The wings were so large that she had to step into her nightgown. Bending over to pull it up, she didn't counter the weight and tipped forward. Flinging her wings out for balance, the sound of glass shattering broke the silence.
Sleet barged into the bedchamber. "Are you alright?"
Brushing her hair out of her face, she took his hands and stood. "I can't balance to bend over." There was something unnerving about him seeing her undressed with new wings, and she knelt quickly to snatch the nightgown and cover up.
He walked around the bed to a lamp that lay in pieces on the floor. "It'll just take some getting used to, dewdrop. I—"
Glancing over a shoulder and lowering a wing to see him, she spun around. He stared where the wings connected to her back. Instead of an invisible connection like fairy wings, or even opaque like his, there were tiny feathers that protruded here and there and congregated to form a wing on each side, the two protrusions as thick as Sleet's forearms.
"Do your wings hurt anymore?" he asked softly, seeming more amazed and curious than disgusted.
A small shake of her head brought him closer.
He stopped before her and looked down. "I wish you wouldn't look so ashamed. You're very beautiful."
"Very strange," she corrected.
His eyes rose to the crooks of her wings that were as tall as him. When risen, the wings were taller than him. "Very strange that you don't see how magnificent you are." Then his eyes dropped back down to her.
"The Queen might think you've gone daft if you don't watch your tongue."
In the blink of an eye, he yanked the nightgown from her hands and tossed it over his shoulder. "Oops," he whispered with a rakish smile. Then he pulled his tunic over his head.
"Sleet," she breathed, painfully self-conscious.
"Just let me touch my lovely mate. I promise not to take you." His lips lowered to press a hot kiss on her shoulder as his hands slid around her waist and pulled her body against his warm skin.
"Sleet." But it felt so good to be wanted that the argument came out more like a plea for more.
"I love you, dewdrop," he panted as he yanked off his pants and lifted her onto his hips. His kisses grew rough and demanding while his touches were firm but loving.
A need for his acceptance and love to heal the pain took hold like a need to breathe. He pressed her up against the wall, knocking the dresser out of the way with one swipe of his arm.
"I love you," she breathed, her kisses growing as frantic as his.
"You wings?" Held with one arm as his other hand wandered down her body.
"They don't hurt." Her fingers dug into his back, which seemed to drive him wild.
"Silver, the frenzy," he panted and his tongue dove into her mouth.
Stroking her foot down his leg made him curse under his breath.
"You won't hurt me, my Sleet. Love me."
He spun, flinging her onto the bed and grabbing the headboard, crushing it in his hand and sending pieces falling as he joined her body. "Dewdrop," he begged, his pupils dilated black and his skin flushed as the frenzy started to take over.
"You won't hurt me," she gasped and pulled him down for a kiss as his body perfectly molded to hers.
His wings buzzed, and he became lost to the frenzy for moments at a time. But not once causing pain.
"Dewdrop, I'm so sorry," he panted minutes later and moved to climb off. "Are you hurt?"
But she locked her legs around him. "Mmmm, stay. I'm perfect," she sighed.
He suddenly tensed. "Neverland, I didn't even think that we need birth control."
"Settle," she sighed and closed her eyes in contentment, every muscle so impossibly relaxed. "Spruce said the Queen told him that we can't have a baby for a few weeks after the wing transition." Another sigh as a smile danced on her lips.
"You look like you could purr," he chuckled and eased some of his weight back down on her.
"It's probably good that I didn't know when I had my old wings that you're such a good lover."
"Why's that?" The smile could be heard in his voice.
"Because now you can't fret like a rabbit that you'll break my wings. I think these ones will be much harder to break."
He snorted. "We're only going to do this one other time—when we need to make the next Lord of Winter." He rolled off, but before she could protest, he rolled her onto her belly and pressed a kiss between her wings. His hand firmly held her shoulder when she tried to move. "No. Your wings are perfect. Let me touch, dewdrop."
When she bit her lip and didn't protest, his hand touched at the base and gave a long, slow stroke up toward the peak. It caused a gasp and a slight shiver of pleasure.
He stilled for a moment. And then he pressed a kiss between her wings as he stroked again.
A small cry of pleasure escaped, and she clutched a fistful of the sheets.
