Page 4 of Tempting the Fae Lord
Essin is a bit like chess but more intricate. There are multiple levels of boards, leaving more options for strategy, and instead of kings, queens, and knights, you play with fae, tavern wenches, sheep, and pogglewomps.
Good, silly fun.
Chess, while being the more serious game, is simpler. It hails from the other side of the gate—the human side. Where our birth families live.
Perhaps they’re settling in to play a game now too. All I can do is wonder, and I wonder often.
“I’m ready,” says Amaris.
I lower my voice for her alone. “I will leave an opening for you. Be on the lookout.”
“What if I don’t see it?” She mimics my whisper, catching Marissa’s attention. Marissa shakes her head and smiles knowingly.
“Then I’ll win, and we’ll have to play again. I’ll leave openings until you do.”
“Deal.”
“Your move.”
As great as Amaris, Marissa, and Jack are, they’re not my real family.
We’re all stragglers. Bits and bobs of other families who never missed us, never even knew we were stolen. A hodgepodge of brothers and sisters with no mother, no father, no grandparents… which is why I can’t help but daydream about what my blood family is like.
Amaris—the closest thing I have to a little sister—looks nothing like me, with her dark hair and dark eyes.
But somewhere, on the other side of the ancient gate, is there a little sister with curly ash-blond hair like mine? Green eyes like mine? Does she curl up on our mother’s lap while our father tells a story?
And who sits and listens in my spot?
My thoughts scatter as Amaris abandons the board and squeals, “Good evening, Gatekeeper!”
“Evening, child.” His voice is rich and luxurious as brocade velvet.
My stomach swoops, and I twist to catch sight of him. He doesn’t join us often, only when he’s very lonesome.
Or.
When he needs…
The urge to bolt up and offer myself alights my every nerve. My muscles twitch. I’m old enough, big enough, and sturdy enough for him to drink from, but he’s never chosen me.
Desire to be chosen burns a hot flush in my chest.
I take him in from head to toe. Long hair, black as midnight, hangs in loose waves past his shoulders. He’s on the tall side of average with a lean build hidden under a long leather duster, not a big man but somehow a big presence. He steals all the attention in the room like a punch to the gut steals air from delicate lungs.
His dark eyes gleam with keen intelligence, scanning our little gathering and landing on Chester, who sits in the corner armchair, smoking a sweetly scented pipe.
Damn. Not me. Again.
It’s never me.
“Would you mind?” He need not mention the particulars. It’s not a secret what he requires, for though the Gatekeeper is full fae of the oldest bloodline in the realm, he’s also full vampire.
And vampires feed on the blood of the living.
Chester rises about as gracefully as an elderly dog with rheumatism, coughs, and hands the pipe over to Eulayla. “Course not, sir.”
They depart, and I deflate.
