Page 104 of Of Wind and Terror

Treyton, who has been quiet thus far, can’t seem to help but interject with, “Your parents sang you that?”

“Of course.” Aleksander looks over his shoulder at the Spring Prince with a tiny grin. His teeth somehow look even sharper than that of a normal fae’s. Deadlier. “They would tuck me in nice and tight, hand me my favorite sword to cuddle with, and then read me stories of death and decay. Is that not a normal practice where you come from?”

“You know it’s not,” Blaze retorts.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Treyton adds.

“I never joke.” Aleksander places a hand over his heart with a solemn expression and then glances at me. One of his black brows arches. “Tell them, cherub.”

I roll my eyes at his antics and choose not to dignify that with a response.

“You wound me,” he says in mock outrage.

“I think you’ll survive,” I sign, my lips unfurling at the corners instinctively.

I can’t help it. Aleksander makes me smile.

As if Aleksander was able to understand what I said, his face suddenly clears of all amusement. Serious blue eyes, shimmering in the sunlight above, ensnare my own. “No, cherub. I wouldn’t.”

Those four words seem to hold a plethora of emotions I can’t quite understand. It’s as if his words possess an alternative meaning, one impossible for me to decipher.

We’re no longer joking around, are we?

I know he claimed that I was his mate, but I never expected to hold such power over him. It almost sounds as if I’m the only one capable of hurting him, which is ridiculous. I’m just one female. One insignificant fae.

And Aleksander is…

An elf.

A hunter.

An apex predator.

How can someone like me hurt someone like him?

Awkward tension once more saturates the air. It feels as if I’m wading through knee-deep tar that claws at and sticks to my legs.

Up ahead, Blaze pauses abruptly, curses, and then breaks into a run.

I don’t hesitate to follow directly behind him, Aleksander at my side and Treyton at my back.

The four of us pile out of the Forest and into a land awash in red, orange, and yellow. Piles of leaves rest on the ground, though a few cling stubbornly to the tree branches. The sky is bright and blue, and even with the sun out, it isn’t overly hot. A chilling wind blows through my long blonde tresses and cools my overheated flesh.

The Fall Court.

We made it.

Aleksander falls to his knees and kisses the soil.

“Thank Gaia, Chaos, Order, and every other god and goddess we were forced to learn about as children,” he praises.

As Aleksander continues to dramatically kiss the ground—and Runt pees on it a mere foot away from the elf’s face—I find my gaze sliding in Treyton’s direction. The two of us exchange a conspiratorial smile—sharing in our amusement over Alexander's antics—before realization slams into both of us.

I immediately turn away, a boulder dropping into my stomach and sluicing the meager contents around, and Treyton focuses on his shoes.

I hate this.

I hate being angry. It makes me…angry, which in turn makes me angrier. It’s a never-ending cycle of acerbic, bitter emotions.

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