Spotlighted by a thousand fireflies, Seven Delaney is casually leaning against the stone arch of the moon gate as if he’s been waiting for us the entire time. His legs are crossed at the ankle, and the crooked grin he shoots my way is heart-stopping and oh so infuriating. How dare he smile at me after what he did? How dare he come within striking distance?
This man is as close to a nemesis as I’ve ever had and as much the reason for me fleeing Devashire as anything else. On the outside, he’s wrapped in a scrumptious package of long, lean muscle and uncanny grace. His shoulders strain the material of his dark dress shirt, and corded forearms, scandalous in their musculature, extend beyond his pushed-up sleeves. With a hand resting lightly on abs as tight as chiseled marble beneath the material, he winks one emerald eye at me, the other twinkling in the moonlight as if he finds our circumstances amusing. His perfectly tailored trousers are a work of art, as are his handcrafted leather loafers.
In one word, Seven is stunning. I’m stunned. Arden is stunned. Likely at least half the fireflies flitting around us are stunned (at least the female ones). He is overtly sexual, undeniably handsome, and as charming as they come. In other words, a dangerous menace to all womankind.
Leprechauns have a reputation for being short and ugly in the human world. I laughed the first time I saw the University of Notre Dame’s mascot. Nothing could be further from the truth. Jealous rivals and political enemies started those rumors to tarnish the reputations of the leprechaun dynasties they hated, anything to get a jab in at the luckiest fae. I can understand the sentiment. Of any of our kind, they have the most inherent luck. That translates into all aspects of their existence, including their physical forms. Leprechauns are beautiful—always beautiful.
Pixies like me, we’re designed to blend with nature in our natural forms, but leprechauns stand out. They sparkle. And if their physical perfection weren’t enough to make you hate them, they are also rich—the type of rich that’s only possible through generations of wealth—a wealth that almost always leads to a power and a superiority complex.
In short, a leprechaun is a caramel-covered Adonis in couture. They’re almost irresistible. Even knowing that Seven’s soul is as rotten as a maggot-infested peach, his physical presence leaves me breathless.
“Seven.” His name hisses through my teeth.
“Sophead,” he says playfully. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”
I cringe at the pet name he used to use when we were children. “Don’t call me that! You have no right to call me that.”
He snorts. “I didn’t know rights were necessary to use a nickname.”
“Mom?” Arden peers around me curiously. Without even realizing it, I’ve placed myself protectively between them.
“Who’s this?” Seven pushes off the moon gate and approaches Arden to get a better look at her. No, he doesn’t just look. He studies her like she’s a specimen on a microscope slide. I move more fully in front of Arden, blocking his view.
“This is mydaughter.” I emphasize the word in a way that reminds him she’s a child and off-limits. I don’t trust him within an inch of her.
“I can see that,” he says around a lopsided grin. “She’s practically a miniature version of you.”
Arden shoves around me and extends her hand before I can stop her. “I’m Arden.”
I slap her hand down. “Arden, no!”
Arden flashes me an injured look.
“Never offer your hand to a fae, Arden,” Seven says. “A handshake among fairies binds a magical agreement. As a human, you can’t be sure the shake is just a shake. It’s too dangerous for you. Keep your hands to yourself when you greet someone.”
“Oh.” She slides her hands into her pockets, a faint blush of embarrassment warming her cheeks.
Fury grips me in its shaking fist. “She doesn’t needyouof all people lecturing her on fairy etiquette.I’llteach her what she needs to know.” I have taught her a thing or two about fairy culture, but who could blame her for not remembering? It’s been years since we discussed it. I’d never planned for her to come back here. After sixteen successful years living among humans, I never thought she’d need to.
He ignores my tirade and smiles charmingly at Arden. “I’m Seven, by the way.”
“Like the number?” she asks.
“Exactly like the number.” He winks at her.
Gah!He’s incorrigible. “Enough with the introductions.” I slash a hand through the air between us. “Can you get her through the portal or not? You might as well know she’s human.”
He’s still studying Arden in a way that fills me with unease. “How old are you, Arden?”
“Sixteen,” she says. She’ll be seventeen at the end of September. I can almost hear him doing the math. Arden came along soon after I left Dragonfly—nine months to be exact. Only my parents know the truth about my pregnancy. Did they tell anyone? If they did, I’ll know soon enough. Fairies adore gossip and speculation.
It’s none of his fucking business.
“Have you ever visited Dragonfly Hollow before?” he asks Arden, charismatic and steady, like he’s trying to put her at ease.
“Stop it!” I grit out.
He glances uneasily in my direction. “Stop what?”
