Page 41 of Fairies Don't Fall

“The sir isn’t right, but I’ll buy the lady’s drink.”

I snorted and scowled at him and his deliciously glowing golden eyes. “Lady? My request was reasonable, but you refused it out of hand. That’s not fair.” I scowled at his face and the perfectly gorgeous jaw line that was angling in my direction. I poked his face, the silky skin, the hard bones. “I hate your face. Why don’t you grow your beard back?”

“What do you hate about it?”

“Everything. And it’s not fair that you tasted me and I haven’t tasted you.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “Are you that hungry? And drinking on an empty stomach?” His eyes narrowed at me and he covered my glass as the bartender tilted a bottle to pour more in. “You have no idea what you’re drinking, do you?”

“Peaches,” I informed him. “It tastes less like acid now. Werewolf drinks are vile, but interesting. You don’t want me to talk to your beast? Then what am I supposed to do? I’m supposed to look alluring, but no one notices. Maybe I need to be more aggressive. Which wolf in this bar is the best at making out? I should say, which has the lowest standards.” I sighed heavily.

He stared at me, then gave the rest of the room a scant glance before returning his heavy gaze to me. He picked up my drink and took a sip, winced and set it down. “Now you’re looking for physical connection with a werewolf? You’ve clearly been drinking too much. Let’s go back to the warehouse before you do something you regret.”

I shoved his chest. He didn’t move, just narrowed his glorious golden eyes at me. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve kissed a werewolf. I need to experience it so I can get it out of my system. You aren’t my alpha, Lord Max.”

He pursed his lips and studied me. “First you want my beast, and now anyone will do? That might hurt his feelings. As to which is the best at making out, that depends on your criteria. Do you mean the best at not losing it to his beast and ripping you apart when his passion gets the better of him? That would be me. I have extremely good control, or my beast would have dragged you to a cave by now.”

I scowled at him and poked his chest. “You won’t make out with me.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because you are mated to the moon,” I said, gesturing broadly at the ceiling.

“Do you want to make out with me?”

I stared at him while my chest constricted. Did I want to taste him while wrapped in fervent desire? “I don’t know. You’re scary. And I’ve never kissed anyone before, so it’s important toget someone who knows what they’re doing.” I nodded, because that seemed to make sense.

“You haven’t kissed anyone, even Vervain the Terrible?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Especially Vervain.” I hesitated and then took his hand in mine, spreading my fingers through his and then looked up into his eyes, watching the flickering gold while the feeling of happiness and contentment rolled over me like a wave. There it was. Happiness in a touch. What would it feel like to taste his mouth? It was worth asking, even if I knew he was going to reject me. “Will you kiss me?”

“How drunk are you?” His eyes were so bright and intense.

My heart beat faster. He didn’t say no, and he didn’t pull away. I swallowed hard. “Do drunk people kiss better or worse?”

“Drunk people make decisions that they wouldn’t have made sober.”

I frowned at his perfectly bare chin. “I’m not sure about that. They might just do things they wanted to do but had the sense not to do. Is that different?” I looked up into his eyes. So burning. So hungry. He was a werewolf, but the hunger seemed to match mine. I wanted to touch him to the bone, to taste him and pull his hair and wrap around him like a barnacle before I had to leave. Vervain was somewhere. He could show up at any time and drag me back to my duty. Panic. Vervain couldn’t come before I’d tasted my wolf.

“You want to kiss me, Princess Sparkles?” His voice was a low growl that rippled down my spine.

“Obviously, Lord Max. All the fairies want to taste you. Hadn’t you noticed? You really should stop shaving. Your chin is too perfect.”

He rumbled a laugh. “Isn’t it, though? Still, it’s less attractive to werewolf females, so that’s a distinct positive to it. I?—”

He wouldn’t let me talk to his beast. He wouldn’t let me finish my drink. He wouldn’t stop shaving his beard. Well, I wasn’t a very civilized fairy, and I’d been on my best behavior all day.

I slid over onto his lap and took his face in my hands. I pressed our lips together, cutting him off. I closed my eyes, and then the world shattered. A ripple of pleasure went through me, then another, and another, each wave higher than the last, until with a gasp I broke away to find that the world hadn’t exploded around us. Weird.

His eyes were flickering as wildly as an out-of-control volcano, and then he slid his hand around the base of my skull and pulled me back to his lips. The connection was almost painful, then too sweet, filling my chest with the most potent aching that melted into happiness. I clung to him, drowning in his mouth, his taste, his tongue, and then another wave went through me, cramping my stomach. I tried to hang onto him, but the sickness rose up inside of me, the death, the hate, the rage, rising and rising until I turned my head as it came out of my throat, my pores, trailing off my wings in sparkling black, lethal threads.

Had I ever felt so awful? I was dying. It was the absolute opposite of how I’d felt kissing him. What was wrong with me? Why would I have to ruin that perfect kiss with lethal bile? Life wasn’t fair. All I needed was for Vervain to show up and judge me. I was like a rag wrung out, squeezing every drop of venom out of me, and it wasn’t pretty. Strong arms picked me up. Max was carrying me. I tried to push him away, but I couldn’t see very well from my eyes, covered in the noxious poison tears as they trailed down my cheeks in fiery streaks. Hm. That rhymed. I should write the worst composition in existence to memorialize this moment.

“Go away, Max. I’m poison,” I whispered between bouts of agonizing eruption of death. “All the poisoned victims are getting their revenge on me,” I moaned, then retched again.

“The ones you healed so thoroughly?” He tsked. “There’s no gratitude anymore. The stuff coming out of your eyes looks very creepy. Particularly with the sparkles,” he said, laughter threading his words. Was he having fun with this?

I straightened up to wipe my eyes and glare at him, but before I got more than a blurry image of his crooked smile, it was more vile retching that fully occupied my attention. If he wanted to carry me around while I died, whatever. I spent forever vomiting and sweating until I finally felt empty. My throat burned along with my skin where I wasn’t coated in the drippy stuff.

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