"I do believe I like these wings," the evil rake cooed in a husky voice. He ran the tip of his finger along the bottom row of feathers, lightly ruffling them as he kissed her back. A shudder of delight made her back arch.
"Sleet," she protested rather half-heartedly.
"Hush, wife, I'm busy." Then his hand cupped the top edge of her wing, starting at the base at her back, and stroked all the way to the peak and down to the bottom tip.
The world exploded.
He laid on his side and watched her sleep that night. It was rather remarkable. Every time he'd touched her wing after making love, the glow around his heart burst with heat. It was a blend of the kind of glow that she gave when happy, mixed with the burst of heat when making love. Her wings themselves didn't offer her pleasure, it was almost like a psychological reaction—that him wanting to touch them as a part of her and him accepting them made her find pleasure in them being touched.
On one hand, it broke his heart that she needed that acceptance so desperately. On the other, it made him cherish her all the more to be trusted that much when her wings frightened and repulsed her.
The faintest sigh-hum came from her, and she tried to roll over to cuddle against him, as she so often did in the middle of the night. But she whimpered and her eyes shot open. Pressing against the bed with one hand, she raised onto her side and moved her wing out of the way. Then she laid down to face him, giving a sleepy smile and curling up against his chest with her head tucked under his chin.
He draped an arm over her hip and guided her legs to tangle with his to keep her warm. Sleeping indoors for more than a couple consecutive nights often led to insomnia, but it was worth it now and then to hold her this close for hours.
"Sleet?" Her voice was laced with drowsiness.
"Hm?" It came out more like a grunt, but she didn't seem to mind his natural gruffness.
"You said you were born in the Middle East, but you never said what your native language is," she said in Korean, the language she tended to use when tired.
A corner of his lip curled. "You're thinking about that right now?" The little moments during the night like this lessened the frustration with the insomnia.
She hummed her agreement.
"Russian. The man from whose scream I was born came from Russia, but he died in a Middle East riot." Never had he told another soul, mostly because Alamur didn't care where each other were born and all the Bright Fairies assumed he was one of them.
Her head pulled back, and her hair brushed the front of his chin like she looked up at him. He kept his eyes closed. The birth of an Alamur wasn't anything pleasant to speak of since he was born of a murder. It was eery to tell her about it in the middle of the night, too dark for her to know much about.
"I've never heard Russian. Tell me something?"
That won a smile. Of course his dewdrop wouldn't dwell on the evil aspect of it. Opening his eyes, he tilted his head on the pillow to look down at her. Her glow, combined with his, was enough to make out her face.
As he spoke, her eyes lit up with wonder, and she smiled so bright.
"It means, 'I love you, and we should go to sleep so you aren't tired tomorrow.'"
Her giggle broke the silence, and her delicate hand gave a light caress down his cheek. "Russian suits you. But you growl more when speaking Russian than when you speak English or Korean." She squirmed under the sheets for a moment and then sat up to straddle his hips, her nightgown gone.
Sleet's eyes nearly popped from his head as she rolled him onto his back and he absently held her hips between his hands. "Dewdrop—"
"Hush. You need me to wear you out so you can sleep. And no, you won't hurt me." Leaning down, she captured his protest in her mouth and made his instincts take over before he had time to stop her.
"Are you hurt?" he slurred minutes later with eyelids that drooped.
"You're too tired from being up the last few nights to have hurt me. Go to sleep, husband." She laid down beside him. He was breathing deeply before her head rested on his shoulder. With a smile, she kissed the beard stubble on his chin.
The next morning, she rolled over in an empty bed. Even though the sun was still waking up, dishes clanked in the kitchen and the warm, sweet scent of cinnamon rolls filled the air. Cracking a smile, she pushed back the sheets and got out of bed. There were perks to mating someone who was an extremely early riser.
It was Saturday, and there was no desire to do anything but be lazy. Glancing at the back of the bedroom door, her robe hung there alone. A pang of regret hit. Fairies tucked their wings inside a night robe, which was now impossible to do with these giant things. Sleet's robe was gone, which meant he wore it. His was big enough to wear over her wings, although it gave the illusion of a hideous hunchback underneath.
Half of the kitchen was in summer, so if she kept to that side, there probably was no need for a robe. Slipping on her silk nightgown, she opened the door and wandered out.
