The flames of my anger stoked by his lie, burning too quickly, until only smoke remained.
I don’t want to be smoke.
I want to be fire and flame, a raging inferno. To consume and be consumed.
Not by just anyone. By this kindhearted Unseelie who loves goats and blueberry pie.
If only I knew how to get back to where we were before he lied and everything fell apart.
25
Maddox
“Always hug her tight.”
— Nia Quill’s List
“Where are you going?” Nia asks from the shore as I carry the slightly crooked spear back toward the water.
Is it not obvious? “To the river to find us something to eat.” Her stomach has been protesting ever since she helped me build our fire.
Her hands settle over her middle, the skin sun-kissed like the rest of her. I saw as much at the quarry, so this should not feel different, but knowing we are well and truly alone makes it feel as if anything is possible.
If she were not in love with the Nolan, that is.
I tell her to add a little more wood when the coals are good and red, then I wade back into the frigid water. Fishing is not my favorite of hunts, but when you are entirely without, you will do what you must to provide sustenance for your female.
Not that Nia Quill is my female, but she will be for a little while.
Mine to protect. To feed. To keep warm.
The cold water is a much-needed shock to my desire, dampening but never quite ridding me of the yearning I feel when she is near.
Does she realize the strength it takes to look away from her on any given day, let alone one where she wears only two thin strips of fabric that could be easily ripped away?
“Can I wash my dress?” she calls from shore.
This will disturb the water and scare the fish. Although she is clearly anxious to have her dress clean, and I am selfishly happy that she will be left in her undergarments while she waits for it to dry.
Not that I will be staring at her. I would not want her to wrongly believe that I am only interested in her lithe body and pretty face. I like Nia Quill because of who she is. The fire in her heart and the husk of her voice. Her wild hair and even wilder laughter.
There is nothing about her that I do not like except the fact that she is in love with someone else.
I tell her that she can wash it downstream but ask that she stay where I can see her. There is no telling what else might visit the river this day.
Planting my feet on the slippery stones, I stare past my wobbly reflection, searching for movement, doing my best to concentrate while my mind insists on returning to the list safely folded in my pocket on the shore.
3. Listen to her hopes and dreams
Would Nia tell me these things if I asked? Her future might not be with me, but I still long to know what sort of life she would like to lead. How she wishes she could spend her time. The places she visits when she is asleep.
A flash of white flickers beneath the water’s glassy surface. The wood bites into my fist as I tighten my grip on the crude spear and stab at the flicker.
My weapon hits home, piercing a wriggling fish.
I hold up my catch in victory, only to falter when I realize what I have killed.
Hopefully Nia’s hunger will outweigh her indignation over eating one of her fishy friends. This one should be enough to feed us both, which is a relief because my head is beginning to spin from lack of sustenance. I will clean this fish and then return to the river while it cooks on one of the flat pieces of slate I found on the shore.
