Page 84 of Bride of Death
“What?” I blink. “You’re not making any sense.”
“You keep calling Pip a spirit. You mean Death Fae.”
“Uh, no, I meanspirit. He’s about this tall”—I place my palm around my belly button—“he floats around in a pretty blue cloak, and he has fiery sapphire eyes that glow in the dark.” Which scared the thorns out of me the first time I saw him. But that’s a story for another day.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about right now,” Maliki says.
“Well, that makes two of us. Now, which male fae did you think I wanted to bring with me to live in the palace?” I inquire, still confused about that. And a whole lot of other things, actually.
“Pip.”
“Pip isn’t a Death Fae,” I tell him, exasperated. “He’s a spirit. He brings me dead flowers and tries to cook for me but fails. And he has big hollows where his eyes go.” I point at my own features so he knows what I mean. “Oh, and his face is a skull. But his nose is pretty cute. Like an upside-down heart.”
Maliki looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Oh my fae!” I shout, throwing my arms up in the air. “We’ve already been over that.No. I amnotokay. Why do you keep changing the subject back to that?”
I’m ready to go pick up the pot in the other room and throw it at his ridiculously handsome head.
In fact, maybe I will.
I start to walk that way, only to find my hip trapped by one of his hands as he grasps my chin with the other.
My stomach flips as he walks me backward into the wall, his large frame towering over me as he stares down into my eyes. “I’m sorry I asked that again,” he says slowly. “I’m just very confused by your fae friend Pip.”
“He’s not a fae.”
“So you keep saying.” His brow furrows. “His face is covered in skull paint?”
“No, it’s a literal skull. Because he’s a spirit. Like he’sdead.”
Maliki’s lips part. “You mean asoul.”
“That is the same as a spirit,” I tell him as I try to ignore the tingles erupting across my jaw from his touch on my chin.
“It’s not, well, yes, it is, but a soul is very different in this kingdom. It’s a literal soul.”
“Also known as a spirit,” I mutter.
He presses his forehead to mine and chuckles. “You’re adorable, trouble.”
I stop breathing, his nearness stirring feelings inside me that I’ve never experienced before. Not in reality, anyway.
Only ever in my dreams.
But the way my heart races now is so much more intense than anything my mind has ever been able to fabricate.
My lungs force me to inhale, which has my eyes threatening to close.
Because fae, he smells good.
I just want to lose myself in his scent. His touch. Hiswarmth.
Does he even realize what he’s doing to me? Does he feel it, too?
I can’t tell. He’s staring down at me like he’s trying to memorize my features. Our foreheads are no longer touching, but he’s still so close.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he tells me, his voice so soft I almost wonder if I imagined hearing those words.
