Page 14 of The Endless Dance

“What the fuck, Draekoh!” I practically scream. “Read the room! I am not interested!”

I feel a flicker of breeze through my hair, and he’s right there. Standing at my back. His breath is at my neck, and I can’t help but mewl as I arch for him. He sniffs deeply, nose inches from my skin.

“You forget, Little Bird, fae senses are extremely more potent than that of a human,” he hums. “And I can smell your lie weeping from between those pretty little thighs.”

My breath shudders from his words, and I turn instinctively to face him. But in a blink, he is across the room and pulling loose white slacks up and over his ass before I can even think to ogle the chiselled muscles.

“If you wish to leave this campsite with your integrity intact, I recommend you take a bath,” he says, shucking on a shirt of the same light fabric over his head. He walks towards the entrance of the tent, but pauses. He looks over his shoulder and meets my eyes. My insides melt at the look in his eyes. “And scrub thoroughly between your thighs.”

I blink, and he’s gone, the tent flap falling closed on nothing but air.

I sink onto the bed, legs squeezed firmly together. I was in deep fucking shit.

Chapter Six

I spend an age in the bath as my muscles loosen and seemingly magically restore and soothe themselves. The water once again contains a milky sheen, and the temperature stays level throughout my entire bath. It is glorious, and I use the time to clear my mind. I refuse to think about a certain pointy-eared fucker. No, he has no place in my head right now… But damn him; I had done as he had bade, scrubbing between my legs furiously before lying back and closing my eyes.

I blink a single eye open at the sound of the tent flap opening, not surprised to find Rita, Frieda, and Laska entering the tent. Rita and Frieda wear twin, timid, and apologetic smiles. I glare right back at them.

Rita sighs, depositing her bundle of clothes on the bed before coming to my side.

“I really am sorry, Delta,” she says. “The High Lord forbade us from warning you about the mesmerising effects of fae music and dance.”

“It’s a horrid tradition,” Frieda adds, arranging a platter of food and drink upon a tray on the bed with Laska’s help.

“I suppose it is rather cruel,” Laska shrugs, though I can tell her heart isn’t in it.

“The dance of the fae completely overpowers a human’s self-control,” Rita says. “Most are not aware of what they are doing, as you experienced last night; however, some have a rare awareness that their minds are completely conscious as they dance and dance as their bodies tire and ache and fall to complete exhaustion, and yet they still dance. They can’t help it.”

“Some fae enjoy taunting those that are conscious during the dance, making them do it for weeks and weeks on end,” Frieda whispers, eyes darting to the tent flaps as if scared someone would overhear. “It is truly awful to see the damage these women bear when finally set free. Most cannot walk again for many months.”

“And then you have those who are strong enough to wake during the trance,” Laska says. “Like you did.”

“We knew you would be strong enough to fight it,” Rita smiles.

I snort. “Yeah, right. I had been making a fool of myself for hours by that point.” I frown, hesitant to ask but needing to know. “What you said before, Frieda, about those made to dance for weeks… are there still women out there now?”

They don’t even need to reply. The look they share is answer enough. Their faces naked with emotion: guilt, sadness and the pain of those who have suffered before.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I forgot that both of you have been through all this yourselves. And I know all about the faerie vow.”

“You do?” Frieda gapes.

“How?” Rita asks, glancing at Laska with a frown that was all motherly worry.

In turn, Laska glares back furiously. “It wasn’t me!” she hisses, folding her arms across her chest in defence.

Rita throws her hands into the air in exasperation, as if to say, “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

I press my lips together as a smile threatens to slip free. This mother and daughter banter was something I always enjoyed watching among my friends when we were growing up. Enjoyed, but also envied.

“Actually,” I say, before Laska can continue. “I met a lovely woman from the Dark Court before the Hunt. Anya. She was a true blessing.”

Rita perks up. “Anya? Oh, I haven’t seen her since our Hunt. I often wondered if she was still alive. How is she?”

I shrug, pleasantly surprised to discover Rita and Anya had known one another. “As well as any human woman in Faezgard could be. I wish she were in Light, though. She is a gentle and motherly soul.”

My shoulders deflate as I remember my own mother. Or whoever she was now; cool, cruel and fae.