The thick fan of his black lashes fluttered, and then his eyes opened. His gaze locked on her. There it was, that visceral hit that took her breath. Every time he looked at her. Eliza found herself laughing and crying all at once. She threw herself upon him. Kissing his face, his big, stubborn nose, his soft, pliable mouth.

He lay slack, his breath coming out in weak pants, and then his strong arms crushed her to him, his fingers threading through her hair, pulling out strands in his haste. “Eliza.”

She kissed him, holding his beloved face in her hands. “Adam.” Another kiss. “How can it be?”

Adam pressed his forehead to hers. For a moment, they simply breathed. Eliza slid her finger under the ravaged edge of his tunic to stroke his smooth skin, smiling at the way his breath hitched.

He eased her back so that their eyes met. “Bean sídhe,” he said.

“W-what?” Eliza blinked away the tears and stared in confusion.

His mouth canted on a smile. “You. A wee and fey banshee.”

Despite her joy, indignation rocked through her. “You mean one of those ghoulish ghosts that screech and terrify villagers?”

Adam’s laugh was a deep, rolling rumble. “Oh, aye. Just as fae are tiny creatures with crystalline wings and death is eternal.”

Eliza let out a huff, but nuzzled into his warm, rough palm. “Then what? You believe me to be a banshee?”

His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, and he gazed upon her with warm happiness. “Aye. The banshee. A rare and wonderful creature once thought to be myth. She whose mad laugh announces death, whose screech can cause it, and whose tears of sorrow can call the dead back to life.”

He gave one of her curls a gentle tug. “A golden-haired banshee, whose shout is a trumpet, heralding death.”

At that, Eliza sat up, her hand falling to his chest where his heart now beat a steady rhythm. Alive. Restored. “You think I am the Golden Horn an Bás?”

“You do not?” he countered.

Eliza stroked a lock of his ink-black hair back from his brow. “Well, I suppose you’re alive.” With a flush of discomfort, she glanced down at her hand. A banshee. It felt right. “When Mellan killed you, I screamed. Adam” – she looked at him – “I killed him without any effort, as if the scream itself held power.”

His face remained expressionless for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. “As I said, banshee.” With a small laugh, Adam eased upright, groaning a bit. “Feels as though my heart has been ripped from my body.”

Eliza smacked his shoulder. “Don’t you jest. I saw you die.” On a breath, she wrapped herself around him, pushing between his thighs where he sat upon the pallet and burying her head in the crook of his neck. The scent of spices and luscious man filled her. Adam. Eliza held on tighter. “Don’t do that again.”

“All right, mo gradh,” he whispered. “I will not.” The press of his lips at her crown was warm and tender.

A thought occurred to her, and she went stock still. “Adam,” she said, slowly moving away from him, “when did you suspect I was banshee?”

He winced, contrition warring with defiance in his eyes. “Love…” He ran a hand through his hair. “When you destroyed that fae with your scream, I suspected. But when you told me what that wee shite oracle revealed, I knew you were the Horn an Bás that Mellan sought.”

Eliza’s breath left her with a hiss, her body going ice cold. “You planned it,” she ground out. “You let Mellan kill you!”

“Aye,” he said. “I did. Though I didn’t think he’d do it in such a painful manner.” Again he winced, and it was all Eliza could do not to clout his thick head. He rubbed his chest. “Having your heart ripped out hurts like the devil.”

“Arse,” she shouted, slapping his shoulder once more. “How could you?”

He caught her arm and pulled her close, wrapping his arms about her in a secure hug. “Because I knew that you would bring me back. And there was no other way. Mellan had to be utterly destroyed. A banshee could do that. I could not.”

She shivered, her heart hurting at the risk he took. “You might have been wrong about me.”

“But I was not.”

“You might have told me,” she countered with ire.

He snuggled her closer. “If you knew what I had planned, you’d have talked me out of it. And you needed to act out of instinct not reason, sweet dove. End game, Eliza. I told you I’d do whatever it took to win this time. Because you are my end game, and you are too important to lose.”

Eliza pressed her nose against the smooth skin at the base of his neck and let out a breath. “If you ever risk yourself in that manner again, I shall kill you.”

“Not a very good threat, love, when I know your tears will restore me.”

“Bastard.” She pinched his side, but it was a halfhearted effort that she abandoned for kissing her way up his throat.

Adam stroked her hair. “You are in my heart too. I’ll never be sorry that I died for you.” He said it so quietly, his voice ragged and raw with emotion, that Eliza’s body responded with a rush of warmth. She lifted her head, and he touched her jaw, his golden eyes glowing. “Eliza —”

The door to the dining hall burst open, and Lucien Stone strode in, his hair falling about his shoulders, his lacy dressing shirt open to the waist. His jade green eyes were wild until they locked onto Adam. And then he seemed to sag on a sigh. “Sire. Adam… You are well.”