Page 35 of Kiss the Fae

Besides, he has no right to my memories. He and that Fae boy aren’t the same person. I never saw the boy’s irises or hair, but he didn’t have blue lips, and there were other differences. And either way, I’d still know him…if he were still alive.

Cerulean’s mouth curls into a sinister grin. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Gimme time,” I whisper back, pelting his mouth with my hot breath.

“That is something you don’t have. Pity for you.”

“Freeing me means you’ll let me out of the cage. Doesn’t mean you’ll let me go.”

“Ah, but deterring you would defeat the purpose of this game.”

Exactly. Yet he’s willing. He wants to know my answer badly.

Which is scarier? Fear, desire, or regret? To be hurt, to be fucked, or to be shamed?

No one’s ever asked me something like that, and I don’t like the first response it brings to mind. Worse, I get a terrible premonition that he might extract those very emotions more brutally than the mountain ever will.

In fact, he’s partway there. I’ve gotta set myself free. Otherwise, he’ll resurrect memories I don’t want to talk about, feelings I refuse to hand over.

That visual flashes again, of me and a Fae boy separated by bars, our positions reversed. I’d breached a deadbolt that night to enter a glassblower’s forge, where the boy’s cage had been stored. I’d used a feathered quill to jimmy the lock.

My palm skims the pack concealing the blue feather of my past. The one that Fae boy had been wearing when I met him, as part of a mask concealing his face. After I lost him, it was the only thing I had left of our time together.

All right. This bolt’s gotta be impervious to a mortal plume. But can it resist a quill of its own world?

“What’s with the javelin?” I ask. “I thought Faeries carried swords and daggers.”

Cerulean quirks a brow. “You’re stalling.”

“You bet I am,” I say, because why not? “I don’t know how to answer your question yet.”

“Fair enough. Why brandish a whip?”

“An answer for an answer,” I recite while inching my fingers into the pack and foraging for the plume.

His mouth twitches. “Hmm. You’re quoting me. Does that mean I’ve made an impression?”

“You’re a Fae with blue lips to match your hair. Plus, you’re holding me captive to your whims, all the while calling me your pet.”

“Oh, but you hardly behave like a proper captive. I have a mind to sulk about that, but then, I’d be disappointed if you capitulated so easily.”

“Whatever. You repulse me, so yeah, you’ve made an impression.”

“Javelins fly,” he replies.

That’s something I understand. Really, I do.

But I wish I didn’t. I don’t want to have anything in common with this menace. Yet if we were friends, I’d gush nonstop about weapons that fly, the same way I’d lob him with questions about the avians dwelling here.

Anyway, it’s not the safest angle, but I’ve got no chance of him moving farther away, much less turning his back on me. He’s too shrewd for that.

I hold his gaze steady, willing him not to glance down. Meanwhile, I slide out the feather and worm it through the bars, mimicking Cove’s sleight of hand. “Whips fly, too,” I confide, because it’s sort of true and keeps the conversation going. “My weapon can soar and swat the air with the best of ’em.”

“Is that a fact?” Cerulean murmurs, those twinkling irises hellbent on temptations and curses.

I bat my lashes while nudging the feather into the knotty lock I’d discovered earlier. “But if you want me to demonstrate, you gotta say, ‘Pretty please.’”

“You display more sass than you’re wise to.”

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