Page 130 of Kiss the Fae

My digits grasp the whip. “What have you done to Juniper?”

The ruler of the woodland cocks his head and taps his crinkly mouth. “Naturally. No time to waste, asking about the scholarly, show-off huntress. What have I done to her? Now there’s a merry question.”

“Where is she?”

“What have you done to Juniper? Where is she?”he parrots, rolling his eyes. “You know, I’ve been here less than three minutes, and already, I’m bored. You don’t want to see me when I get bored. I tend to overcompensate for it.”

Puck drapes himself there, as though he’s the guest of honor at an orgy. No doubt he’s also used to creatures sitting on his lap, stringing themselves around him like beaded ornaments.

But whatever emotion creases my face, he seems to realize something unexpected. His irises flare with surprise and…something I can’t decipher, something with a jagged edge. “My, my, my. You honestly want to know.”

What he’s done to my sister? Where she is?

Why the fuck wouldn’t I want to know?

I step nearer and unravel my whip. “How’s about you quit putting me in suspense and answer the questions?”

The unidentified emotion wilts from his face. In its place, Puck’s gaze sparkles with mischief, and he shrugs. “Alas, I don’t fuck and tell. Sorry, luv. Though you may inspire me, if you like. You have the mark of a lark who’s had her feathers thoroughly plucked. Cerulean’s good at that—not as good as I am, but then, no one is. Tell me, what’s it like to spread your core for someone more powerful than you?”

I see blood red. “If you touched her—”

Puck rises so swiftly that my fingers choke the whip. I’d have thought those cloven hooves would stifle his gait, yet he saunters down the knoll at a sinuous, sensual pace. I can’t tell from the breeches, but if what I’ve read is true, the stag limbs end above his knees and flesh out into the thighs of a common human.

The rascal’s somewhat tall, though not as statuesque as Cerulean. Yet with an impish face like that, Puck doesn’t need lofty height to get his point across.

The Fables contain dozens of pages about The Solitary Forest, with its nymphs, centaurs, hobgoblins, brownies, and, most of all, satyrs. The tales caution virgins and purists against the perverse whims of Puck’s kind. Their appetites are legendary, their ilk branded as sexual deviants who crave seduction and debauchery. This Fae’s the epitome of all things lustful, all things that inspire wet moans and hard cries of pleasure.

To be honest, those were some of my favorite Fables. But not my sister’s.

Fireflies swirl, pumping gold into the murk. Puck halts in front of me, spiced cloves and sharp pine wafting from his leathers. Up close, I note the intricate streaks of white and black lining his eyelashes, reminiscent of a deer.

Cerulean’s striking. As for his brother? Puck’s a racy one with that frisky getup, those dangly earrings, and that smoldering hair.

Whereas Cerulean fancies his linens relaxed and unfettered, Puck fancies his leathers snug, the clasps ensuring that each stitch of clothing would be tedious to remove. I wager that’s intentional—and not because the buck wants to prevent it. If I were a gambler, I’d say stripteases amuse him, toying with restraint excites him, and getting his partners worked up empowers him, especially if his conquests are inexperienced.

I know the type. I’ve had my share of wankers who like to play with their dessert.

“If I’ve touched her,” Puck repeats, his shameless timbre stroking the air like a lover. “Hogwash. Touching is for amateurs.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I volley. “How’s about you tell me more?”

“My, my,my,” he draws out, impressed. “I see prudishness doesn’t run in the family.”

“Nah, but our right hooks do.”

“How lucky for you. Pain and sex are a luscious combination. The sheer number of morons who take that for granted boggles me.”

“What are you making my sister do?”

A sadistic grin crawls across his face. Juniper never says anything without a scowl chiseled into her features. By comparison, this trickster doesn’t know the meaning of a straight face.

His eyes roll down my body, mentally peeling off the dress and admiring what’s beneath. If I lasso his balls, how much will Juniper pay for it?

That’s assuming a lot, since it’ll take grit to send this one to his knees. My mate’s got a lithe physique, his willowy muscles toned, whereas this buck’s built to last, neither bulky nor trim. He’s fit, with a flexing body made to wrap around a cello.

Based on the lore, that’s his instrument. Seems to suit him—like the longbow and quiver strapped to his back. For the first time, I register the predatory weapons curving along his spine. This satyr might be one hell of a coquettish rake, but he’s a lethal one, too.

A finger steals beneath my chin, tipping my head to meet those sinful brown eyes. “Give my brother a message from me, won’t you, luv?”

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