian began unlacing the garter ribbon I had tied around his wrist the other day—“fetch my parasol, please.”

His familiar dashed off.

Cian lifted his heavy skirts and began tying my battle ribbon just above his knee, below the hemline of his silk stocking. He peered up at me through lowered lashes, a flirty tilt to his smile. Heat shot through my core, but I kept my face impassive. Not that it mattered. He would see through my mask.

The sound of voices moved through the woods. Owen’s laughter and Corbin’s swearing the loudest of them all. Why were they here for the Ladies of Lugh and cow heist strategizing session? Finn’s green head popped around the bend first, Kalen at his side. The pair waltzed up without batting an eyelash Cian’s way.

Owen, however, skidded to a tipsy stop, eyes round and mouth agape, making Corbin stumble into him from behind. The lad swore again. But the words died on his tongue when spotting Cian.

“Damn,” Owen said with an appreciative whistle and Cian blushed.

He actually blushed from his friend’s approval.

That he feared their rejection so deeply sharpened my talons all over again. Aye, he looked far more like a beautiful woman with a wig than without, but he was still the same person inside and out.

“Always was the prettiest bird of us all, she is,” Corbin added.

“Aye,” Owen agreed. “A fine looker, our Lady of Man.”

Corbin nodded. “Sorry, Glennie Lo, but she’ll break more hearts than you dressed like that.”

“It’s the he-vage.” Owen winked at Cian with a slow, playful grin.

“Obviously.” Cian puckered his lips at Owen.

One of Kalen’s midnight brows arched. “He-vage?”

Cian fluttered a hand in the air. “Male cleavage.”

Finn’s lips twitched.

“Well, darlin’,” Cian said to Kalen, “tonight, is it?”

“Absolutely not,” I cut in before Kalen could answer. “You’ve barely slept and these two eejits are far too scuttered for the train station.”

Cian had, at least, sobered considerably. But Owen had a noticeable slur to his words and was swaying slightly on his feet.

Corbin cocked his head. “The train station?”

“Gent of Fem,” Cian sighed, “I have two strapping lads, with wings , at my disposal.”

“You actually trust this fluthered gobshite to carry you to Seren?”

“Aye and carry me like a swooning damsel in distress too.”

Owen stretched out his wings with an inviting flex and I ground out an irritated sigh.

Corbin raised a hand. “Why are we going to Seren?”

Cian placed a hand to Corbin’s mouth and shushed, never taking his eyes off of Owen. “I’ve waited my whole life for you, Mr. Delaney.” The dramatic arse then jumped into Owen’s waiting arms, circling his hands around Owen’s neck with a loud, sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Let’s fly off into the sunset, you vanilla feathered beast.”

For a flicker of a heartbeat, I swore a stricken look flitted across Corbin's expression. But it had to be a trick of shadows. The lad was clearly smiling at the way Cian had dramatically draped himself across Owen’s arms.

I rolled my eyes and turned to Finn and Kalen for help, but those two eejits were laughing too. Males were ridiculous. Especially when Cian fluttered around teasing and flirting like the demi-god butterfly of revelry he was.

Well, there were two proven ways to gain a male’s captive attention and one of them was not an option here. The other aligned far more with my magic anyway.

I plopped my fists onto my hips. “The plan, you dolts. Or you’ll be forced to watch the rest of us feast on desserts all week while you survive on porridge for every meal.”

Corbin’s eyes flew wide. “Plan for what—”

“Unsalted, unsweetened porridge,” I punctuated. “The thick, gummy portion scraped from the bottom of the pot.”

Owen dropped Cian and straightened.

“Really?” Cian groaned from the ground. “Greening my gown without any of the fun?”

Owen rolled his bottom lip in to contain another bout of laughter. Wise lad to choose my cookies over Cian’s innuendos. I might box the male’s ears if he encouraged that prancing strumpet’s antics even a fraction of another breath.

I marched in front of the fellas, my glare sharp, my smile sharper, my wings fluffed in warning. Only Kalen met my icy stare and with an appreciative tip of his head.

“Owen”—I pointed a finger in his face and he flinched—“you’ll bargain for Cian’s safety if the chancer attracts the Carrion Crime Syndicate.” That was Cian’s specialty—messing around instead of sticking to a plan all the while flirting with the spotlight. “Corbin?”

“Aye,” he said quickly, standing straighter.

“Be the voice of reason, please.”

He sighed with the weariness of an overworked, sleep-deprived mam with a large brood underfoot. “Aye. So why are we going to— fecking gods .” Corbin pointed to the shadows behind me. “Is that an impaled head?”

Kalen looked to where Corbin indicated and went deathly still. But, to his credit, he didn’t react beyond that. Not like Finn and Cian, who practically clutched each other in primal fear when not gagging.

The strange way Owen studied me, one would think I had turned into a sluagh carrion monster of ancient wild fae lore. “You hid the body from the authorities, aye?”

It was sweet they thought me capable of senseless murder.

“This,” I said with delight, “is my new pet, a wig stand gift from George.”

“Thank the stars,” Owen said, deflating against Corbin. “Rhylen would have our heads.”

“Not a pet,” Cian warned. “That face of horrors stays in the woods. End of discussion.”

“Looks like someone is sleeping with the horses,” I cooed to Cordelia and kissed her head. “We’ll miss the Lady of Man, won’t we?”

“Aye, you will.” Cian’s smile was smug. “Take an extra blanket with you, Gent of Fem.”

I sucked in a shocked breath.

A corner of his mouth tilted higher.

My eyes narrowed farther.

“So . . .” Corbin cleared his throat. “What’s in Seren?”

“My cow—”

“—His cow,” Cian and I said at the same time.

“And a tacky Lughnasadh’s Day hat,” I added, “worn by a dozen Ladies of Lugh.”

Owen opened his mouth and promptly shut it.

Corbin blinked a few times. “We’re risking the Carrion Crime Syndicate’s disfavor over a cow and a religious hat? Does Rhylen know of this featherbrained plan?”

“No.” Cian sashayed closer. “And here’s why.”