Page 44 of Cursed Evermore
“Touch me if you want more proof I’m real. A mage can always tell if she’s hallucinating when she touches something. If I’m not real, I’ll glow blue.”
I’d never heard that before. But wait… he knew I was a mage—half mage. “You know about me?”
“I do.”
“How?”
“All magical beings have the innate ability to recognize each other. It’s like another sense.”
I couldn’t do that. Or maybe I could but I hadn’t been around enough magical beings to try it out. Aside from my mother and grandmother, this Fae male was the only other magical being I’d encountered. And the horrifying wraith, but it was obviously a demonic threat.
“Go on, touch me.” On seeing my hesitation, he took my hand into his, shocking me. His skin burned against mine, calloused yet somehow soft in his touch.
With his eyes fixed on me, he lifted my hand to the jagged scar that ran across his cheek and pressed my fingers against his skin.
I waited for the blue glow, but nothing happened. All I felt was the rough scar beneath my fingertips, real and tangible. And I was so close I could count the gold beads woven into the plaits of his dark beard.
I didn’t need the blue glow or anything else to prove to me he was real. I could feel him. Something deep inside meknewhe was real, and my blood ran cold at the realization. He seemed to notice my shock.
“See?” He grinned.
“Oh, Gods.”
“One of my dragons gave me this scar when we flew too close to the Eastern Isles. He didn't appreciate the lightning storms there.”
My lips trembled. “The Fae… fly dragons?” I muttered, torn between the fascination at what he was telling me and the shock that he was real.
“No.” His eyes brimmed with amusement and something darker. “Ifly dragons.”
A spark of desire lanced through me, but I caught myself before allowing it to fuel my obvious attraction to him.
He released my hand and intensified his stare in that assessing manner he’d used last night. Then we just looked at each other, wordlessly.
My brain struggled as it reconfigured everything that had happened at the tavern, because now I knew that was real, too, seeing him and those silver threads.
Fear crawled beneath my skin. I had every reason to be afraid. He was at my home. He’d lured me to him with a spell, and now we were out here.Alone.
But now that I knew he was real, curiosity overrode my caution.
“Who are you?” I found my voice again.
“Wolfe Nightblade. And you, my Lady?” Although he asked the question in such a carefree, nonchalant manner, I had a feeling he already knew my name.
“Elariya Grayson.” I pulled in a slow breath. “What are you doing in Stormfell,Wolfe Nightblade?” I could admit I liked the sound of his name on my lips a little too much.
His mouth quirked into that dangerous grin again. “I'm a collector,” he said, circling me slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. “I'm here on a job.”
“I see, but… why are you here at my home? At my… engagement celebration?” I asked cautiously, feeling the heat of a blush sweep down my body.
“Because your cousin is right.” His voice dropped to a whisper.
I narrowed my eyes, not quite following what he meant. It also hadn’t escaped me that he knew Emabelle was my cousin. “What was she right about?”
“That you need someone to fuck you properly. Someone like me.”
Shock slammed into my ribs like a blade to the gut, sharp, hot, and merciless.
Gods. He’d overheard our conversation. He heard Emabelle’s crazy advice to hook up. And did he seriously say someone likehim?
