Page 8 of The Pixies' Chosen

“What do you expect from me, Tryst? What exactly is it that you want from the situation?” I rake a hand through my hair as I regard him angrily.

His expression cools as his eyes narrow icily upon me. “For you to bear the consequences of your decision. You will not take this from me and abandon a gift that we have been given if you have any hope of remaining in a hive with me.”

I blink at him, caught off guard by his hard words. Never in all our years together, even when I refused to court the young queens of the colony, had Tryst ever spoken to me in such a manner. My wings droop slightly, barely keeping me aloft as the weight of his demand catches up to me.

Bear the consequences. I no longer have any choice left to me—and any dream of them was now gone in favor of a pitiful human female that I never wished to have as my own.

“Very well,” I rasp, the words falling painfully from my lips as I turn through the air and head back to the tiny fallen female on the ground.

CHAPTER 7

AMMAYI

The gods have a sense of humor. That’s the only thing I can think of as I slowly fight to consciousness with the enormous bodies of family and friends towering over me like mountains. One moment I was chatting with my sister and her fiancé and going through all the social motions, and the next moment I am waking up no more than a handful of inches tall, lying in grass that rises like tall spears all around me.

I stare at the blades in bewilderment, unable to comprehend exactly what happened to me. I know that much of it is shock, but for a long moment I can’t even move or do anything but stare up at my new world looming terrifyingly above me. I only just barely come to my senses in time to evade a shoe that steps far too close for my comfort. It is only at that moment that it occurs to me that no one even realizes I’m there.

No one except for the giant crow staring down at me from where it’s perched on the fence. Its head is angled to the side as itwatches me with one dark eye. The feathers on its neck puff out and flatten in a manner that almost seems contemplative—as if it is considering what kind of meal I might make.

I scurry back, crab walking as I scoot my butt across the ground—unwilling to take my eyes from it as the horrifying realization dawns on me that, somehow, I had shrunk! Rolling to my belly, I shove up to my feet, not even bothering to grab for my odhni as it falls from around my shoulders to the ground, and blindly run, dodging the feet of relatives as I had for the safety of the nearest tree. The house would be preferable, but at this point that crow is stationed directly between me and it and I strongly suspect that I don’t have a chance at making it past the cunning scavenger.

For a moment I consider trying to wave down either my mother or sister, but as small as I am there isn’t much of a chance of being able to get their attention from the ground. Not even the bright orange, silk kurti I’m wearing seems to be enough to catch anyone’s eye. I just don’t get it, though. What happened to me?

Also… why do my parents have to be so vigilant at keeping the yard clean? There are next to no fallen leaves to use for cover while I make my way across the yard. Even the grass is freshly manicured rather than providing me so much as the smallest amount of shelter. I grumble to myself as I quicken my pace and pant, all the while weaving back and forth hoping that it will discourage the crow from coming after me. Last I heard it works for gators, so why not crows? Right?

At last, the craggy root of the oak rises before me, and I could kiss the stupid thing as I make a beeline for it. Of course, it seems to come at me at a slow pace because, even though I’m huffing and panting as I run with all my might, my tiny legs aren’t carrying me very far. I curse the stupid tree being so far away.

Quick glances back over my shoulder confirm that the stupid bird has hopped from the fence to a table. And then to the ground. The bird rotates its head slightly as if working to track my weaving path. It isn’t getting any closer at the moment, but I curse myself for never taking cardio seriously—or exercise at all really—and am carrying more than a scant few extra pounds on my curvy frame.

That’s it! If I survive this, I really need to get in shape.

Not that going to the gym is going to be an option if I can’t find a way to reverse this bizarre nightmare. Whoever heard of spontaneous shrinking being a real-world problem? Even with fae beings moving into our world and cohabiting with us, I’ve never heard of anyone just randomly shrinking. That I’m the one to draw this particularly shitty straw is not entirely shocking. I just can’t seem to win, and it strikes me as I’m literally running for my life that I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of this situation.

