My breath catches. Now that we’re face to face, I realize how near I’m standing, how close I’ve leaned, with her lips a breath away from mine. The impassioned expression on her face is an echo of the one I’ve glimpsed in the sketches she’s shown me. Sketches I know she models for.
I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to her mouth, parted in awe, the tips of those adorable canines peeking out. A sharp yearning seizes me, and I’m desperate to know how her veneration tastes. How does it feel against my tongue? How does that body of hers—the body she claims feels things so differently, so much more acutely than her unseelie form—feel against mine? How can I inspire this look on her face?
Her brow furrows slightly, as if she’s reading my thoughts.
Thoughts she really shouldn’t read.
Fuck. What’s wrong with me?
Not only is this forbidden territory my mind is wandering down, but my sister is standing on the other side of Daphne.
Shame, you fucking pervert. Get your act together!
I suck in a breath and straighten to my full height. I can’t recall the last word either of us said, and heat has already begun to crawl up my neck, so I march away like an idiot and make a beeline for the reception desk. That gives me a solid few minutes to clear my head as I check us in. The receptionist directs us to where we can meet the bride and groom, and I return to Daphne and Angela with a mask of indifference.
“Come along,” I say and angle my head toward the main avenue that runs through the center of the hotel. I keep my hands in my pockets so as not to be tempted to escort Daphne. My sister is the one I should be escorting, but she doesn’t mind. Instead, she links her arm through Daphne’s. Daph stiffens, and I realize my carelessness at once. She doesn’t like being touched by people she doesn’t know, and I doubt our twenty-hour train ride was enough to make them friends.
Then, to my surprise, Daphne’s posture relaxes and she returns to admiring the wonders of the hotel’s interior, her grin as bright as Angela’s as they walk side by side.
My lips curve too. There’s something sweet and satisfying about seeing Daphne at ease with my sister. The member of my family I care about the most.
We make our way down the avenue, along one side of the canal, until we reach a florist’s shop. Scents of lilies and roses fill the air, the walls and floor space crowded with overstuffed bouquets. There, at the counter, stand the figures I’m looking for.
A tall male with rounded ears, shoulder-length dark hair, and spectacles grins at the woman beside him. She’s rather tall herself with pointed ears, long golden-blond hair, and a curvy figure. The man is dressed in casual attire, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the coiled snake-like patterns tattooed on his forearms while the woman is outfitted in a white day dress. Beside her stands a young fae girl, no older than seven or eight in appearance, with white bunny ears and pale hair arranged in two braids.
I take a deep breath, prepared to greet my best friend. To be the version of myself that I must be with him. “Thorny boy!” I say with a crooked grin.
Thorne Blackwood stiffens, then rounds on me with a glare. “About time.”
When it comes to our relationship, that’s Thorne’s way of giving me a warm greeting.
I pat him on the back then meet his soon-to-be wife, Briony Rose, in a loose hug. “And there’s my lovely former fiancée. Congrats on your upcoming nuptials. Second time’s the charm, isn’t it?”
She scoffs as we separate. “Yes, particularly because you lacked charm entirely. Perhaps you still do.” The fact that she had to addperhapsto the last part tells me my charm has at least somewhat grown on her. While Thorne is half fae—a demon, to be exact—and capable of lying, Briony is a pureblood succubus and can only speak the truth.Perhapsis a common modifier fae use to deceive without lying.
Thorne’s expression turns warm as he shines a smile upon my sister. “Angie, I’m so glad you could make it.”
Angela throws herself into Thorne’s arms, then Briony’s, radiating excitement as she congratulates them.
Daphne edges closer to me, the back of her hand brushing mine. I can almost feel the anxiety pulsing through her, so I step in close and link a finger around hers, our hands hidden between us behind the folds of her pink day dress—the same she wore to the carnival. Her shoulders drop as she squeezes my fingers, just in time to brace herself for Thorne and Briony’s attention.
Daphne, however, isn’t the only one who appears nervous. The fae child next to Briony stares at us with wide blue eyes, the whiskers beside her pink little nose twitching as she clings to Briony’s sleeve. I’m unacquainted with this child, but courtesy requires I introduce Daphne before I ask about the rabbit fae.
I clear my throat, my fingers still linked with Daphne’s. “Thorne, Briony, this is my friend, Daphne. Daph, meet Thorne Blackwood and Briony Rose. Soon to be Briony Blackwood.”
Daphne finally releases my fingers to dip into a brief curtsy.
“I had no idea,” Thorne says to me.
I frown. “That I was bringing a plus one? I sent a telegram?—”
“No, I had no idea you had friends.” He turns his gaze to Daphne. “Do you consider him a friend or is he paying you to pretend to tolerate him?”
She stiffens all over again, but this time I get the sense it isn’t out of anxiety but irritation. Could Daph be taking offense on my behalf?
I chuckle to convey that this sort of banter is how Thorne and I express our affection. Not entirely unlike how Daphne insults me.
Her eyes flash to my face and she relaxes. “I may consider him a friend,” she says, tone dry, “but I need not mention whether I tolerate him.”
