Page 155 of The Demon Tide

“Where are you sending them?” she asks as she rises to her feet.

“To scan the Forest,” he replies as he stands and turns to face her.

Tierney pulls in a shaky breath. “I’ve sent my kelpies out too. To investigate all the tributaries and solitary pools.”

Viger stares at her, unblinking. “This Shadow water could be the death of them.”

He says this so matter-of-factly, as only a Death Fae can. Unfazed by the final passage.

“I warned my kelpies to steer clear of it if they sense it,” Tierney responds tightly, upset by the idea of her kelpies meeting with harm. “They know this power could be a remnant of Vogel’s brief portal-incursion here.”

Viger nods, as if that’s settled, and Tierney strives to shake off her flare of disquiet over how easily he speaks of death and loss. Part of her realizes that Viger’s and the other Death Faes’ priorities are unique. Not to avoid death, but to restore the natural balance. Quietly studying him at the Wyvernguard, Tierney has come to suspect that Viger is as close to the natural world as any Fae in his own, strange way. And she can relate to that aspect of him. She can also relate to the strong sense that he’s no stranger to emotional pain.

“We need to tell the Wyvernguard about this pool,” she notes. “Small as it is.”

Viger tilts his head toward Tierney, as if in consideration. “Do you have a vial?”

Tierney nods, fishing out the vial from under her tunic’s collar, the small flask attached to a silver necklace chain that she keeps with her in case she has to transport a kelpie.

“Draw some of the water into your vial and bring it to the Vu Trin,” Viger suggests.

Tierney glances up at the purple moon and lets out a long sigh before meeting Viger’s unnervingly steady gaze once more. “We are unlikely sentinels of the Realm, Viger. Two misfits out here in the forest during Xishlon. Searching for traces of the Shadow forces lapping at the edges of their peaceable world while they write each other love sonnets.”

“Is that what they do?” he asks with a trace of curiosity, as if this is a subject of fascination for him.

Tierney squints at him. “They’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

“Their festival is of no concern to me.”

Tierney feels a small twinge of surprise, because she can sense it there, buried under his flat inflection.

Hurt.

Tierney points to the sky, wondering if Viger is truly immune to the moon’s entrancing pull. “Do you feel its effect at all?”

He holds her stare, unblinking. “I sense it,” he says, a trace of tension lighting on the air between them.

“It’s supposed to be good luck, you know,” she says as she presses down her disquieted feelings. “To kiss someone under the Xishlon moon. A full pairing is said to be an even greater blessing.”

“Romantic nonsense,” Viger scoffs, glancing down at the shadowy water. “Made up by a world that wants to deny death, destruction, and despair.”

She blinks at him, unable to stifle a short laugh, his outrageously bleak attitude an unexpected balm this eve. Their eyes catch, gravity seeming to shift as Tierney stares into his midnight gaze. That sense of being drawn toward him ripples over her, everything else receding as the world darkens.

Tendrils of his dark mist shiver over her exposed skin, the odd sensation not completely without appeal. “What would it be like to kiss a Death Fae, I wonder,” she muses before she can stop herself, overcome by both Viger’s and the Xishlon moon’s thralls.

Viger’s mouth curves into a slow, feral smile that sends a shiver down Tierney’s spine as dark horns spiral up from his head. “It’s terrifying, I’m told,” he says, and Tierney feels like her eyes are magically locking to his, a different type of danger now riding the air.

Warnings she’s heard murmured at the Wyvernguard flit through her mind—kiss a Death Fae and they’ll invade your nightmares. Kiss a Death Fae and be buried in the deepest dark.

Kiss a Death Fae and become one with Death itself.

Viger reaches up and pushes her hair behind her shoulder with a surprisingly silken touch, his claws skimming the base of Tierney’s neck, making her shudder, his touch like shadows sliding across her skin. And his scent...it’s like cool, silent places. Like secrets. A flush rises on Tierney’s neck, his dark, penetrating gaze shifting to heatedly enthralling.

“Viger.” She swallows as her heartbeat deepens, her water magic warming as his claw tips slowly circle the back of her neck. “I’m a Water Fae tied to the life of my river. You’re a Death Fae. Do we really want to do this?”

Viger smiles, a single claw now tracing an enticing line down the length of her neck. “I think you know the answer, Asrai.”

Tierney swallows, mesmerized by him, as the purple-lit forest darkens further.

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