Page 7 of Kiss the Fae

The poachers’ retreat says it all. They’re skipping this village and not coming back, which means our animals are safe.

I slump—then stiffen up. The diabolical mirth returns, sliding around the trunks and lurking across the thicket.

Careful, little human. Be very careful now.

The words whisper up my spine. One of my palms flattens against the ground for support, in case I keel over. My other hand clamps over my quavering mouth, acid vaulting up my throat.

A small gash pierces the shrubby. I crawl toward the rift and squint through.

The spring tributary weaves through the bracken, the water’s glint impervious to darkness, the bubbling surface so radiant that peeking at it too long hurts my eyes. Though it doesn’t seem to botherthem. Three humanlike silhouettes skulk around the tree trunks, hunting amidst the foothill.

I veer from sight.

And wait. And wait. And wait.

At last, I hear the silhouettes recede into the depths. My pulse beats a nasty rhythm against my neck. When I peek and catch no sign of the figures, I haul myself out of the recess—and slam into two bodies.

We totter backward, our yelps nicking through the landscape. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Then we snatch each other into a hug.

My sisters and I gasp, our voices overlapping with “Are you all right?” and “Are you hurt?” and “Are you insane?”

Pulling away, I rush my palms over their cheeks, but Juniper bats me away. Her brisk, woodsy voice could chop through timber. “You have no sense of foresight. Did you think we wouldn’t follow you?”

Cove braces her spear, agitated tendrils of teal hair splitting at the ends. “We tethered Papa’s albino outside the border, then came the rest of the way on foot,” she heaves, her lisp more pronounced when she’s nervous.

“You left an evident trail.” Juniper squeezes her crossbow, a quiver of bolts strung over her shoulder. “Never mind us, but you should have thought to conceal your tracks. I took care of them, you’re very welcome.”

Nobody’s perfect. I’d been in a hurry.

My point in leading the chase was to protect them, not beckon them into fatal territory. Juniper and Cove have a knack for not listening. That also runs in the family.

“You’re idiots,” I say.

Juniper attempts to smirk past the fear. “We learn from the best.”

I wish we had time to chuckle over that. I open my mouth, but a snapping twig cuts off my warning. We vault around, putting our backs to each other and forming a circle. My whip’s up, and my sisters’ weapons click into place. I haven’t peeked to see either of them do this, but I know how my family works. I know the noise we make—it’s a trio of sounds and a single sound.

We brace our defenses, but who are we kidding? The instant a black figment sweeps past our periphery, we disarm. Linking fingers, we hoist one another up the slope, where we huddle behind a yew tree, the trunk as wide as a troll’s ass.

The molten fireflies return, several of them on the verge of singeing Juniper’s hair. She swats at them, then gives a shocked cry at the burn, which prompts Cove to squeak. Curled between them, I whip my arms out to the sides, my palms slapping over their mouths.

We freeze. Dread crawls across their profiles.

Wings flare with a great thwack, the breeze ruffling a set of feathers.

Hooves stalk into the thicket. That’s no horse gait. I’d bet my whip on it. Maybe a deer? But what deer has only two hooves?

Lastly, a violent thrash of water spews from that blinding spring.

How does this commotion manage to sound graceful, depraved, and nefarious all at once?

Every breach in the silence causes us to jerk. I fixate on Juniper’s wide, green eyes, then Cove’s teary ones. I wait for another invasion of music, but it doesn’t come, nor does that snicker from earlier.

It takes an eternity for the noises to wane. Finally, I draw away from my sisters’ mouths. On the count of three, we totter down the slope and return to the cul-de-sac to collect Whinny Badass. Thank Fables, the blue feather nestles safely inside my undergarments.

As we race out of there, a draft sweeps up my spine. I feel an aerial weight brush the flesh of my back—a pair of glittering eyes watching from an unseen perch.

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