He wore his dark blue robe and stood barefoot before the stove while cooking eggs. His broad shoulders seemed to take up half the kitchen. Lord Milori and Sled were fairly large sparrowmen, and Fairy Gary's girth made him seem huge. But Sleet had not only large bones but heavy muscling. If someone looked close enough, Sleet's stature was quite different from a Bright Fairy—and much more appealing. Winter sparrowmen tended to have sturdy frames, but Sleet had the frame of a mighty warrior.
"You'll freeze to death."
She blinked.
Sleet march over, shrugging off his robe in the process to reveal that he wore only pajama bottoms. He wrapped the robe around her, still warm from his body.
As he tied it shut around her waist, she set a hand on his bare chest.
He froze and met her eyes. "Oh, no. You don't seem to take it seriously that I could go into a frenzy and rip you apart. Twice yesterday. That's more than enough to last you for the next year," he growled.
Taking a step to close the gap, she rested her cheek on his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle. "Then maybe you shouldn't make me want more."
"Dewdrop," he warned, but his arms wrapped around all the same.
His glow around her heart flickered with sadness, and his voice took on a solemn tone. "Silvermist, I need you to not surprise me again like last night."
Slowly pulling back to look up at him, she let go when he held her upper arms.
"You trust me more than you should." His blue and brown eyes searched hers. "I want you, but there was a moment when you climbed on me and kissed that I lost control."
Her brow furrowed in confusion.
He opened the robe and pulled up the nightgown. A large, purple handprint engulfed most of her hip. "I checked this morning, and the other side is just as bad. I'm so sorry. I don't remember much when the frenzy happens, but I remember feeling your pain. It was the only thing that pulled me out of it before I tore you apart."
A chill ran through. She took a step back, forcing him to drop the nightgown. "You wouldn't actually hurt me."
Grief dulled his eyes. "Normally I wouldn't leave a bruise on you either, much less a deep-tissue bruise. Silvermist, I'm dead serious that I have to be prepared to even kiss. Do you need to see a healer to check that bone didn't crack? I'm so sorry," he croaked.
"Don't try to make me afraid of you."
"I'm trying to help you not be afraid of me after last night." He looked as if he felt ill.
With a single blink, she folded her arms and tilted her chin up to him. "I'm not doing this."
He frowned. "Doing what?"
"You being the big bad monster and me being the delicate little flower that you'll crush at any moment. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a siren, husband, so if you do possibly ever get out of control, I can sing and get you to stop."
His eyebrows rose in surprise. Then he scowled again. "In case you haven't noticed, it takes one second for me to kill—"
Yanking off his robe, she threw it at him. "You squirrel!"
He caught it at the last second, the shock evident on his face. Then he glowered. "I don't even know what that means," he barked.
"You only mated me to protect my glow then?!" she snapped in a slightly raised voice. "For all we know, that doesn't work between a siren and Alamur! I'm not this little thing you have to protect all the time!" She stabbed a finger at her chest. "I killed several creatures! I'm just as evil as you! I—"
He dropped the robe and darted over it to grab her upper arms, rage darkening his face. "You aren't evil. You combusted demons to protect me and all the Bright Fairies." He gave her a soft shake. "Don't ever compare yourself to me and the sick things I've done," he hissed.
Glaring up at him, she clenched her teeth. "I can feel it—how angry you are, that you should want to hurt me. But you don't. You're not a damn Alamur," she hissed right back.
Letting go, he turned away and leaned his hands on the counter, taking a deep breath. "You're so free to gamble with your life," he growled. "If only you knew the things I've done—"
Stepping behind him, she set a hand on his arm and slowly leaned in close to rest her head on his back.
He stiffened.
"You're so frightened of yourself," she whispered, aching from his grief that flickered in his glow. "Instead of pushing me away, you need to talk to me. I'm not a Bright Fairy, Sleet. I can handle more than you think."
"What if you can't?" he asked softly. So softly that he almost sounded broken. "The darkness is always in me. What if I tell you too much and it gets into you? I didn't even know that I gave you more darkness after your wing was injured. I almost killed you." The last words faded, as if he could barely get them out. "I'm so afraid every day that I could go into a frenzy or lose my temper or leak darkness into you." His voice cracked. "I couldn't bear to lose you, much less by my own hand." He bowed his head and pressed a hand to his eyes as his chest shuddered.
