Page 13 of Kiss the Fae

When it teases my nightgown and fiddles with the low neckline, my hand reacts. My whip belts into the air. Another thrust of wind rams into me, knocking the weapon aside, so that it falls limp in my grasp.

The branches groan. The horned owl leaps into the sky.

A displeased, menacing voice prowls across my skin. “That—was incredibly stupid, pet.”

I swerve toward those patronizing words and snap my weapon—which thwacks into a masculine arm that blocks the strike. The impact causes me to stagger. For a second, that unflinching arm remains crooked at the elbow and fixed in place before finally lowering.

And then I trip over a pair of disturbing, glittering irises.

Fables. I take an involuntary step back.

Out of nowhere, a lithe male form stands before me. He’s got the appearance of a human in his mid-twenties, with a thicket of hair lashing around his face. It’s the most dangerous shade I’ve ever seen, an obsidian-blue that’s richer than dawn, deeper than dusk.

A long, thin cord of braided hair dangles from the tousled layers, with a feather of the same pigment sprouting at the end.

It’s the same shade as…

I jerk the thought from my head, because no. It might be a dazzling hue, but it’s not the same one as the blue feather I’d protected today.

It can’t be the same type of plume. It’s impossible for one indisputable reason.

A reason I don’t want to think about.

This stranger’s the picture of disheveled elegance. Black boots soar up his legs, fitting around loose trousers. A white shirt hangs from his torso, the material as rumpled as an unmade bed. The garment dips into a shameless V, the neckline descending to his navel and exposing the majority of his chest.

Man, this fucker’s got some nerve.

A long coat billows around him, dyed the color of eventide. The hem taps his calves, and the collar flares along his jaw.

I retreat even farther, put distance between us, and take a wild guess. “You’re one of the Three. You’re the one who rules the sky.”

The Fae smirks. “Come now. You make me sound vicious.”

Although Faeries speak their own language, they’re fluent in the mortal tongue. But unlike my rustic drawl, his accent has a lofty, upward slope to it.

My attention jumps to his lips, coated in an ominous dark blue. Did he paint his mouth that shade? Or is it a natural part of his skin?

He’s a tall swig of water. My eyes trace his physique—slender yet toned where it counts—cresting to an exquisitely lethal visage. The hollows and ridges of his face are all points and inclines, his cheekbones slanting toward a pair of pointy ears.

My hands suffocate the whip. “I’m no man’s pet.”

“Indeed? Such a shame, and such a waste.” His irises gleam, their rings encrusted with a spectrum of blues, comparable to the vivid quills of a blue jay. “Though it’s a pleasure to know you haven’t been claimed yet.”

Yeah. I walked into that one. “What did you do to my sisters?”

“Mulish, meddlesome, mutinous little girl. Where are your manners?”

I swear, their hypocrisy is the stuff of legends. Nevertheless, I compress my lips, fighting to remember everything my sisters and I have been over, everything the villagers have been threatened to remember.

Read between the lines. Stay vigilant of twisted words and promises they won’t keep. And no matter what, be polite.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m gonna have trouble with that last one.

“I’m no little girl, either,” I say.

His eyes slide down my nightgown and spark with intrigue when they land on my pebbled nipples. “Oh, but I see that,” he says while sauntering toward me with careless grace. “I saw it before as well—a most unusual, most beguiling, most intriguing sight in The Colony of Fireflies. Your body clad in nearly nothing, the smut of your attire exhibited to the wild.”

This shocks me for all of three seconds. That’s a lot for me. About three seconds too many, which I realize is the point.

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