Page 65 of By the Fae

Just be careful. You know, if it was me, I’d already be building her a shrine.

I laughed out loud. Heads turned to me. Sugar Paste and Taur each raised an eyebrow in synchronicity, obviously realising I’d been chatting with Dima.

I know you would, D. You are so fucking precious, it hurts my heart. You’ll find love one day. And not with a human. I promise. Listen, if I start to . . . fall in love with her. Holly. If I think I might be . . . Any tiny inclination. I will pack my bags and I will go back to the Kingdom of the Fae for a couple of decades to forget about her. Okay?

He said nothing, just stared at me, his tongue tracing circles around his left fang.

Okay?

Fine!he shouted into my mind, and then out loud, at jet-engine decibels, he said. “Can someone please put a shirt on Taur? He’s upsetting the human.”

“I’m fine,” said Holly, springing forward to grab who knew what, but consequently tipping over her glass of lager, which then set off a chain reaction of shit falling into other shit.

The peppermill toppled over, knocking into an empty bottle of Sugar Paste’s wine, which rolled onto Holly’s legs. She winced and let out an injured animal cry disproportionate to the impact.

“What’s wrong?” I was at her side in an instant. Plucking the bottle from her lap and inspecting it for stray shards of protruding glass. I set it down on the table when I found none. It hadn’t even cracked.

She has twin bruises on her thighs from last night when you clamped them open and ate her p—

Okay, buddy, let’s get you out of her thoughts.

“Take those hideous waders off,” I demanded as soon as we were back in my room.

Holly sighed. “Can’t I at least let my food go down first? I think I ate way too much, and that super-spicy chicken was very super-spicy, indeed.”

Gods, who says indeed like that?

“I don’t mean to fuck.” Though I still had plans to eat her out again tonight. “Show me your bruises.”

“How did you know about my bruises?”

“Why are you even trying to hide them from me?”

Holly unclipped her dungarees — a downward then upward motion, I’d learnt — and let them drop to the floor. I knelt down in the pool of denim before her. In the centre of her thigh, on either side, was a silver-coin sized, purple bruise.

I did that to her. I hurt her.

I touched my finger to it lightly. She flinched.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget how delicate humans are.” I looked up at Holly, big brown eyes staring back at me. She brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

No. The moment was too intimate. Even though we were in my bedroom, and I planned to make her scream again later, it felt too cosy, too coupley.

“I mean, I forget how gods-damned flimsy your lot are.”

She trapped her smile behind her palm.

“Please don’t think what I’m about to do next means that I like you,” I said, placing one hand over each of her bruises.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Holly said.

We were silent for a few seconds while I worked. Nothing outwardly happened when I cast healing glamour. My hands didn’t glow, or my eyes, or sparks didn’t dance around the room. Apart from the changes happening within me, there was no way to tell any magic was being performed. Or at least, I didn’t think there was. I’d never successfully cast healing glamour before, but I’d been told humans found the lack of showiness a touch disappointing.

“Okay, all done,” I said after a few moments. I removed my hands, revealing smooth, bruise-free skin.

“What?” Holly said, bending down so quickly she nearly smacked our heads together. “How did you do that?”

“Glamour, obviously.” I pushed myself to my feet.

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