Page 170 of Fated or Knot

“It reminds me of her.”

He drummed his fingertips on the counter, though the illusion betrayed him by not masking the clicking of his growing claws as they struck the wood. I kept my gaze on the dirt path leading in from the forest, even as growing shadows lengthened into oncoming night outside. I tipped another swallow into my mouth and longing soured it going down.

P’nixie…

“I miss her too,” Fal said heavily.

The lack of a needling remark was unlike him. Any other day, he’d ask what it was about the disgusting beer reminded me of our mate. Instead, he hunched over his flagon in a mirror to how I sat. Loneliness was as disconcerting and ill-fitting a look on him as the stiff illusion he wore.

He hadn’t seen Lark in over a week. A self-imposed sacrifice he’d made for me. Yeah, he’d half-assed a deal to hide his intent, but he’d opened the way for me to bond with Lark first for a reason. To make sure wewouldbond. Tormund and Kauz had fallen for her immediately, and if my older brother was ever fully honest about it, so had he. I’d been the odd one out, denying for too long how drawn I was to my p’nixie.

Fal, as pack lead, would not accept Lark as our princess unless we were all in agreement. I’d wager the crown’s treasure that he hadn’t confessed how much he loved her yet, dancing ona fine ledge around the words as he waited for me to stop being fucking stupid. He may have let Pack Ellisar walk right past him, and that was ahugemistake, but I owed him too deeply to do anything but partner with him to fix the situation.

And to finally acknowledge him a little. “Thank you,” I said.

He raised a brow. “For what?”

“You know what.”

His usual mischievous smirk tugged on the side of his lips and he propped his chin on his fist as he regarded me. There was the brother I knew, about to say something annoying and ruin my attempt at gratitude.

The timepiece-like gadget locked onto a new target with a tinyping. I snatched it up first, following the line of the needle to a hooded figure pacing back and forth outside, head tilted back to scent the air.

Fal and I exchanged a glance. “Well, fuck me sideways,” he remarked.

“Incoming.” The needle followed the path this male took to the front door of the tavern before I pocketed the gadget. Fal grabbed one of my old, empty flagons and got to his feet, heading to the bar behind the hooded stranger. I sat perfectly still, trying to catch the murmur of voices under the general revelry of the crowded taproom. It was still impossible to make out what my brother was murmuring to the newcomer.

Well, Fal’s role was always to be the persuader. There was a chance this newcomer was simply a powerful essence spinner, not our quarry. After a few tense minutes, Fal tapped our pack bond in a signal I’d been waiting for. I forced myself to take a sip of beer and loosen up as he showed the hooded stranger to the stool on my left and flanked him.

My nostrils flared.Maple tree sap, sullied by a bit of dirt.Lark had described the youngest bark brother, Floris, spot on to what I smelled from this male. She’d grown to fear catchinga whiff of him, knowing he’d frequent the market during the hours she usually visited, hoping to corner her. I suppressed an aggressive growl by sheer force of will.

“My new friend tells me you have information,” he said in a hope-filled hush.

I regarded him over the rim of my flagon. His illusion was that of a dryad, replacing the tree bark shingles that grow over barkfolk like a suit of armor with skin the color and texture of wood grain. The cloak was pinned down his front, probably to conceal that he wasn’t actually wearing any clothing.

“Concerning what?” I asked, speaking low and slow to disguise the worst of my feral rasp. Niall seethed, close to the surface of my mind.

“I’ve been searching for a pixie. She was here recently.”

“There are many pixies who live in the Garden District. You’ll have to be more specific,” Fal said silkily.

The disguised barkfolk took a deep drink of his fresh beer. “She’s unique, if you saw her you’d know it. Petite, white hair, silvery-gray wings. Walks with a limp,” he listed out.

My grip tightened on my flagon. I didn’t smash him over the head with it, only because Fal signaled a victory the moment Floris took a drink. We just needed to keep him here for a few minutes.

As a reward for a bit of self-control, I would torture this male soon. It was only a matter of time.

“Information will cost you,” I drawled.

“I can pay. Have you seen her?” he pressed.

I thought of Lark as we’d first met her. The poor, weak waif in a grass stained servant’s gown, completely cowed to her stepmother’s will. This male asked about the pale shade of my p’nixie, a beaten-down omega he felt so fucking entitled to, here he was asking after her in a foreign country.

My fury didn’t fade, but calculation took its place. I could toy with my prey a bit before I tore out his throat. “I have, actually. Helped her with her bags when she first moved here.”

I put my palm out and he fumbled a few full moon coins into it. “Tell me everything, please,” he whispered.

Cheap bastard,I thought, nearly amused that he thought this was enough to buy any kind of access to my mate.

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