Page 6 of Beyond the Cottage

“Nah. Just dosed.”

Ansel checked her vital signs. Strong pulse, steady breath. Assured she wasn’t gravely damaged, he looked the woman over.

She seemed young, probably mid-twenties. She wore a loose, high-collared tunic over snug breeches. A belt cinched her waist, and a strange collection of braids dangled from it, nearly obscuring the dagger strapped there.

Her clothing told him little about who she was or where she came from, but the knife told him plenty about how she’d react upon waking.

“This is thoroughly demented,” Ansel said. “Even for you. Explain.”

Jonas crouched next to him. “I followed her off the strip. She was alone and seemed pretty tanked, so I kind of just…took her.”

“Why?”

“She’s a pixie.”

Ansel glanced over the woman’s trouser-clad legs. “That’s not a pixie. She’s armed, for godssake.” He leaned in and cringed at the aroma coming off her. “And she reeks of booze.”

Jonas spread the woman’s collar and yanked it down her shoulder. The epithets Ansel had been about to spew never made it past his lips. Because there, in the shallow valley between her neck and clavicle, was the most exquisite volatus he’d ever seen.

Usually, they were anemic pink, resembling small birthmarks. Hers was the color of ripe berries. It was flat and smooth, delicately ticking with her pulse,demandingto be tapped. Ansel brought his face to it, and through the liquor fumes, he caught the strawberry scent of pixie dust. His body jerked.

All pixies smelled more or less the same, but the delicious perfume coming from her neck hit his brain like a narcotic. It…eased him. Flooded his synapses with comfort and pleasure. He got in closer, and the odd sensation intensified.

“Incredible,” Ansel murmured.

“An ounce of her dust will be worth a year’s harvest.”

Ansel ran a finger over her neck, and it came away smelling of strawberries and lemons. She must possess some genetic mutation. The color, her scent…

What she produced was sure to be exceptional. Perhaps even worthy of a bidding war?

Ansel sank back on his heels. He’d intended to close his shitty business soon, and the proceeds from her dust would put him months ahead of schedule. There might even be enough left over to get his real work off the ground. He’d spent years researching spellwork, and his project was nearly complete, but starting a new business required a significant infusion of capital.

Had his idiot cousin fucked up any chance the pixie might do business with him? While the intra-species sale of bodily secretions was technically illegal, Ansel’s other donors came willingly and were paid for their contributions.

He side-eyed Jonas. “Why didn’t you offer her our standard contract?”

“I tried, but she pulled her knife on me.”

“And your solution waskidnapping?”

“Hear me out. We’ll tap her while she sleeps. I can get her back to the city in two hours tops, and she’ll never know she was here.”

Only half-listening to his cousin’s lunacy, Ansel inhaled her scent again. It bloomed in his brain like spring flowers, drawing something familiar, yet indefinable from his subconscious. It made him want to gather her in his arms and carry her someplace safe.

Do not let her go…

Ansel pulled back to clear his head.

His cognitive reaction to her scent fascinated him. He’d never harvested pixie dust with psychotropic properties before. Studying it tempted him nearly as much as selling it.

Was his cousin’s idea truly so ludicrous?

Ansel watched her chest gently rise and fall. A strand of hair fluttered off her lips with each breath, and he barely resisted tucking it behind her ear.

Fascinating.

If Jonas had already done the damage by bringing her there, how much worse would taking a sample be? Without her dust, she wouldn’t be able to fly for a time, but she’d otherwise remain unharmed. Ansel would take her back to Antrelle himself, and she’d wake with little more than a headache. He’d even fill her pockets with the same cash he paid the other pixies.

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