House of Sky and Breath (Crescent City #2) by Sarah J. Maas

“Sealed with you jumping in front of a bomb for me.”

“It’s disturbing when you make jokes about that, Quinlan.”

She chuckled, kissing his jaw. Hunt’s body tensed, readying for another touch. Begging for another touch. She said, “I made the Drop for you. And offered to sell myself into slavery in your stead. I think I’m allowed to joke about this shit.” He nipped at her nose. But she pulled back, gaze meeting his. Hunt let her see everything that lay there. “I knew the moment you went snooping for my dildos.”

Hunt burst out laughing. “I can’t tell if that’s the truth.”

“You handled Jelly Jubilee with such care. How could I not love you for it?”

He laughed again, ducking to brush a kiss to her warm throat. “I’ll take that.” He traced his fingers down her hip, the threadbare softness of her old T-shirt snagging against his callused skin. He kissed her collarbone, inhaling the scent of her, his cock stirring. “So what now?”

“Sex?”

He grinned. “No. I mean, fuck yes, but I don’t want an audience.” He gestured over his shoulder and wing to the wall behind him. “Shall we get a hotel room somewhere in the city?”

“Somewhere on another continent.”

“Ah, Quinlan.” He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her temple. He whispered into her ear, “I really want to fuck you right now.”

She shuddered, arching against him. “Same.”

His hand slid from her waist to cup her ass. “This is torture.” He slipped his hand under her oversize shirt, finding her bare skin warm and soft. He traced his fingers along the seam of her lacy thong, down toward her thighs. Heat beckoned him, and she sucked in a breath as he halted millimeters short of where he wanted to be.

But she placed a hand on his chest. “What do I call you now?”

The words took a moment to register. “What?”

“I mean, what are we? Like, dating? Are you my boyfriend?”

He snorted. “You really want to say you’re dating the Umbra Mortis?”

“I’m not keeping this private.” She said it without an ounce of doubt. She brushed her fingers over his brow. Like she knew what it meant to him.

Hunt managed to ask, “What about Cormac and your ruse?”

“Well, after all that, I guess.” If they survived. She whooshed out a breath. “Boyfriend sounds weird for you. It’s so … young. But what else is there?”

If he had a star on his chest, Hunt knew it’d be glowing as he asked, “Partner?”

“Not sexy enough.”

“Lover?”

“Does that come with a ruff and lute?”

He swept a wing over her bare thigh. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a pain in the ass?”

“Just ye olde lover.”

Hunt hooked his finger under the strap of her thong and snapped it. She yowled, swatting away his hand.

But Hunt grabbed her fingers, laying them on his heart again. “What about mate?” Bryce stilled, and Hunt held his breath, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing. When she didn’t reply, he went on, “Fae have mates, right? That’s the term they use.”

“Mates are … an intense thing for the Fae.” She swallowed audibly. “It’s a lifetime commitment. Something sworn between bodies and hearts and souls. It’s a binding between beings. You say I’m your mate in front of any Fae, and it’ll mean something big to them.”

“And we don’t mean something big like that?” he asked carefully, hardly daring to breathe. She held his heart in her hands. Had held it since day one.

“You mean everything to me,” she breathed, and he exhaled deeply. “But if we tell Ruhn that we’re mates, we’re as good as married. To the Fae, we’re bound on a biological, molecular level. There’s no undoing it.”

“Is it a biological thing?”

“It can be. Some Fae claim they know their mates from the moment they meet them. That there’s some kind of invisible link between them. A scent or soul-bond.”

“Is it ever between species?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and ran her fingers over his chest in dizzying, taunting circles. “But if you’re not my mate, Athalar, no one is.”

“A winning declaration of love.”

She scanned his face, earnest and open in a way she so rarely was with others. “I want you to understand what you’re telling people, telling the Fae, if you say I’m your mate.”

“Angels have mates. Not as … soul-magicky as the Fae, but we call life partners mates in lieu of husbands or wives.” Shahar had never called him such a thing. They’d rarely even used the term lover.

“The Fae won’t differentiate. They’ll use their intense-ass definition.”

He studied her contemplative face. “I feel like it fits. Like we’re already bound on that biological level.”

“Me too. And who knows? Maybe we’re already mates.”

It would explain a lot. How intense things had been between them from the start. And once they crossed that last physical barrier, he had a feeling the bond would be even further solidified.

So … maybe they were already mates, by that Fae definition. Maybe Urd had long ago bound their souls, and they’d needed all this time to realize it. But did it even matter? If it was fate or choice to be together?