Her black hair was a dark cloud on his pillow. Her face was relaxed and peaceful, her tanned skin a soothing sight against his sheets. Even now he could feel her in his arms, feel the heat of her body under his, the warmth of her touch on his skin.
How could he protect her?
"Trust in the Morrigan, Speirr. Never doubt her loyalty to you. Never question her actions. Just know that when she can, she will always help you." Those were the last words his father had ever spoken to him.
Closing his eyes, Talon could still see his father's face in the firelight that night. See the older man's pride and love shining at him as his father embraced him and sent him to bed.
He had held tight to those words, and no one had ever defeated him in battle. Not by ambush or by trickery.
In the end, it had been the enemy at home who had destroyed him. The last person he had suspected.
His cousin had wanted to be king so badly that he had known the only way to power would be to kill off both Talon and Ceara.
Talon had never suspected his cousin of setting up the death of his aunt and uncle.
Talon had learned of the man's treachery only after the Druids had slain him and Ceara.
The night Talon had shown up to take vengeance on his clan, his cousin had confessed everything, trying to get Talon to spare him.
It hadn't mattered. Young, angry, and hurt, Talon had taken his revenge against all of them, and then cast off his emotions and hardened his heart.
Hardened it until a fey beauty had looked up at him on a quiet street with large brown eyes that seared him.
He loved her. Her laughter, her wit.
She had made him feel again. Made him complete.
Without her, he didn't want to live at all.
But he refused to see her killed because of him.
"I have to let her go."
He had no choice.
Zarek stood outside on the upper crosswalk of Jackson Brewery, looking down Wilkinson Street. He had his hands braced on the iron banister as he stared at the people below who were walking along Decatur Street, drifting in and out of shops, restaurants, and clubs.
Word had come down from Acheron that he was supposed to stay inside his townhouse until Mardi Gras. He probably should have listened, but taking orders wasn't exactly something he excelled at anymore.
Besides, the harsh February climate in Alaska kept him housebound entirely too much. He hated feeling trapped.
When he'd left Fairbanks, it had been fourteen below zero. It was currently fifty-seven degrees in New Orleans and even with the chill wind coming off the river, it was nothing like what he was used to.
This was a balmy summer night in comparison.
Though late June and July days in Fairbanks could get as high as the low nineties, by the time the sun set and he could go outside into the eerie twilight that never turned completely dark, he'd be damned lucky to feel a night as warm as this one.
And of course, in the dead of summer in Fairbanks, he'd be really fortunate if he could go outside for more than a few minutes before the sun rose again and forced him back indoors.
For nine hundred years, he'd been banished to that harsh, extreme terrain.
Now at long last, he had a reprieve.
Closing his eyes, Zarek inhaled the air, which was thick with life. He smelled the mixture of foods and river. Heard the sound of laughter and revelry.
He really liked this city. No wonder Talon and Kyrian had claimed it.
He only wished that he could stay here for a little while longer. Stay where there were others of his kind. Where there were people who would talk to him.