Page 48 of Of Wind and Terror

I hesitate.

“I won’t bite.” Treyton pats the bedroll once more. “But you need help with your hair, and I’m rather good at it.”

“Because of all your past female lovers?” Blaze retorts, narrowing his eyes.

I flinch instinctively.

I’m not sure how I feel about Treyton, but I find that I don’t want to hear about his previous conquests. A tight ball of jealousy forms in my throat at just the thought, making it hard to breathe.

Treyton tosses Blaze a frosty glare before focusing back on me and forcing his expression to soften.

“I used to do Serena’s hair all the time when we were younger,” he confesses. “I haven’t done any other female’s hair before.”

His voice rings with sincerity, which gives me the courage to breach the distance between us and sit between his legs. His deft fingers immediately lift to my hair.

A shiver races through me at the feel of his hand on my scalp, lightly massaging. His other hand reaches for my comb, and he begins to brush through the tangles.

I lift my hands up in the air so he can see me sign. “You and Serena are close, aren’t you?”

He blows out a breath, and it stirs the hairs on my head. Goose bumps ripple on my arms.

“We used to be,” he admits. “Not as much anymore. I’d like to say we’ve grown apart with age, but that’s not the full truth. I’ve changed. She’s changed. I’m not sure she likes the fae I’ve become.”

I’m surprised he confessed that in front of the other two males. Blaze in particular looks intrigued by this little nugget of information.

He looks as if he wants to say something, but one pointed glare from me keeps him silent. He folds his thick, tree-trunk arms over his chest and scowls.

Treyton continues, either oblivious or choosing to ignore Blaze’s reaction. My guess is the latter. The Spring Prince is far too intuitive not to have seen the spark of interest in the other male’s eyes.

“And of course, there’s the issue of Serena’s…behavior as of late,” he continues as he drops the comb and begins to plait my hair.

“You mean her crazy ramblings?” Blaze asks gruffly.

“Hey!” Aleksander pouts. “I don’t like the word ‘crazy.’ It hurts my feelings.” He pitches his voice higher in mock intimidation of a female. “‘Aleksander, you’re crazy if you think you can cut out this elf’s tongue and get away with it.’” He shakes his head sadly. “I prefer to say that we’re…creatively different.”

“You’re not creatively different or even crazy.” Blaze snorts. “You’re just straight-up insane.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“It’s not one.”

Aleksander blinks. “Agree to disagree. We all have varying interpretations of the same thing.”

Blaze makes a snarling sound. “There’s nothing to interpret. I’m the one who called you insane?—”

“You did so with love,” Aleksander reasons.

“No.”

“I interpret that you called me insane with love.”

Blaze glances at me helplessly. “What the fuck is even happening right now?”

A giggle breaks free before I can stop it, and the confusion on Blaze’s face morphs into glee. His eyes sparkle.

“Fuck, I love that sound,” he murmurs.

“You told me that my laugh sounds like a fae getting kicked in the nuts by a pacon and then chopped into tiny pieces,” Aleksander murmurs sulkily.

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