Page 9 of Defy the Fae

Never have our kin committed such a crime. Yet this had been a plot, a fucking war tactic.

Our Fae enemies are using the fauna as weapons.

3

I stagger into the wildlife park, pass through a slot between two conical trees, and navigate dense thickets of foliage. Torches bloom from their posts, the flames contorting and throwing amber across the multilevel haven. Despite this, my vision falters, every shape tremulous and clouded.

Desperation gets the wiser of me. Instead of pacing myself and waiting for the haze to clear, I increase my pace. She hadn’t been in the tower when I’d arrived; I hadn’t sensed her, hadn’t detected my mate’s fragrance.

No, she’s out here. She’s roaming somewhere, presiding over this feral reserve like a feisty fauna goddess.

Loss and longing carry me across the lush paths and verdant lawns. Retracting my wings, I seek out her scent, my senses grappling the air, reaching for her aroma like it’s an antidote.

In my haste, my long coat smacks against my calves. Sweat coats my bare chest. I’d flown here swiftly.

The slender horns of an antelope spear through the shrubs, the bovine’s slow gait rustling the leaves. A cardinal spears across one of the upper levels. A low roar scrapes through the park, a bush splits, and a pair of jeweled eyes shimmer at me like peridots.

The cougar hobbles my way, its body revolving sinuously despite the limp and severed rear paw. The sight stalls my progress, calms my need. There’s always time for these dwellers, especially tonight.

I kneel before the creature and run my palm over her tawny back. The great feline purrs and burrows her muzzle into my side.

Through the wind, I communicate with the feline, assure her I’m well. I scratch behind the creature’s ears, then coax the female to leave me, watching as she saunters into the shadows, the rope of her tail swinging behind her.

The whiff of foggy mornings twines through the air. Although my wings have retracted and melted into my body, every plume quivers, ready to spring free. I resist the urge to soar. Instead, I lunge to my feet and trail after the incense wafting through the park like a mating call.

As the scent gets stronger, my legs pump faster, and her location becomes clearer. Sprays of vegetation and flora dripping from trellises get in the way. My left arm swats aside those obstructions. I reach the compact lawn where the gazebo sits at the edge of the world, the ornate pillars laced in moonflowers and lacquered in starlight.

And there she is.

A circular bath stands in the heart of the gazebo, the tub’s lip curved outward for Lark to rest her head upon. It’s more a pool than a tub, with its depth and width. My mate reclines in a film of steam. Her profile glistens with moisture, her face is angled toward the ceiling, and her eyes are closed. Those wicked, round, mortal ears peek beneath the froth of white hair piled atop her head.

Pixies must have set up the bath—the few servants who’ve remained—and added a water sample from The Mer Cascades, compliments of my brother. In Elixir’s region, the mermaid pools flow with natural heat. A single drop will ignite the temperature of any water body.

The lapping of fluid douses my ears, momentarily setting my imagination ablaze. The bath is too high to see more than Lark’s relaxed expression and the length of one arm draped over the side. Suds glide down her arm and fall from a single fingertip.

This view of her clears the fumes in my head. It washes away the tension, as light as summer rain. My shoulders ease, and the hectic yearning I’d felt earlier abates. The mere image of my mate is a breeze, a downy touch that coaxes me to relax.

Yet it’s her voice that penetrates the most. “Sighhh,” she moans, nestling deeper into the tub. “I could get used to this.” But when I make no teasing reply, Lark fills the void and speaks to the gazebo’s ceiling. “You left early. How’d it go?”

How did it go? How do I tell her?

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. If I speak, I might choke on my words.

A sticky residue coats my fingers, only now registering in my consciousness. I drag my gaze from my mate to my hands, where crimson speckles my flesh.

Raven’s blood.

My javelin is still caught in my grip. In all this time, I’ve haven’t released it since the attack.

At last, the weapon drops. It plummets from my shaky fingers and hits the grass. The thud alerts Lark. Her eyelids bounce open, she rolls her head in my direction, and her eyes flare wide.

“Cerulean!” Water sloshes everywhere, and she’s out of the tub before I draw another breath. Naked and drenched, Lark rushes to my side, her expression trenched with worry as she snatches my face in her palms. “For fuck’s sake, Cerulean. What happened?”

Her gaze jumps from the red smears on my chest to the splotches on my hands. “Fables,” she hisses, and her gray eyes swoop up to me.

I’m festering, falling, fuming with too many emotions to count.

I seize her cheeks, my head veers down, and my mouth fuses to her. A sound of surprise ejects from Lark’s throat before she links her arms around my shoulders and digs her fingers into my mussed hair.

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