She forgot about looking at him in her peripheral vision, forgot about the shadows that crept toward her. It was a choice. She could look at the ugliness, the oddities, the wrongness, or she could let herself enjoy life. She wanted that, pleasure instead of ugliness. Niall was offering it to her.

He leaned closer, his face hovering over the pulse of her throat now. It sounded like he said, "Do you know what I would trade to be with you?" But then he pulled away and distance returned to his voice. "Let me take you to Seth's tonight. I'll sit with you until you sleep if you want, if you'll let me."

"Okay." Leslie felt dizzy, swaying into him.

Niall put a hand on either side of her face. "Leslie?"

"Yes. Please." She felt high, blissed out. It was lovely— and she wanted more.

His lips were close enough that she felt his breath with each word. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

"I said yes."

And he closed the slight distance between them and kissed her. She felt the same rush of fierce winds that she thought she'd heard in his voice. She felt it wrap around her like the air had grown solid and touched her everywhere at once, soft and unyielding at the same time. The ground felt different, like there would be thick moss under her feet if she looked. It was euphoric, but somewhere inside, panic was trying to force itself to the surface. She started to push him away, opened her eyes.

He tightened his hold and whispered, "It's okay. It'll be okay. I can stop. We can … stop."

But it felt like she was at the edge of a chasm, a swirling mass of tastes and colors she hadn't known could exist. The panic fled, and all she could think of was finding a way to reach that chasm, to slide down the slope into it. There was no pain there. There was nothing but ecstacy, mind-numbingly good and soul sating.

"Not stop," she murmured and pressed closer to him.

It isn't okay. She knew that, but she didn't care. Tiny slivers of shadows danced at the edges of her vision, gyrating like they'd stretch up to consume the moon. Or me. And in that moment, she hoped they would succeed.

Chapter 18

As Niall led Leslie through the street toward Seth's train, he wondered just how long he could handle being surrounded by that much steel. This part of the city was painful for any fey other than a regent to visit. It was why he wanted Leslie there, safe from the prying eyes of Irial's fey. It wouldn't stop Irial himself, but it would keep Leslie safe from the rest of the Dark Court—even as it would sicken Niall.

I deserve it, though, the sickness. He'd pushed her boundaries, crossed lines he knew not to broach. After all of this time, he'd come perilously close to giving in to what he was—and she'd die from it if he did.

"Are you still with me?" she asked.

"I am." He turned to look at her and saw them— Bananach and several of Irial's less-obedient faeries. They weren't near enough to see Leslie, but they would be if Niall didn't move her. He pulled her into a shadowed doorway and put his back to the street, keeping her out of their sight. She didn't resist. Instead she tilted her head up so he could kiss her again. Just one more kiss.

When he pulled away he was more careful this time, enjoying the glazed look in her eyes, enjoying the knowledge that he made her feel so close to tumbled, but keeping his glamour firmly in place. He wanted to ask her what she had heard, what she had seen earlier, but that wasn't a conversation he could begin—not with Aislinn's rules still in place, and not with Bananach in the streets behind them.

That's what he should be concentrating on—the threat Bananach posed. Niall turned his head to better see the war-hungry faery, trying to think about safe retreat options. His mind was fuzzy, though. Bananach looked deadly beautiful as always, the raven-feathered head of her true image vying with her glamour of sleek black hair. She was one of the least-mannered faeries who lingered in Irial's court; she was the one who had once unseated Irial and continually sought to do so again—not to hold the court, but to create war within it. That she was prowling the streets with several Ly Ergs in tow did not bode well.

We should go. Now. We should—

Leslie pressed closer to him. He drew another deep breath of the curiously sweet scent that was uniquely her. Mortals always smelled so different. He'd almost forgotten how much he'd enjoyed that. He kissed her neck so she didn't find it odd that he was resting his face there. Bananach hasn't seen us. We have a few more moments. Between kisses, he told Leslie, "I would stay with you always if I could."

And he meant it. Right then, he truly meant it. He'd been too long a part of the Summer Court to mean it for always, and before that he'd been even less capable of fidelity, but in that moment, as he stood pressed against her mortal body, he meant it as fervently as he was able.

Where's the harm in letting her linger with me for a while? If I am careful… She'd only sicken if he left her. He could stay with her for a few decades.

Behind him, he felt the street shiver as Gabriel and several of his Hounds came into it. Niall tensed. He wasn't able to stand against Bananach, Ly Ergs, and Gabriel.

And how do I explain to Leslie?

But when he glanced back, Gabriel and the others were all invisible. Leslie would not see or hear them.

Gabriel dispatched several Hounds whose names Niall did not recall—or care to—and they gleefully went after the Ly Ergs. Then he said, "Get going, boy, unless you want to help."