Page 29 of The Pixies' Chosen

A guilty look colors his face, and he motions down the hall toward my bedroom. “It was on the large wooden stand by your bed. Since you refused to go in there, I thought maybe you would not mind if I needed to utilize it to acquire something for you.”

It’s strange that he would think that I would be angry about that. It’s just a dollar and worth next to nothing in this economy, except apparently a month supply of mini lattes. Besides which, last I checked he is the equivalent of a pixie husband.

“Aren’t you my mate?”

He gives me an adorably puzzled look, his indigo wings twitching with uncertainty. “Of course. Can you not feel it?” he murmurs, and I feel the warmth of his love pour through me as his eyes warm with emotion.

“What is that?” I whisper. “I’ve been feeling it for a while, but I always thought it was just my imagination. But that definitely didn’t feel like it was coming from me.”

He shakes his head. “Many fae species do not mate bond the same way pixies do. I suspect humans are this way as well. Our special bond is something that allows us to connect powerfully to each other when we are in proximity to each other.”

“But I’m not a pixie,” I remind him—as if he really needs that reminder.

A sweet smile tugs at his lips, and I sense a gentle ripple of his amusement rising briefly before fading away.

“You are not,” he agrees. “But you are a pixie’s queen—my queen—which means that you are likely to experience similar responses to our bonding.”

“That’s wild,” I murmur, and my eyes drift over to Havoc. What I wouldn’t give to know his inner feelings. Without preamble, I gesture toward the sleeping male. “So this will happen when we mate too?”

Tryst smiles and nods. “And it will be a good thing. If Havoc had properly mated you and accepted you as our queen from the beginning, it would have resolved so many problems before they even started. He would have understood the real you, and you would have likewise seen past his defenses.”

“Hmm,” I hum as I take another sip of my latte. “Gotcha. Basically, it produces the soft chocolatey center without having to chip away at the hard candy coating,” I say slowly. I tip my head and smirk. “Although the licking has been fun in its own way.”

My mate gives me a confused look and chuckles as he shakes his head mirthfully. “You say the strangest things,zini.”

“I have to admit that I am curious about his story. He must have one to have flipped out about the accidental dusting.”

Tryst hesitates but, after a moment of consideration, nods. “First, you must understand that pixie colonies are all alike in that possessing what is considered less desirable characteristics—something as simple as color, the shape of one’s wings, or even the pulse of one’s shimmer,” he says, pointing to the soft light emanating from his belly, “can cause pixies to be rejected as mates, although they can serve as castri for sexual education within the colony.”

Gross. Fortunately, I manage not to react; after all, this is his culture. Not mine. And I have no right to weigh in on it. As long as none of my mates are being pressured into sex work, I’m fine.

“And you’re considered undesirable,” I say, filling in the obvious blank.

He nods and sighs heavily. “It is all very arbitrary. What can be considered attractive and fortuitous in one colony can be a devastation in another, but the additional disadvantage of having to leave our maternal colonies means that we do not always get to pick what colonies accept our presence. It just happens that in this one our colors are unfavorable, but at least we had territory and a colony we could survive in. We did not mind our disadvantage at first since we still drew some admiration from the young queens. We thought that we would eventually win them over.” His wings shift helplessly as he shrugs. “But years pass, and hope turns to bitterness. And Havoc… he is a male of deep feeling. Eventually he refused to have anything to do with queens or making any attempt to mate.”

“Until he was given the dust to capture my sister.”

“Until that point,” Tryst agrees solemnly. “He saw it as a gift. A gift that would allow him to select a mate that he desired rather than having to perform or appear in a way that suited another.”

My heart squeezes in sympathy. He was gifted with something amazing and then got me. “He must have been so disappointed to have wasted it on me.”

“What waste?” Havoc peers at me from the bed as he lightly scratches at the chitin covering his chest. He rises then, the bedding twisting briefly and falling away from his lithe, sculpted frame. “I see no waste here.”

My eyes drop in embarrassment because I’m remembering things a little differently and also recall with acuteembarrassment everything I did to make things more difficult. “I sure did try to waste your efforts to hunt for me,” I point out.

He looks at me in surprise and I blush. Yeah, that really didn’t make a good impression on him.

“About that—I’m sorry. I should have realized that you were being serious, and it was stuff you’d actually eat rather than thinking you were just picking on me.”

He tilts his head consideringly and at length he sighs, but in that small sound it seems that some of the tension between us unravels further. “Because I gave you no cause to think anything else. Of course you would think badly of my gifts. And you did not understand our ways, nor did we try to teach you. Do not think any further on this.”

Tryst nods somberly in agreement. “I did not help in my coddling rather than helping Havoc show you what is necessary for your survival. So you are not to blame,zini.”

A faint smile stretches my lips as I regard the males through new eyes. Tryst wasn’t perfect. Havoc wasn’t a monster. Instead, I’ve been given two glorious males who each care for me in their own imperfect ways. I can accept that considering I’m far from perfect myself and I resolve to do more to learn so that I can take care of them as well instead of just being a burden for them—even if neither has dared to call me such. Even Havoc at his nastiest did not aim that particular word at me, and it tells me all I need to know about how serious their feelings have been. And that’s just amazing to me. More than that they are incredible males in their own right. Tryst’s thoughtfulness is the perfect counterbalance to Havoc’s passion.

I’m entertaining ideas of how to tempt that passion to the surface when Havoc’s wings stretch and flicks as he casts a casual gaze between me and Tryst, and the assortment of food lying in front of us. Unexpectedly, his eyes settle on the crabapple and his eyes dance with interest.

“Fairy apples,” he breathes enthusiastically. He glances over at Tryst and grins. “We must go gather more. I can mash these down and brew them to make a pleasant drink for our nest over the winter.”

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