Page 30 of Forbidden Obsession
“Um, nothing? Chores, as usual. Work on the farm. In my spare time, I mope and wallow. You?”
She tuts. “Don’t mope and wallow. It’s unbecoming. If I were you, I’d spend my free time with Bessa learning how to cook so her pastry recipes don’t go to the grave with her someday.”
I blink and close my mouth. My chest tightens, and I sink a bit farther in my seat, shoulders drooped. Bird is speaking casually, her tone light, but bringing up Bessa’s mortality so blithely doesn’t sit well with me. Bessa isn’t old. Well, she’s not very old, only fortysome cycles, and humans can live to be a hundred, so she has many left. Her inevitable death isn’t something I’ve given much thought to. But now I have yet another reason to be sad.
“Oh, Jinny. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I only meant you might enjoy spending more time with her.”
My face must have given me away. “It’s okay. It’s a good suggestion. I try not to be underfoot when she’s working, but maybe if I offered to help, she wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course she wouldn’t mind. She loves you dearly.”
She does. Aside from Rahz, she’s probably the only one who does. I’d like to believe somewhere under his gruff exterior, my father loves me, but I really can’t be sure. He makes it hard to tell.
Emorine returns with our drinks. “Cheers.”
We echo out thank-yous, and I take my first swallow. Crisp and creamy on my tongue, the tartness of the lollyberries and the sweetness of honeyed syrup blend into a perfect concoction of alcoholic divinity. I groan. “You weren’t kidding when you said paradise in a cup!”
Bird laughs and sips at her own glass. “You’re welcome.”
“I could drink ten of these.”
“Please don’t. The last thing I want to do is carry you home tonight and explain to your father I got you drunk off berries and cream.”
“Yeah, I don’t want that either.” I can imagine it now, the look in his eyes, the disapproval. No, thank you. We’re clinking glasses when Vander’s shouting overtakes us.
“—fine without ’em!” He must be drunk. He’s annoying, but usually, he doesn’t bellow this loudly. “Don’t need all that magic anyway.”
I turn my head and narrow my gaze.
“A hard day’s work is good for us.” Vander lifts his chin. His audience murmurs their agreement. “We don’t need ’em.”
Surely, he’s not talking about—
“Falen has no extra magic, and Rahz only uses his so we’ll feel like we owe him something. But we don’t. Nobody does. He’s lucky we—” Vander won’t get to finish that sentence.
Because I see red. My cheeks burn. I’m up from my seat and in his face before the thought has materialized. “You dare speak of my mate while he’s not here to defend himself? Coward!”
Vander’s pupils have near swallowed his irises. How many drinks has he had? His glare is hard, and spittle flies as he talks. “What, so you think you’re going to stand up for him? You? Little Jinny? I’d like to see you try.”
Vander is bigger than me. And stronger. But he’s drunk, and I’m not. He also isn’t defending the honor of the love of his life, and I am.
I punch him square in the jaw. “That’s for Rahz.”
I rear back and do it again. “And that’s for me.”
The look on his face says he wasn’t expecting the first punch. Or the second. Before he can react, I flutter out of his reach and shake out my hand. My knuckles hurt. I’ve never hit someone before. Did I break something? Are my bones okay?
His face turns purple with anger. The fae around him are laughing, hiding grins behind their hands, and backing away. Even his friends seem to be enjoying Vander brought down a peg.
“How dare you?” He shoots up, but two sets of hands grab his arms and haul him back down.
“I think you’ll find I had every right.” I huff my indignation. “Hold your tongue and cease insulting the one I love, and maybe I won’t hit you again.” I’d stomp my foot for emphasis, but I’m in the air, so I can’t. Best not land just yet. I’m more agile than Vander this way, should his friends let him go.
But they don’t. Vander rubs his jaw and glares daggers at me but doesn’t try to leave his spot at the bar again.
Bird is at my side. “I can’t believe you hit him.”
“You finished?” asks Emorine from below, her snowy white brows arched to amused crescents. “I’d say no fighting in my bar, but he deserved it well enough.”