Never had he spoken so frankly about his fears. Swallowing the lump in her throat at the sight of the fierce Captain of the Winter Army and the assassinating Prince of the Alamur so afraid. Because he loved her so deeply.
Ducking under his arm, she leaned back against the counter and held his face in her hands.
He roughly brushed at his eyes. Weeping was something that Alamur probably didn't do, much less let anyone see.
"You aren't the same fairy that you were three hundred years ago. Sleet, you go against your born nature every day. I wish I could make you see what a big heart you have. Yes, you're rough around the edges," she said with a small smile, "but that's part of what makes your gentleness and sweetness so special. I don't want a male who gets it right every time or is the social butterfly. Your growls and barks may frighten other fairies, but they make me feel safe. I want you to protect me when I'm in over my head with danger, but I don't need an escort to and from work every day to be safe. I don't need you avoiding my kiss because you think you'll rip me apart. You're on guard all of the time and consciously thinking about fighting your instincts when you don't need to, and it must be exhausting."
He tucked her hair behind her ear as he listened.
"You worry more since we met, don't you?" She laid a hand over his heart to strengthen his glow. He seemed so emotionally drained, especially since the wing injury.
A small nod. "I kept to myself outside of work. Even many of the winter fairies knew only of me, but never saw me."
"I think you need to relax more. And that includes sleeping outside more. Yes, I notice that you'll go two or three days without sleeping. I know you don't need as much sleep as other fairies, but you do need some each night. My wings aren't as susceptible to the cold anymore, so you can't use me as an excuse to sleep inside almost every night."
"You are sassy for such a little thing." He cracked a smile.
Raising one eyebrow, she replied in a haughty tone, "I wouldn't need to be if my husband wasn't such a squirrel." Then she wrapped her arms around his neck that was at the perfect height with him leaning down against the counter.
A laugh chased the stress from his face. "Tell me what that means."
"When squirrels get flustered, they run in one direction, stop and then run in the other, then stop and do it again. They get nowhere."
His eyebrows rose in amusement. "And I am like a squirrel because…?"
"You go on these tangents about being a dangerous, evil fairy, but the entire time you aren't being mean or rough or doing anything scary. You're all over the place like a squirrel, and we keep having this repeated conversation." She grinned.
He barked out a laugh. "So I'm to be offended if you call me a squirrel?"
She nodded. "And it means you need to calm down."
"Oh, I see." Except he grinned like he didn't take it at all seriously. His arms wrapped around her, and he lifted her onto his hips as he straightened since she wasn't inclined to let go.
"Then I have a few demands of my own, wife. First, you are to stop referring to yourself as an evil fairy. You're no such thing. Second, you are not to be ashamed or embarrassed of your new wings. If anyone says anything about them, they'll answer to me. Third, which goes hand-in-hand with my first and second demands, I suppose, we're going to work on your self-confidence. You are no less deserving of anything than a Bright Fairy."
She gave a pointed look for that one.
He rolled his eyes. "Comparing a siren born and raised in a Bright Fairy world is far different than an Alamur who came after doing—"
Slapping a hand over his mouth, she scowled. "No. You aren't like that anymore. If I don't get to compare myself, then you don't either."
Heaving a deep sigh through his nose, he didn't protest, although he clearly didn't agree.
Lightly scratching his beard stubble with her nails, she met his eyes. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Why do you have a mischievous glint in your eye?" His lips curled up, failing to suppress a smile.
Her wings rose a little with happiness. "Do you trim this every day? I've only seen you clean shaven once."
His smile died, and he looked away. "Alamur don't grow beards. Having stubble is supposed to add to the fierce look, so even if I shave, it looks like this by the end of the day."
"Oh." Her wings lowered. He looked self-conscious, so she added quickly, "One of the water fairies at work told another that she puts the shaving cream on her mate in the mornings. She said it's taking care of her mate."
Confusion crossed his face. "I'm sure he's capable of doing it himself. She should make food or rub his back if it's sore so he can fly, if she wants to take care of him."
A smile bloomed. "Not just survival things. It's like how sometimes you bring me flowers."
"I still don't understand the purpose of that either," he frowned. "I adore you so much that I want you to watch these flowers die? It would make more sense to bring you food or a blanket."
She giggled. "No, it shows that you're thinking of me and want to give me something frivolous that makes me happy."
