Page 43 of Cursed Evermore
But was he?
Was hereal?
I still didn’t actually know.
His eyes locked with mine and his smile widened, becoming dangerously sinful.
Molten heat raced through my veins despite the night's chill, and my skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly alive.
No.Thiscouldn't be real. I was definitely hallucinating again, caught in some fever dream brought on by panic and the intense stress of the night.
After that damn conversation with Thayden earlier, who wouldn’t hallucinate?
The man before me was too perfect, too raw, too…everything, to be real. And he was like nothing I’d ever seen. So, he must have been a dream. A fantasy my mind wove together to stop me from losing myself.
“You don't think I'm real.” His voice was deep enough to rumble through my chest and smooth enough to haunt me later. It coiled through the air like smoke, sliding over my skin with the heat of a whispered sin.
There was something primal and enchanting in it. Something that didn’t belong in this world. The kind of sound you’d hear once and crave for the rest of your life.
And what he said… it wasn't a question. It was a statement. Like he'd plucked the thought straight from my mind, like an overripe berry falling into his palm.
Words failed me when he moved closer. His tall, foreboding frame seemed to take up all the space around us even though we were surrounded by acres of land and trees.
Each step he took was deliberate and controlled like a predator stalking its prey. He stopped mere paces away, the moonlight catching the savage elegance of his features and the scar across his cheek.
All I could manage was a shaky exhale that clouded the air between us. What was I supposed to say to a figment of my imagination that had somehow stepped from my mind into the corporeal world?
With a wolfish smirk, he waved his hand before my eyes. “Are you awake in there?”
“Yes.” My voice was a breathless whisper, barely there and fragile against the energy he exuded.
“So, she does speak.” A hint of a dimple revealed itself just above his beard, as if he wasn’t gorgeous enough as it was.
“Um…”
“I’m curious.” He tilted his head. “Why do you think you’re imagining me?”
“Because…” I swallowed hard and searched for an answer, although I still wasn’t sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. “I’ve never seen the Fae in Stormfell.”
“Have you seen the Fae anywhere else?”
“No. I’ve never seen the Fae in real life before. Only paintings and drawings.”
He leaned closer and looked at me as if he found something amusing. “Have you ever seen anyone in these paintings and drawings that looked likeme?”
“No.”
“Then how could you imagine something you’ve never seen before, Ziyka? Surely, you’d need to have some ideas to base your vision on.”
The question stumped me. But he was right. Sure, with the mild exception of the pointed ears and unusually vivid eye colors, the Fae weren’t that different from humans. Even so, I’d never seen a man who looked like him.
“And I doubt you would have seen many Fae in your paintings and drawings with this scar.” He tapped a long finger on his cheek, guiding my attention to the scar. “Have you?”
“No.”
He stared back at me for a moment, then his eyes brightened with the spark of an idea. “Touch me,” he commanded.
“What?” My nerves scattered, tingling with fire.
