Page 47 of The Unseelie Wish

“No.” He tilted her head to look up at him with the press of a crooked finger beneath her chin. “We have each other.” Leaning down, he kissed her, claiming her lips with his own.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she went on her tiptoes to try to even their height. Izael had a better idea, picking her up by the waist and sitting her down on the countertop. He still had an inch of height on her, but it eased the strain.

When he parted her knees to step between them, she didn’t resist. They were going to die. They were going to die violently, no less. But for now—in this moment—they had each other.

Izael had a much different way of putting it. He broke his kiss, ghosting his lips over her cheek to whisper in her ear. “If I’m going to go along with this crazy plan of yours…I am going to spend the next two days having my fill of you, songbird—in every possible way you can imagine.”

Her cheeks went warm as a shiver ran down her spine. She could imagine a lot of things. Especially after their last row. “I’ll need to be able to walk.” Her voice was breathy, desire instantly clouding her words.

“You’ll be able to walk.” His grin was devious. “If perhaps not in a straight line.”

Alex went to reply—something snarky, probably—but she never had the opportunity. He picked her up without warning and threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes. “Hey!”

One of his arms was banded over her thighs, keeping her still. The other, however, had instantly grabbed a globe of her ass and gave it a squeeze that was hard enough to make her pull in a hiss. “Shush.”

Rolling her eyes, she went along for the ride. She knew better than to get between Izael and something he wanted. Even if that something was her.

Not like she was really going to complain.

Izael preferred to fuck on his sea of pillows, but he understood the allure of human beds. They were springy and soft in a way that pillows were not. In fact, they were positively bouncy, which at least gave him the proper leverage.

He threw Alex down onto the bed, chuckling at the glare she shot him as she landed. “I will do you the favor of staying in my human form. I’d hate to run you too ragged.”

She didn’t argue as he pulled off her clothing, tossing it aside, before letting her strip him of his. He enjoyed watching her hands roam his body, tracing over whatever new configuration his tattoos had decided to take that day. If he focused on them, he could control their shape—but most of the time, they freely did whatever his subconscious felt like summoning.

Climbing on top of her, he captured her lips with his. By the Morrigan, she was intoxicating. He would never tire of how she felt against him—how she felt around him as he wasted no time to get to what they both wanted. Both needed.

She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist as he kept his weight on his knees to better his leverage. This wasn’t about destroying her—taking her—claiming her. This was passion. But this was something else.

This was about them. About the itch he felt in his soul that went far deeper than lust. She wanted to take on Valroy. It amounted to certain death. But she wanted to do it together with him. That made something in his soul soar in a way that simple rutting could not touch.

His songbird did not love him. But the simple fact that she wanted to fight beside him, die beside him—that was enough. And soon, when she used her wish to seal her heart to his, he could die content.

But for now, they were together.

When their dance reached its peak, she muffled her cry of release against his lips, seeking a kiss of her own volition. She clung to him in desperation as he joined her in ecstasy, the sensation of her body locking down around him in bliss too much for him to withstand.

Collapsing atop her, he was careful not to crush her with his weight.

Soon, they would die.

Death would claim two souls that were loved.

How many in the world were not so lucky?

It was amusing to Alex that what she once considered a bout of raucous sex was now, honestly, mundane. Not that it wasn’t good—it was. It really, really was. But the fact that she hadn’t been bent into strange shapes, given bruises, or, y’know, the whole snake thing—made what would have been a momentous occasion seem like the new baseline.

Not that baselines weren’t entirely worth their while. It meant she was conscious and could walk herself to the shower. She could bathe without limping or making a sound when she bent over to pick up the shampoo from the edge of the tub. Small favors.

Izael joined her and managed to keep his hands to himself. Mostly. They didn’t talk as they climbed back into bed, curling up against each other. He was lying on his back, and her head was against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He stroked his hand through her damp hair. They stayed like that for minutes before he spoke. “I would like to go back to that jazz club before we commit suicide-by-Valroy.”

“That’s fair.”

“Is this what love is?” He furrowed his brow as he stared up at the ceiling. “I could live without you. Or I could die with you. And the former seems like a far worse fate than the latter.”

“Yeah, love can do that to you.” She pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him.