"Excess food is frivolous. And it makes more sense. You shouldn't eat flowers, although I do give you edible ones, just in case there's some kind of natural disaster or war. Lord Milori says to give a mate jewels, but I haven't figured out yet how those could be useful in an emergency."
Dropping her forehead against his chest, she laughed. "You're hopeless."
"When everyone else is running around in jewels with inedible flowers in an emergency and you have survival supplies, we'll see what everyone says then. I'd rather see my mate survive than be adorned with useless things."
With a shake of her head, she smiled and looked up at him. "Then I suppose I should be happy that I found a present in the closet."
His eyes widened. "You weren't supposed to see that. Did you look?"
"Of course I looked. I thought it was a box to unpack from moving."
He dropped his head back in exasperation. "I was going to give it to you the night your wing got hurt." Setting her down, he put his robe around her and then disappeared into the bedchamber for a minute. He came back with two brown socks.
"I know the rabbit skin blanket frightened you, so I asked two living rabbits for some fur. After a lot of chasing them to get them to be still so I could ask," he grumbled.
Biting her lip to keep a straight face, it was easy to imagine rabbits running from him in terror.
"A silkworm helped weave them into his silk and make these. Now your feet won't get cold in the house. They should be soft enough for your skin."
"You need to stop giving me so many presents."
He simply shrugged.
It wasn't exactly a romantic or exciting gift, but it was special. Needing clothes made of silk cost a lot, and he had taken the effort to make them warm and useful because her feet got cold when walking through the autumn side of the house. He worked so hard to figure out things she needed, which was his way of providing and protecting and showing his affection.
Taking them from his hands, she stroked the smooth silk and slipped them on. They were very cozy and gentle enough to not scratch. "Thank you. I've never had anything warm for my feet besides snow boots."
"I know they're not terribly exciting. I was going to get fresh roses to go with them, but after your wing was injured, I had an idea." He took her hand in excitement and pulled her to the bedchamber.
He laid her robe across the bed and pointed. "If we have holes for your wings cut, and then place small metal eyelets on each side, we could lace the extra hole length that you don't need once your wings are through. It'd help hold in the heat. And if you want your wings covered, we could add snaps along the top here so you could attach extra material to drape over your wings—" He stopped when saw the tears in her eyes and her hand over her mouth. "Or we can get you a robe like mine, or you can use mine," he added quickly and took her hand.
It took a moment to be able to speak. "You figured out how I can have a robe like a normal fairy."
His arms wrapped around as he guided her head to rest against his chest. "There's nothing abnormal about you, sweetheart. We simply have to make adjustments. You can have and do anything like any other fairy."
"In the meeting with the Queen and Lord Milori, they said gossip has started about me not being a Bright Fairy because of my wings. What if—"
"Dewdrop, we take what comes, as it comes. If the Queen and Lord Milori don't see you as a threat, the Bright Fairies won't see you as one either." Of all the fairies, she was the last one who deserved to be ostracized.
"When Lord Milori pulled you aside last night after the meeting, did he tell you that as soon as I can fly, I'm to show them what I can do?"
He stiffened. A ball of dread plopped in his stomach. "No, we talked about security measures in case more Creatures come. What did the Queen say?"
She sniffled. "She wants to see my water powers and if I have any new abilities with these wings. Because only the most powerful sirens get feather wings, she wants to know."
Clenching his teeth, he stroked her back. "Probably just because she has to know as Queen. I'll come with you for it." And have a private meeting with the Queen and Lord Milori first. There was no chance in Neverland that he'd permit her becoming a secret weapon for the kingdom, something to be feared and tossed in the dungeon when the unexpected happened, like they did with him. She wasn't a danger to even ants. If they needed to throw him in the dungeon now and then to feel safe, so be it. But it wouldn't happen to his Silvermist.
Author's Note: We've seen Sleet and Silvermist support each other before, but two weak threads don't make a strong rope. We're starting to see some maturity come in where they're starting to realize that they need to be strong on their own in order to be stronger together.
And it's fun and challenging to write scenes where Sleet clashes with his rulers. Lord Milori and Clarion are good rulers, but we've witnessed Sleet push them a few times to become wiser rulers; and them push Sleet to face himself in certain ways (good and bad), making him a better fairy, too.
