Untamed - A. G. Howard Page 0,75
a set of contractions hitting me in a flourish of electric pain. I wail as it runs the length of my torso, then through my lower back and upper thighs. Fingers of blue light, so like Morpheus’s magic—yet entirely unique to the one causing them—follow the path of the spasms beneath the sheets and inside my belly. I tuck my head under the edge of my pillow, whimpering.
Gossamer and the other sprites give up their chase to poke their heads through the space between Morpheus’s body and the water canopy, curious and concerned.
Morpheus rubs my abdomen and glowers at them. “Why are you all flitter-flattering in midair like mindless twits? This isn’t some pageant put on for your amusement! You’ve no business being in this room lessen you have a task, aye?”
Gasping at his ill-tempered outburst, they retreat to chase the toys once more.
“All this hovering is inane and senseless . . . and not in the good way,” Morpheus grumps. “May as well have charged admission. We should keep that in mind for next time.”
“Next time?” I sob, trying to breathe through a contraction. “No, no next time. I won’t survive this time.”
“Of course you will. Do you not remember? We both saw the vision in your blood mosaic a few weeks ago. We’ll be welcoming a daughter after our son turns five.” His is the voice of gentle and measured reason, a stark contrast to the teasing lunacy he usually emanates. “Now, stop worrying about what’s happening out there. For you hold me captive here.” He lifts his wings so I can no longer watch what’s happening outside, so I’m grounded on our bed where it’s just us and our own little island adrift on raw emotions and soft-spoken ploys. “This is the perfect opportunity to take advantage and regain your pride. Or perhaps you don’t mind that I trampled you at chess yesterday morn.”
The pain recedes and I unclench my jaw. “No, I won,” I manage.
He narrows his eyes. “I had the checkmate, luv.”
“But it was strip chess, remember?”
His gaze tours my body. “Oh, I remember that detail vividly.”
“So, with each counterattack you executed . . . I dropped another piece of clothing. With each glimpse of skin . . . you found it harder to concentrate. In the end—chessmen and checkmates aside—all you could think of was how much you wanted me. Isn’t it me then, who ultimately captured her opponent’s king?”
An appreciative laugh rumbles in his chest. “Sneakie-deakie.”
I laugh with him, and then stop myself. As unbelievable as it seems, tears glisten along his beautiful face in the candlelight. Not only the gems, clear and pristine, but rivulets of water that capture the glow like tiny currents of lightning along his luminous skin. He hasn’t realized they’re there yet.
“You’ve been crying,” I accuse, gently.
“Have not,” he retorts.
“Have, too.”
“Well, I’m not the queen, so I can cry all I like.”
He said those very words to me on our last night together before I left to live my human days in the mortal realm. It’s the loveliest of rarities—to have his feelings exposed and him helpless to stop them. He’s usually either in complete control or manipulative enough to force my hand before he shows his.
As moved as I am, I’m holding the ace this time, and I can’t let human tenderness sway me. I’m one of the two most powerful netherlings in the Red Kingdom, and I won’t miss this chance. Who knows when my rival will surrender again without making me work for it?
“Flatter me,” I insist with a wicked, teasing smile. “As the official winner of the chess game, I get to choose your penalty. I demand words of persuasion and praise.”
Morpheus glares at some sprites wriggling through the water curtain’s spaces. They pause at my lips to offer sips of cooled cherry treacle to give me positive energy. Afterward, they fluff my pillow and move down to straighten the blankets.
He waits until they’re pulling up the sheets at my feet before focusing all his attention on me. “Your beauty terrifies me,” he says, swiping his tear-slicked cheeks with the back of his ruffled sleeve.
I smile wider, because it’s exactly what I want to hear, and he knows it.
The sprites stall in midair and swoon at their master’s unprecedented lovelorn display, their reflective dragonfly gazes moonstruck.
“Privacy, pets,” Morpheus snarls, and they scramble out from the canopy. He folds his wings low around my head and arms, shutting out everything and offering solitude within the