This bonus scene takes place sometime after To Enthrall the Demon Lord.
***
Maeve’s phoenix felt him before she did.
Ever since it had woken from its millennia-long slumber and had truly fused with Maeve’s being in peaceful coexistence, it had started to enhance her senses. All her life, Maeve had struggled with not just being powerless among witches and otherworld creatures, but also with her aggravatingly dull human senses.
Well, she struggled no longer.
Thanks to her phoenix, she now enjoyed such acute hearing, sharp sight, and a more sensitive sense of smell that she was on par with, if not even better equipped than, many otherworld creatures.
Not to mention the power that emanated from her. Merle had told her it was a constant hum of primal magic, an almost visible halo of energy that tasted age-old and somewhat terrifying. No wonder all of the beings she encountered in Arawn’s territory parted before her with barely concealed awe. At first, she’d figured that reaction was due to her status as Arawn’s mate and consort, which apparently made her the “lady” of all his creatures—something she still hadn’t gotten used to.
But over time, she’d come to understand that a large part of the respect she received was based on her own inherent power.
It was a novel feeling, knowing that she could now hold her own among all of these beings. That she wasn’t weak and vulnerable anymore.
The phoenix inside her preened with pride.
And right now, as Maeve sat on the couch in the cabin Arawn had built for her as a replacement for the one she’d burned down, the phoenix sent its tendrils of magic out into the night, toward the dark energy of the fallen god who held her heart. With a smile, Maeve lowered the book she was reading down to her lap and peered through the window at the little bridge strung with fairy lights. She couldn’t see him yet in the dark, but her phoenix’s magic felt him, and the beacon of power inside her—connected to him—pulsed as he drew near.
Her breath stalled as he finally stepped into the light. Never would she get tired of that first impact of seeing him. The punch of power in the air, the way shadows clung to his form, dark energy rippling around him. How the light of the little lamps didn’t reflect on his black hair, but instead seemed to be swallowed whole, as if losing themselves in the depth of him. The way he moved with the quiet grace of a large predator who almost seemed to shift the air itself to make way for him.
How everything hushed at his approach, except for her wildly thumping heart.
Her phoenix rustled her feathers inside her as he entered the cabin. He wore black slacks and a maroon dress shirt that stretched deliciously over his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. This was Arawn as casual as he would get, except for when he donned those loose, flowing pants when he exercised or had just changed out of one of his animal forms.
His dark green eyes found her, lighting with a spark that was wholly for her. He never looked at anyone else this way, and it fed a possessive, petty little part of her with the sensual equivalent of the most exquisite candy.
Mine, she thought. He is mine.
Those forest-filled eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement a faint trace along the mating bond. “So I am told,” he said, his voice a rumble in the small space of the cabin. “Repeatedly. By this lovely little wildfire.”
Grinning, she made grabby-hands motions toward him. “Come here.”
He complied without hesitation, this male who was as ancient as the firebird inside her, who ruled over thousands of creatures and bowed to no one. Hers was the only command he was ever inclined to follow, and it did strange, wonderful things to her belly.
As soon as he sat down next to her on the sofa, she wiggled closer, snuggling up to him. He tunneled the fingers of one hand through her unbound hair, tilted her head and gave her one of those bone-melting kisses.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered against his lips.
She’d last seen him this morning, after which he’d left to deal with all those many things in his dominion that required his attention. Only one day of not seeing him, but she’d already yearned for his presence, his touch.
“How much?” A sly note in his murmured question, a hint of the mischievous playfulness that he only ever showed with her.
“This…” She started unbuttoning his shirt, and his energy hummed with pleasure. “…much.”
And then she flattened her ice-cold hands on his abdomen.
He jolted. His power seemed to stutter.
She bit back her grin at his reaction, amusement fizzing in her blood. It was such a delight to startle him like this, seeing as he was so unflappable most of the time. Powerful, restrained Arawn, always in control, unshakable and calm…twitching at the touch of small, icy hands.
“You,” he said, taking her hands with utmost patience and positioning them on an even warmer patch of skin on his stomach, wincing only a little, “have the fire of a phoenix inside you. How, with the power of the flames of your line, can your hands be colder than the reaches of the arctic?”
A tiny chuckle escaped her. “I’m a woman?”
He raised a dark brow and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “the death of me.”
Now laughing outright, she snuggled closer and tucked her head against his shoulder, under his chin. “You know what I’ve been meaning to ask you?”
“How I am able to withstand targeted ice attacks on my body?”
She swatted at him with one of those ice hands. “I can always take off my socks and place my feet on you as well.”
He shuddered.
“I was wondering,” she went on. “How do you know you’ve got a terrible singing voice?”
He drew back a bit to peer at her, a question in those eyes full of shadows and secrets.
At his puzzled look, she elaborated, “Remember how I told you that your familiarity with wild animals could qualify you as a fairy-tale princess from the movies?”
The lines around his eyes deepened, and one corner of his mouth quirked up just the tiniest bit. “Ah, yes. That was the day you bombarded me with your erotic dream about me.”