My head swivels to glance back over my shoulder again, but a pulsing glow moving in front of me that I catch out of the corner of my eye has me looking straight ahead again. And with my dumb luck, it’s just in time to get a very good impression of a pewter-colored chiseled chest looming in front of me, shimmering with a hint of a violet glow seconds before I run smack into it.

And it’s no light landing. Usually a chest, even a muscular one, will have the tiniest amount of give, of flesh impacting flesh, but running into this chest feels like running into a wall… or the campus statue I just tripped on and fell into. I slam into it and immediately begin to crumple in shock before a pair of hands stop my fall—and not the hands belonging to the chest of steel because a pair of powerful-looking arms are crossing over that chest. My eyes trail up to a beautiful face scowling disdainfully down at me.

His face is sharp and angular, almost elven if not for plating like ridges on his brow—in fact, on second glance, his flesh appears more chitinous than anything else—and the twitching antennae peeking out from his tousled hair. I stare at that hair for a moment because although it is straight and thick, it stands out around his face in a manner that isn’t really achieved naturally. I have cosplay friends and have known them to spend hours styling wigs to get that same effect. It falls in fluffed out spikes around two large, long, and pointed ears that are more prominent than anything I’ve seen on any other fae being. Of course, my experience isn’t substantial, but it stands out enough to be remarkable to me. As are the blistering cold black eyes and the perfectly carved mouth that is currently thinning at me.

Okay, this is definitely not the sort of guy to hold me tenderly judging by his pissy expression. I’m not entirely sure what his problem is and why he’s making me the butt of it. All I know is that it’s a pity that something so pretty can look like a complete ass. This begs the question, however, if he is not holding me… then who is?

My head slowly cranes back, and I peer over my shoulder at another pretty pewter man standing behind me. This one, however, despite his inhuman coloring, looks like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel with all that long, wavy dark hair and full lips that are currently curving into a smile as he peers down at me. Whereas Hot Guy Number One has a cold, elegant beauty that I would associate with the sexiness of a blade, Hot Guy Number Two here has a broody artist look to him in his goth hues interrupted only by the vivid color of my odhni clasped in his other hand. And while the first had a glowing violet cast to him, this one has a glow of rich blues that is emphasized by a pair of large indigo wings that suddenly flutter behind him.

My eyes widen slightly as he draped the broad scarf around me, and I stare at that point over his shoulder even though thewings have already disappeared. Did I really just see… Does he really have scalloped dragonfly wings? My mouth gapes open as a thrill shoots through me.

“Fairies!”

Hot Guy Number Two’s lips quirk, but it is the sharp bark of laughter behind me from Hot Guy Number One that has my head whipping back around to look blankly at the male standing in front of me. This time I can see plainly the pair of violet wings standing upright from his back as they flare and move behind him as he visibly works to control his temper. I clearly have said something wrong but I’m relieved when he doesn’t blow up at me—big confrontations are really not my thing—but I’m not comforted when his gaze shoots to the male behind with a contemptuous glare.

“You see, Tryst? I cannot do this. Absolutely not!” he growls, his wings practically vibrating now in front of him. Even his chitin seems to be vibrating with a chilling chiming sound.

“Calm down, Havoc,” the one called Tryst replies from behind me. “Humans can seldom tell the different races of fae apart, and fairies have always spread misinformation among their race like goblin farts. Besides, we do possess a similar general build.”

“I donotresemble a fairy,” Havoc—aptly named in my opinion, given how hot and cold he obviously runs—protests but his ire does appear to be visibly receding as he squints at me. “We are pixies from the upper Dark Forest, human.”

“Ammayi,” I immediately correct as I peer over at him. “So, what’s the difference?”

A cold, slightly cruel smile stretches across his face in response to my question. “The difference is that if we were fairies, we would be eating you, not conversing with you.”

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