“Will Florian take me?”he asked.
Aisling sighed.Declan waited, glancing up to meet her eyes.
“Yes, my sweet boy,” she said at last.“Florian will take you.”
Chapter Three
Antonio
Aglasscallalilyon the hood of his car.
A cloak of iridescent feathers in his closet.
A delicate silver bracelet that rang like bells on his bedside table.
A rain of flower petals when he opened his kitchen cabinets.
Every day, everywhere he turned, Calloway haunted him.
Antonio paced the length of his garage, the doors open to let in the sharp chill of the evening air.He should go upstairs.Rest.Throw on a show.Sleep.
But the gifts were always waiting somewhere in his apartment, and he couldn’t make himself brave the stairs, because he hadn’t found today’s yet.
He picked up a little toy Camaro from a shelf and tossed it between his hands.A gift from the girls.Maybe he’d drop in on one of his sisters.Or go out for the night, find a hookup.Anything but facing another mocking gift telling him he’d never really get away.
“Good evening.”The low, rasping voice interrupted Antonio’s churning thoughts.
He glanced up, ready to explain that the shop was closed.Then he saw who’d spoken.Pale blue eyes, ringed in ink-dark skin, giving way to milk white.Wings of bone–bat wings, said his morbid high school self–branching from narrow shoulders.Black lips and sharp teeth.All of that, dressed in tattered black jeans and a jacket covered in pins and patches.A fae who’d gotten lost on his way back from a punk show.
The crisp evening air suddenly carried the smell of smoke and something else that Antonio could only think of as “purpleness.”The fae feltpurple.
Twice in one fucking week.And all the sick little gifts in between.The toy car clattered to the ground.
“Fucking fuck,” he said.“Is the iron fortress too subtle?Do I need to get a sign?Tell Calloway– Shit, I don’t even know.Whatever he’s playing at, tell him to back off.”
The fae didn’t recoil or step forward.Only looked down at the little car, then back at Antonio, obviously confused.
“Calloway is a prat with little in the way of logic or merit.”That rasping voice had a lilt to it.Scottish maybe?No.Irish.A fuckingIrishfae.“The day he consorts with the likes of me is the day somewhere very hot turns to snow.I’m not here on his behalf.Nor do I play a part in whatever plan he may have rattling about in that empty head of his, should it exist.”
Antonio would’ve liked to believe him.But a pattern was a pattern.Then again, fae were weird about Hollow.They liked to stare and poke and test their charms.If nothing else, this one got marks for calling Calloway a prat.Maybe a few extra for being a freaky-looking bastard like the last one.Better than the airy, impossible prettiness of most he’d met.
“Sure.And the last one was looking for her cat.”He toed the toy car toward the corner of the garage.“Fine.I’ll play.What is it this time?You want a cup of sugar?Need directions to a Clash concert?”
“They’re back together?”The fae almost grinned, a flash of those pointed teeth, quickly hidden.“That’s good to hear.Less so Mother’s recovery of her monster.”
“Pretty sure they’re dead.”Or maybe not.Antonio wasn’t exactly an authority on British punk bands.
“That doesn’t need to stop things,” the fae said with a shrug.“But no.To be quite blunt?I’ve come to inquire about a possible affinity bond.Between you and me, specifically.No Calloway involvement expected, desired, or required.”
Affinity bond.Why did he know those words?They itched at Antonio’s memories as he shifted to lean against the trunk of the Pontiac, his fingers tapping their usual restless rhythm.
Bo.ReelSelf streamer and professional skeptic turned kelpie fucker.Bo and his “it’s not a sex thing” followed by it absolutely being a sex thing.Two souls made one and all that bullshit.
“You want to tell me what part of this,” he rapped his knuckles against the Pontiac with a hollow, ringing sound, “says ‘I’m yearning for a fae soulmate?’Because I can redecorate if that’s the vibe this place is giving.”
“The ‘vibe’ leans more into ‘shove off, you iron-hating fucks’ than ‘yeah, baby, soulmates apply here,’ I’d say.”This time, when the fae smiled, his lips stayed pressed closed.“Even so, it’s notsoulmates.More of a mutually beneficial arrangement?No, ah, mating involved.”
“Sure.Tell that to the kelpie fucker.”Too late, Antonio realized he’d muttered the words, and followed them with a quick, “What, I’m not your type?”
