Page 2 of Defy the Fae

Perhaps I wanted to sink with her.

That is the power of this siren. If you make contact, she shall curse you. When she does, you will go deeper than you ever have.

While you descend, her light may lead the way.

And if it does, you’ll go willingly.

~ Ruler of the River

PART 1

CERULEAN

1

She’s naked and on her back again. Only this time, she’s asleep.

Moonlight glosses my mate in a metallic sheen, stroking her skin like a lover. Even the sky yearns to touch her, to bask in her curves and the windswept cloud of her hair. The layers pour across the blanket—a mutinous tangle of tresses, as befitting her mutinous spirit.

The pile of unruly locks is evidence of the damage I’d done to her earlier, of the way I’d carved my fingers through that hair while pitching my body into hers, fucking her thoroughly until her moans launched to the roof.

The memory of Lark strapped around me and panting with ecstasy blazes hot in my mind, searing a path from my heart to my cock. Naturally, she owns both.

I crouch before my mate’s sleeping form and gaze at those dormant features. Gentle puffs of air whisk from her parted lips, and strands of white slump across her cheeks.

The sight draws my fingers, the magnetic pull elemental, eternal, everlasting. I brush tendrils from her face, the better to admire. Oh, but there’s my equal.

“Minn ó vjafnmadur,”I whisper, then take her hand in mine and sweep a kiss across her knuckles.

Lark mumbles but continues to dream whatever feisty dreams inhabit her slumber. How I’d like to know what those visions are. But so long as they’re peaceful, that’s all that matters. If only one of us can rest calmly, let it be her.

Commonly, this mortal is an animated sleeper, twisting, turning, turbulent even while unconscious. On this eventide, she barely moves except to flop onto her stomach. The blanket drapes across her lower back, revealing the exquisite length of her spine, the swell of her hips, and the half-moon of a breast.

My tongue presses against my teeth. I glide my thumb across her cheekbone, then pull back before temptation gets the better of me. Waking her up after such a long and lustful session would be cruel—pleasurable, but cruel.

Funny that. Selflessness was immaterial to me until her.

My long coat buffets my limbs as I rise and stalk to the arched window, then flick aside the curtain. A thin line of indigo has sunk over the horizon, etching the range and outlining a dozen serrated peaks.

Shit. I’m late.

Dusk is approaching fast. My kin will stir soon, though two of them are already awake, providing they’re more punctual than myself and assuming their own partners haven’t distracted them. The latter is very possible.

My shoulder blades warm, then shudder like latches breaking open. Wings flare from my back, the panels slipping like air through my coat.

I toss my gaze over my shoulder. A smirk plies the crook of my lips as I pay Lark one more glance—always one more—then turn away and launch into the sky.

The wind greets me, the current flitting through my feathers and catching my flight. A particular cord of air rides beneath my arms, warning me of an incoming pocket that I pivot around. The atmosphere has a distinctly Faeish color at this hour, a gradient of slate blue indiscernible to the mortal eye, though I’ve attempted to show it to Lark.

The gust is also thicker at this speed, more so than in the human realm. The surge rustles my plumage, which sends a ripple up my vertebrae.

The Fauna Tower, the home I share with Lark, shrinks to a needle behind me. I face ahead, tuck in my arms, and spear above The Solitary Mountain’s labyrinthine peaks.

The maze spreads itself wide and vast, a mural of stairways linking the zeniths together and step brackets carved into the facades. It wasn’t so long ago that Lark defied the odds and conquered this land, crushing my efforts to sabotage her every move and obliterating my willpower in the process. She consumed me quickly, even while we crossed weapons and fired words at each other like grenades.

Torches writhe from the promontories, vines of foliage trickle down the bluffs, and the cliffs bite into the heights. I veer sideways and pass The Parliament of Owls, with its empty rotunda, its illustrious residents yet to awaken.

All except one. As a draft pats my back, my mouth slants. I sense his presence like that of my brothers and Lark—unmistakable and encompassing.

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