Maybe.His gaze traveled over her face.Or maybe you’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t help my attraction to you. And vice versa.
She crinkled her nose at him, but she couldn’t deny that she agreed about his incredible appearance, from his breathtakingly handsome face, to his spectacular physique, to his confidence and swagger. She liked what she saw and loved watching him move. Still, she’d seen handsome men before, and she’d never felt this way. She’d never been mesmerized by their touch anddelighted by their witty banter. She’d never felt this desperation—thisache—for someone.If it wasn’t magic, she was utterly fucked, because their story couldn’t end any other way besides tragically.
His chuckle was a ripple of black satin.Suit yourself. Regardless, I’m not trying to distract you in that way right now, though it is working admirably. Despite what Stratow said, stormbacksareprickly creatures. They don’t like being talked about unless they can hear what is said. They find it incredibly rude not to have their say, and rudeness is never tolerated. He might decide not to do me this huge favor, and that would add days to our journey. Days we can’t waste.
I assume they are far enough away not to hear my broadcasted comments.
His smile was faint.Yes. And so we’re going to pretend to drink in each other’s proximity while we wait for them to be ready. And maybe we’re going to…
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. An explosion of pleasure lit up her world. She clutched him, her eyes drifting closed, her mouth opening. His tongue darted in, swiping through, filling her with his taste. Her fingers tightened, but she forced them open again, leaning away. Considered slapping him. More than considered slapping herself.
He smiled deviously.Go ahead. If the former, let’s see if you can land it. If the latter…that’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure the others would get a kick out of it, too.
She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.
Purity of magic meaning…the rightness of it, I guess,he said, staying close but allowing some space.Fae magic isn’t like human magic. It is not isolated to the person who wields it. We derive our magic from Faerie itself. Magic here is circular. We are all part of it—we feed from it, and it from us. So if the wylds get twisted, for example—corrupted—or the Obsidian royalsor various creatures get twisted, that feeds back into Faerie. It disrupts the magical system and creates a ripple effect. If a fae or creature gets too bad, like that darkrend, it cannot be redeemed. It must be destroyed so that Faerie—the magic of Faerie—can heal itself and everything can return to perfect harmony. Balance. The dawn brings the light so that it may shine. The light must give way to dusk so that the dark may have its reign. And so on. Dark and light, with dawn and dusk to balance them out. If things are too light or too dark, it pulls everything out of balance. The magic tries to compensate, and twisted magic is fed into the minds of all who draw upon it. It twists the very fabric of Faerie. Does that make sense?
The Celestial colors…Sunrise and sunset, the colors so remarkably similar but reversed in order of appearance.
He nodded.
So the stormbacks can feel the imbalance?
Yes. Even when it is subtle. They are gravely worried about Faerie, which is probably why they are lowering themselves to acting as transport. They’re doing their part. I think the wylds helping you was the same. The heart of Faerie wants to right itself, but it needs help. Our help, as I explained.He ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw.Look over my shoulder and see if the stormbacks are nearly ready. They detest being rushed.
She couldn’t look over his shoulder without rising onto her tiptoes. Instead, she angled him a bit, leaning against him and glancing at hisFallen.They waited idly, chatting amongst themselves like they had all the time in the world. She let her gaze swing toward the stormbacks, but she couldn’t help but think about the appearance of the hard chest against her. Or the perfection of his back and the amazing design covering it.
Do your tattoos mean anything or are they for appearances?she asked as the breeze caught and flung her hair.
He grabbed a strand and curled it around his fingers.The stormbacks?
Oh.She leaned away so her hair would pull out of his fingers.They’re getting into a half-circle formation, facing the north.
He sighed, looking off at the trees.I really shouldn’t be impatient. They are saving us a lot of time. It’s just…
Tattoos?
He glanced down at her again. Something indecipherable lurked in his eyes, his true emotions hidden behind his carefully cultivated humor.They mean something.He took a small step back. His arms flexed as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing each delectable inch of skin as he went.Since you enjoy looking at my nudity so much…
She pressed her lips together at the taunting tone but couldn’t deny it.
He pulled the shirt away and paused, giving her a chance to once again marvel at his incredible physique. He reached for her hand and brought it up, using her finger to trace the design across his chest that looked like a thick necklace curving against the edge of his pecs and then wrapping around his neck. Her nail scraped his flesh, raising goosebumps.
This was a necklace that was burned into my skin by Equilas when she helped trap me in the Obsidian kingdom. It’s a marker of station. Not with the Obsidian kingdom but?—
As a High Sovereign. I haven’t forgotten. Or…I guess…the memory hasn’t been taken from me yet.
He stilled, his brows pinching together in confusion. She didn’t miss the flash of hope lighting his gorgeous green eyes.
Every time someone looks upon this necklace,he said, not commenting on her retained memory,they get a flash of recognition. Every time, I wonder if they’ll know who I am. If I’ll regain some piece of my former life within their knowledge of me. And every time, their eyes dull after a moment. Well, dullor turn to disdain. I’m not well loved within the Obsidian Court. I’m feared, so I’m given a wide berth, butat bestI’m tolerated. I do not fit in there.
Like she didn’t belong in the magical zone. She remembered his sentiment in the hotel room those many months ago. She remembered feeling connected with him. This was why.
She nodded, taking in his pain and bearing witness to his struggle. This time, she didn’t move away when he wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingertips.
These—he lifted an elbow to indicate the tattoos on his arm—are my rings of ascension. They denote the various trials I have mastered through training and perseverance.
What kind of trials?
