Page 125 of Kiss the Fae

Eventually, I deflate. Cerulean gathers me close, tucking me into his chest, which helps and doesn’t help.

We’ve tackled the vital bits but for one exception. We haven’t talked about us. We haven’t, because he already knows, same as I do.

A gust of wind strokes the rowan leaves, dust glowing from the offshoots. From beyond, the sun’s rays pour onto our laps.

I gulp, clasping his neck tighter. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Nor do I wish to let you go.” He plants his forehead against mine, his eyelids welding shut. “But you must.”

My head nods, while my heart shouts. I don’t want this mountain to fade and take him from me. I don’t want to stand aside and do nothing to save him, the fauna, and Moth. And I don’t want to see an entire domain of lives perish, despite what many of them have done.

But if I stay, where does that leave Papa Thorne? What happens when my sisters come home? How would Juniper and Cove feel, learning I chose the Fae over them?

I could never be without my papa, nor desert him. As for my sisters, we grew up unwanted by our parents and swore not to abandon each other. I won’t go back on that promise, not when we’re fighting so hard for our future together.

And I won’t cast off our sanctuary. It’d be easy to live with the wild here, but I love my avian family, and the creatures of Middle Country need my help.

And somebody has to work for change between humans and Faeries. On the mortal side, somebody has to be that spark for peace. I can’t do that from here.

Cerulean knows this. Of all people, he understands this. He believes his kin will find a way to survive without harming humans, so I have to believe that, too. We have our roles to play, in our own worlds. And in that way, we’ll be working as one.

I huddle into him, my limbs astride his waist as he crushes me to his chest and inhales my scent. Seems we’ve exchanged one cage for another. It took us nine years to find each other, thirteen days to bond, and one hour to lose everything all over again.

Far as we’re concerned, being mates doesn’t yield any perks but one. Being of different cultures, we lack an intrinsic connection, so the divide enables us to separate. I’d say that numbs the grief, but I’d be lying. Although I can make the choice to become one of them and solidify the bond, I won’t do it for all the same reasons.

But also, for one other reason. “I like who I am,” I say, fresh tears leaking down my face.

Cerulean brushes my mouth with his. “I like who are you, too.”

That guts me the most. He gets this without needing extra words, treasures me as I am.

Thing is, I want to keep my humanity. I worked my tail off to know myself, to build my life. Like hell am I about to forfeit that.

“My mutinous one,” Cerulean murmurs, his voice cracking against the seam of my lips. “How you’ve consumed me. I’ll miss your tongue lashings, your sassy rebuttals, your stunning courage. I’ll miss roaming the wild with you, tasting your body, hearing your laugh. I’ve missed you for nine years, and I’ll miss you until my last breath.”

A sob tumbles from my lips. “A kiss for a kiss.”

He snatches the words from me, swallowing them whole. His mouth slants over mine in a passionate, windswept clutch. I keen into the kiss and fling myself at his chest, my thighs clenching his waist, my fingers vaulting through his hair.

Cerulean’s tongue forages between my lips, coaxing our tongues into a sweet and sensual rhythm. I relish the scent of musk and tempests, taste blackthorn wine and rainfall. His palms clasp the back of my head, deepening our kiss, his tongue lunging into mine.

I seize the memories—meeting him, playing games with him, losing him, rebelling against him, talking with him, arguing with him, kissing him, fucking him, loving him.

Because I do. I love him.

That’s all I can do, feel the love. That alone is gonna have to sustain me.

Three times, we’ve changed our lives with a kiss. When we met, when we loved, and now as we say good-bye.

Our limbs and arms tangle. His heart rams into my breasts, and my lips seal over his. Our tongues roll, hot and sweet and—

Cerulean rips his mouth away. His swollen blue lips hang open, sucking oxygen into his lungs. “Perhaps I have the stamina for one final heroic act before I resume my feral, fiendish, ferocious ways.” He tips his head, and a visible current waves across the range, fluid and streaked at the edges.

Moments later, a winged form slides across the welkin and lands. I jolt, whipping toward the nightingale chick, who perches alongside the owl and is no longer thimble-sized. The hatchling of gemstone brown and dazzling turquoise has shifted to equal Tímien’s girth.

Foreboding twists me around. “Cerulean, no.”

“She will carry you to the Triad.”

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