Page 39 of Defy the Fae

“But was it? Was it ever, really?”

“Yes and no.” She gulps. “I just can’t…I don’t know what I’d do if…”

My breath caves in. The sight of her draws me near, my palm buttressing her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. Neither are you.”

Comfort flashes across her face. Naturally, it lasts only until the incoming fragrance of a storm fills the lawn. At which point, cantankerous lines bunch along Moth’s forehead, and her spine snaps to attention.

“Melodrama,” she gripes, though with less bite to her words than there used to be. “The humans must be corrupting us.”

A chuckle skates from my lips. “Oh, but what a divine corruption it is.”

“If you say so, but I’m leaving. Fauna duties call, and I smell a pest approaching.” Moth knocks her shoulder against mine. “And don’t you trash my park this time. Take your clothes with you, or there’ll be hell to pay. Oh, and widen your stance, or you’ll never beat me. Remember: Cerulean of the sky doesn’t miss.”

I smirk. “Remember: Moth of the mountain doesn’t yield.”

She leaps into the air and flaps off toward the lowermost level where the cougar roams. After she’s gone, I saunter toward the javelin and strap my fingers around the shaft, then pause. Starlight and torchlight converge where I stand, and my lips quirk in awareness. Another string of familiar scents twines around my senses, coupled with the audible unspooling of a rope.

Mischief deepens my grin and tightens my fingers around the handle. I tear the javelin from the soil and whirl. The weapon catches Lark’s whip mid-flick, the smack and clang lacerating the air.

The perpetrator tosses me a saucy grin. In silence, we appraise one another.

Moth was right in predicting the outcome of this scene. That pewter dress hugging Lark’s waist and flaring wide at the hips will need mending in several minutes, for I intend to shred the garment to the point of uselessness.

In the meantime, her weapon has coiled around the shaft. Notwithstanding, I’m not that easily beaten.

We launch into our own round, the moves and countermoves like a provocative dance—intrinsic and primal. Our pants grow heavy, hectic, heady. With every pass of our defenses, we prowl around one another, propelling ourselves closer, as if in ritual to a mating call.

My grin broadens. Her cheeky tongue sticks out at me, yet I scent the desire heating her blood and dampening between her thighs.

Lark’s whip cuffs my weapon. The javelin slices around her next lash.

As the cord flays in my direction once more, I rotate and block the attempt over my shoulder. Craning my profile her way, I taunt my mate with a wicked grin. She hadn’t seen the move coming.

So she tricks me back. It a feisty move she’s never shown me, the whip bounces off my javelin and winds around my chest, snaring me in place and spinning me in front of her. With my torso trapped, the savvy mortal yanks me forward like a prize. We crash together, our bodies beating hard for oxygen.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Lark purrs. “I’ve caught me a wild one.”

“Mmm. You’ve been keeping that nifty little move a secret,” I compliment.

“What do you mean?” she teases, her breath stalking across my lips. “I just learned that one. I’m a woman who improvises.”

“Is that a fact? Because I should warn you, it’s unwise to speak untruths to Faeries. In our world, there’s a price for mortal fibbing.”

Lark drags a single finger from the pulse at my throat, down the plunging V of my shirt before pausing at my bared navel. “Is the penalty a stiff one?”

Her innuendo dabs another grin into my face. “Painfully.” I push in closer and husk, “Severely.”

“And if I continue to defy you? Just what are you gonna do about it?” Lark’s tongue darts out and licks the upper bow of my lips. “Take me prisoner?”

Mutinous creature. She laughs as I shove the whip to the grass, hurl my javelin beside it, snatch her hand, and stalk through the wildlife park. My arm thrusts outward to shove aside vegetation. Yet no matter how many leagues we cross, the tower rises too fucking far away.

My wings itch to sprout, to carry us to our destination swifter. But what can I say? Prolonging the bliss has its own tantalizing virtues.

I compose myself while guiding Lark across the lawn. In the tower, the servants are nowhere in sight. Though based on a distant tinkling snigger, I wouldn’t put it past them to spy on our progress. Pixies are about as discreet as forest nymphs.

They’ll know not to disturb us once we reach the bedroom. And at this point, I don’t give a shit who hears us. Neither does Lark. We’d already crossed that threshold the other night in the great room.

My mate and I speed through the first level and up the winding staircase, our haste increasing. At the top floor, we charge down the vestibule toward the framed curtains that function as a common door would, blocking out sight and sound. As my palm shoves forward, a burst of wind blows back the panels.

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