Page 117 of Curse the Fae

I see the same rawness in each of us. The goodness and badness. The merciful and unforgiving. The lightness and darkness.

Like creatures of nature. Like nature itself.

What is so different about us, then?

A dry sob tumbles from my lips. Lark can shield her pain with snarky comments, Juniper with willful determination. I do neither. I need my hurt, because if I didn’t have it, nothing I feel for Elixir would be real.

His past doesn’t absolve him, nor does my past render me innocent. Yet he’d wanted me, and I’d wanted him. I still do. And isn’t that better than hating one another?

“You’ve shared this in confidence,” I say to Cerulean and Puck. “Thank you.”

Cerulean studies me, his words a breeze that reaches out tentatively. “You feel that much for him.”

“He feels that much for me, too.”

“Dare we ask, how this phenomenon happened?” Puck asks.

I hedge. As Faeries, the two brothers must know the old tale of the water well and the Fae witch’s spell. They also know Elixir enough to figure out the game if I speak too freely. Moreover, I’m a terrible liar, especially in the presence of my sisters. Potential fibs sit on my tongue like feathers or leaves, about to flit away at the slightest gust of wind.

A baritone voice cuts off my attempt. “Well met.”

My heart stops. We swerve toward the Fae looming in the water, his silhouette a monolith of black and his golden eyes spearing through the murk. Shadows lace his face and highlight the fingercaps, which bunch into fists.

His head clicks toward me, the pupils wavering. He heard us. Elixir might not have entered during the story of his mothers, but he’d heard the last of our huddle, the part where I’d admitted our bond.

Puck’s timbre cuts through the space, the texture of his voice suddenly hardening into something one would need an axe to chop through. “Caught us talking about you behind your back, did you?”

Only then does Elixir drag his eyes from my direction and slant toward the satyr. “Nice of you to return, Puck,” he replies without an ounce of sincerity.

“Oh yes, I feel so welcome. By the way, do mermaids find that deadpan expression titillating? Go on. Teach me something I don’t already know.”

“I’m going to say this only once—”

“That’s predictable. To think someday you might repeat something twice.”

“Puck,” Cerulean warns.“Fardun farleka.”

Whatever the winged Fae cautions, his brother ignores it with a bulky shrug and continues to address Elixir. “Sorry, luv. Here I was, too busy fuming over your tormented soul that I forgot to be pissed at you for recent events. Not to worry, though. My anger’s back with aplomb.”

Tension thickens in the tunnel as Puck reflects on Juniper’s near-drowning.

Elixir’s fists unlock. “Anger,” he repeats.

“What can I tell you?” Puck remarks, a lethal threat brimming under that smarmy veneer. “I’ve had that emotion set aside for a rainy day, which ended up being yesterday, so I’m overdue. Or do you need another colorful fucking word? Because my woman comes fully stocked, and trust me, you’ve inspired her.”

“If you are here to take revenge—”

“Who me? I’m but a spectator,” the satyr hisses. “Juniper’s the one who’ll verbally wipe the floor with your ass. Unless she goes for the crossbow, in which case, you’ll need a head start to dodge her aim.”

“Enough,” Juniper barks.

“Both of you,” I add, because for Fable’s sake.

The males yield, but only just. Lark mutters in Cerulean’s ear, and he nods while scrubbing his face. “In the interest of communal self-preservation, I suggest we relocate to drier turf before the whole Deep overhears us.” He swings an arm toward the river ruler. “Elixir, if you will.”

***

We gather in a circle on the grassy promontory of The Kelpie Rapids. After my sisters and I discard our shoes, Juniper glances about with wide eyes, her green gaze bright with the excitement of a scholar. Puck, who can’t seem to cease touching her, tucks my sister into him and watches her enthusiasm with unbridled warmth.

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