Page 8 of How to Keep a Fae

I snatch the covering away. She is right outside, her eyes narrowed.

“I was in the bathing room,” I say, stumbling over the words.

Her eyes narrow further, almost like she can smell the lie upon me. My cheeks are hotter than the sun.

Around her, warriors pass, entering nesting rooms.

Lifting her nose, she moves on.

A warrior steps into her place. My eyes go up and up until they eventually meet his golden ones.

Impressions slam into me one after another: brooding, intense, and dominant.

I squeak. My stomach does that strange freefall as I dart back, dropping the door covering.

He is still on the other side!

I quickly snatch the heavy material out of the way. Goodness, I’m a gibbering wreck. I can’t believe I did that again.

It’s not my rugged alpha but a different warrior.Another one I’ve never met before. It happens from time to time as they change up members of patrols.

Several beats pass before he ducks into the room. He is the tallest warrior I’ve ever met—he is also fae, with his long, pointed ears peeping between his dark hair.

He stalks deeper into my nesting room. “I’m not injured.” His voice is deep, smooth, and eminently cultured, and it turns my insides to goo.

I’m still holding onto the covering and belatedly allow it to drop.

Where have my wits gone? Why is my heart hammering in my chest?

I can’t make eye contact with him. He’s very handsome. Otherworldly so. It is truly impressive how I noticed this during my brief glance before I tore my gaze away.

I feel overwhelmingly shy. No, I’m definitely not going to drop my knees and demand to suck his cock. Making eye contact again is an insurmountable challenge—I’m breathless just being enclosed in the same room.

He steps closer.

My eyes want to slide around him, my heart thumping inside the cage of my ribs, slick flooding my pussy with the need to serve him, even though he’s not injured at all.

He is absolutely filthy, I realize as my eyes finally make contact with his armor-covered chest. There are dark blood splatters all over his armor.

A clean hand, likely enclosed in a glove during the battle, enters my periphery. Broad. Capable. The knuckles are scuffed with scars. I stop breathing as he reaches out and cups two fingers under my chin, lifting it.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

My eyes flash up and collide with his.

He blinks a few times as though rousing himself from adaze. And then he brushes his thumb over my lips. A strange compulsion grips me, for I part and suck.

“Gods,” he says. He doesn’t take his thumb away, and I’m still sucking on it while staring into his pretty golden eyes. His jaw works. I think he’s going to say something. And then he carefully plucks his thumb from my lips.

“I need to clean up,” he mumbles almost to himself, turning his face to the side.

I remain frozen in place. He steps back, still in profile, allowing me to drink him in. He wears the visage of a dark, avenging angel. His hair is black and straight. It parts in the center and forms a frame around his face: square jaw, full lips—a narrow slash of a nose. Goodness, I think I might spontaneously climax just from being trapped in the same room.

He turns his back on me, and the spell is broken. I suck much-needed air into my lungs. My hand goes to my throat, the pulse jumping under my fingertips.

He strips, shucking out of his armor, one piece at a time, placing it all neatly on the narrow bench and hooks just inside the door intended for such purpose. His back is to me, a broad expanse of scarred flesh. And then his pants come down, revealing a firm muscular ass and powerful thighs.

He glances back over his shoulder. I snap my eyes from my perusal of his ass. The air is so thick in here, saturated with his pheromones.

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