Of course he’d remember that. Heat shot up to her face. “Yes, well,” she said, clearing her throat, “before that, you told me you wouldn’t make a good fairy-tale princess because you have a terrible singing voice.”
“I do.”
She squinted at him. “How do you know? I feel like there’s a story.”
A glint in his eye. “There is.”
She gave him a look. “Aaaaaaaand?”
He uttered a long-suffering sigh. “It is because of Lucía.”
That made her lips twitch into a smile. “Oh, that promises to be good.”
“Hm.”
With an effortless gesture, he swept her legs up, pulled off her socks, and wrapped his hands around her feet. Given the size of his hands, and how tiny her feet were, he was actually able to cover them almost from toe to heel, rubbing them for extra warmth.
The maneuver had dislodged her hands from his waist and pushed her to recline so she was now lying sideways on the sofa with her feet in his lap, but she didn’t mind one bit. Her hands were now quite toasty, thanks to Arawn’s immense heat.
“When Lucía was a little girl,” he began, his deep voice stroking over her skin as much as the massaging touch of his hands on her feet, “just a few years after she had been surrendered, her foster mother gave her a karaoke machine for her birthday. One of those small pieces of infernal technology, with an attached microphone and speakers to blare the music. Lucía loved it. She carried it everywhere, slung around her shoulder with a strap. And even as young as she was, she had a way to get people to do whatever she wanted.”
A grin flirted with Maeve’s mouth. “I can just imagine her as a little girl, with all that charm.”
“You could say charm.” He massaged her feet. “I would say blackmail and manipulation.”
She raised a brow.
He sent her a dark look tempered with affection. “Do not ever forget that Lucía is half cat.”
She snickered at that.
“She made everyone sing with her. From the lowliest creature stalking my realm to the most aloof nymphs and reclusive demons. No one was safe. One moment her victims deemed themselves in control of their lives, and the next they found themselves atop a table with her and singing Like A Virgin.”
Maeve doubled over with giggles. “Did she make you sing with her?”
His expression was smug. “No.” His hand slid from her foot up her calf underneath her loose yoga pants, trailing fire in its wake. “Though she tried her best to make me do it. She pleaded, she cajoled, she coaxed, she threatened, she pouted, and she attempted hostile negotiation. I was the last holdout. Everyone else had already sung with her. Getting me to do it would be the ultimate prize. But I do not bend to coercion, no matter how cute. With one exception.” Here, his gaze caught hers, a world of meaning in that heated stare.
She bit her lip, her entire body tingling. “What happened then?”
“Her foster mother died.”
Her breath hitched. “Oh.”
“A tragic accident. Lucía took it hard. Mireille had been the first person to unequivocally love Lucía, to take her in and keep her. For all intents and purposes, she was Lucía’s mom, with all the affection and loyalty that go with it. Her biological parents had thrown Lucía away like trash, and now her new mother was dead.”
“Oh, gods.” Stark sympathy welled up inside her, heat pricking her eyes. She knew so well what it was like to lose one’s mother.
Arawn’s voice was grim. “She would not talk, would not play. A child so bright that she had always illuminated every room she entered, and now she hid in her bedroom in her new foster family’s home. She would sit on her bed, in utter silence, for weeks and weeks, while the karaoke machine collected dust in the corner.”
Her heart broke at his words, at the picture he painted. She couldn’t imagine Lucía, quirky, sociable, bubbly Lucía, ever being silent.
“I brought in healers,” Arawn continued. “For the body, for the mind. No one was able to get through to her. She was lost in her grief.” A long, soothing stroke over her lower leg. “But I would not let her fade away. So I did what I thought might be a last resort. I picked up the karaoke machine, and I sang her favorite songs.”
Maeve brought both hands to her mouth, a sweet, sweet feeling unfurling in her chest.
“She did not respond to the first song,” he went on, still rubbing and warming her feet and legs. “So I sang another. And another. At some point, I had to switch out the infernal tape. I do not remember how many songs it took, but I remember her smile when it lit up her face through her tears. She looked up at me, her lips moving to the lines of the song, and in that moment, a spark of her old self came back to her eyes. She ended up singing with me for a little while, and then she threw her tiny arms around me. After that, she started talking again, and soon she was a charming little cub once more.”
Her throat was all closed up, tears clouding her eyes.
“If you were to look into Lucía’s room right now,” Arawn said, a smile in his deep voice, “you would find, high up on her shelf, in a place of honor, an old karaoke machine, always free of dust.”
That did it. Her tears flowed over, and she hiccuped into her hands. Her heart wanted to burst, it was so full of love and bittersweet pain.
“So now you know.” His power whispered over her skin. “This is how I know my singing voice is terrible.”
Maeve shook her head, wiping at her cheeks. “That is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I guess there’s only one question now.”
“And what would that be?”
“How did you know the words to all the songs?”
His answer was a deep laugh, his eyes holding many more secrets.
***
I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into Arawn and Maeve’s life!
