Page 124 of Curse the Fae

The emotion inundates my being, inflating from a droplet to a fathomless sea, from tranquil to turbulent. I see goodness and feel love.

And finally, I mustenact the opposite of old truths and past deeds. Many times, Elixir has told me to make my choice. In this moment, I do so with every thump of my pulse.

I’d once wanted to drown him. Now I’ll do the reverse.

I will save you.

My body shoots from one pocket of water to the next, from freshwater to saltwater. The brine prickles my eyes like a hundred needles. And still, I launch toward his descending form, all glittering scales and piercing orbs and a pool of black hair. Elixir’s chest spasms. His eyelids twitch and flap shut, his frame slumping as though cut from its strings.

My lips want to scream, because I can’t lose him, won’t lose him. Instead, my body protests, shoving its way through and defying the weight of a rampant river.

I blink against the salt. I do my utmost to focus, to extinguish the bite of it, to stamp out the pain.

At last, my fingers graze his limp ones. Instantly, his digits trace mine, recognize mine—and grasp. We thread together, holding tightly. The flood has stolen his bronze fingercaps, but that’s all right, because I’ve got him, and I’ll cover those scars for him.

I kick, but he’s so large, so heavy, and the river’s pressing on us. My temperature drops with cold fear, my bloodstream jets through me with exertion, and my oxygen is depleting.

Help me, I beg fate. Please, help me.

Elixir’s head ticks. Then he sways his feeble digits, and a tiny socket of water swoops beneath my heels, and it nudges me upward, and upward, and upward. Eventually, it peters out as Elixir slumps once more.

By then, the surface lashes into view, and I do the rest. I heave us toward the crusted extension where four figures wait, then catapult through the expanse and into blessed air.

A groaning, suctioning sound erupts from my mouth as I inhale and sling my arm atop the mantel. A host of voices overlap, colliding with the sound of splashing water. A bunch of hands seize my arms and heft me to safety, and the weight of Elixir vanishes as more hands tug him onto the precipice.

We flop on the bracket. My eyes gawk at the dome of teal specks above.

Two heads leap into view, one framed in green, the other in white.

“Cove!” Juniper yells. “That was three hundred andsixseconds!”

“Dammit, Cove!” Lark chokes. “You scared the shit out of us!”

Elixir. I vault upright and swerve toward where he lies motionless and flanked by Cerulean and Puck, who hunker over him with bowed heads and grim expressions. Emitting a cracked noise, I crawl over to Elixir’s naked form. His head sags to the side, his profile slack. All that warm, olive color has leached from his body.

Wedging myself between Cerulean and Puck, I grasp Elixir’s face and wheel it toward me. “Elixir!” I plead, my lips wobbling. “Elixir, wake up! Please, please!” My voice splinters, and tears spring, and I taste salt.

I press my ear to his chest and hear…nothing.

“No,” I sob, hovering over him. “No, no, no, pl-please. Elixir, please!”

I shake him, slap him, and I don’t know if it’s the right way with Faeries, but as a swimmer, I’ve been taught how to revive a drowned victim. I perform the steps, alternating between his chest and mouth, but nothing happens, nothing happens, and still nothing happens.

Puck swears under his breath, and Cerulean utters something in Faeish. I hear their grief, their shock. The texture is uneven, the intonation slippery. They’re not used to death, yet they accept it so quickly.

But I won’t. I won’t let him go.

I frame his exquisitely brutal face. “I’ve done it, haven’t I? I won the game. I broke the curse. I see goodness, and I feel love, and I saved you. I know what you’ve done, I know who you are, and I want all of it. I want the darkness. You feel this?” I take his fingers and run them over my features, sketching every detail, every nuance. “This is what love looks like. Let me love you. Wake up and love me back. Wake up, you asshole!”

I lean over to resume working on his chest and lips—but his body jolts, as if lanced by a thunderbolt. Elixir’s back arches, then drops. I pause, wait, and hold my breath for as long as it takes.

With the speed of a viper, his eyes lash open. Those golden irises flare with life, and they strike out—and find me.

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Confusion pierces across those orbs, the rings bright and unsteady. They reflect a montage of images—the domed ceiling, the river flood, and my own eyes fixed on him. I see myself in his thunderstruck gaze, my features blurry at first, then solid. Clarity rinses away his bafflement, replaced by disbelief, then fear, then doubt. Each emotion is a wave rushing to the forefront before ebbing.

At last, those eyes steady. They anchor themselves to me, becoming as lucid as water, until all that’s left is awe.

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