Page 43 of Curse the Fae

Elixir takes a long draught of air and turns away. “I want for nothing. I long for nothing.”

I hear it in his voice, pulled taut like a rope about to shred. “Then either Faeries can lie to themselves, if not to others,” I say, “or I’m sad for you.”

He twists in my direction, his expression stumped. I understand this reaction, because it strikes me as well: That I would show this being the slightest compassion, even now.

Elixir glides closer still, and I don’t discourage him. Our bodies brush, wet and tight.

“Sentimentalism and idealism,” the Fae observes, his intonation rough and unsteady. “I should disdain your softheartedness.”

“Do you?” I whisper. Again, he makes no reply. And so, I dare, “Or what do you feel instead?”

For the life of me, I can’t say how I’d like for him to respond.

In unison, our gazes wander, mine toward his evil lips, his near my mouth. Like an animal, Elixir muffles a coarse sound from the back of his throat. Yet it penetrates me anyway, the noise throbbing within the slot between my thighs. Anger, stress, curiosity, remorse, yearning, confusion, and frustration surge together, pounding against that intimate place where my inner walls dampen.

Elixir’s digits contract. They fluctuate between curling into fists or plunging under surface, where my dress floats and spreads open. I’d be mortified by my body’s reaction, if I weren’t determined to deny this Fae that power over me. He has too much of it already, and I have a mind to take that power back.

A hardy splash reminds us of the river dolphins. The noise coming from their side of the river breaks our trance and wrenches us apart.

Elixir shears his fingers through the water with more force than necessary, sending a small tide toward the creatures. Immediately, a lone dolphin breaks from the pod and propels in our direction. When its head pops above the surface between us, I marvel at the creature in a way I hadn’t been able to before. Its majestic, charming clicks, whistles, and squeals travel beyond this space, unlike the call of any water animal in my world.

I hesitate, then set my hands on its cheeks and run my fingers over the creature’s sleek skin. Laughter springs from my lips as the dolphin makes a noise of pleasure, then bumps its head against my shoulder.

Sudden movement grabs my attention. My eyes stray toward Elixir, who must sense my gaze because he averts his own head. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

I clear my throat. “You control the water.”

“I told you before,” he says. “The water and I share a bond. I entreat the river, and it replies of its own will.”

“Does that mean the water is alive here?”

“Not like the trees in The Solitary Forest. The water of The Deep is a force, such as the wind in the mountain. Both can be prevailed upon, and they react to the request of a Fae. It is a union, of sorts.”

“You speak to the fish and mammals, too,” I summarize.

“I do,” he says. “We communicate through the water. Or sometimes, through kinship.”

“Like that snake in The Pit of Vipers. You two were talking about me the first time I was there, but you wouldn’t tell me what you were saying.”

“Ah, that. I asked it to pass judgement on your character. The snake approved of you,” he begrudges.

“Truly?” I ask, flattered. “That explains the sour puss you wore. Do you always ask a snake to appraise each human captive?”

“No,” he admits.

I give a start, unable to tell if being an exception is a good or bad omen.

The dolphin capers around us. When it completes a circuit, the animal bumps Elixir’s hip, which causes his mouth to tilt—a little.

I smile in kind, then stop myself. To my dismay, I like what fondness does to Elixir’s lips. Nonetheless, I don’t like what it does to my pulse.

Thankfully, he doesn’t detect this internal dilemma. He runs his palm over the creature’s back. “This male shall take you to your chamber. Trust his direction. He will know where to go.”

A thrill eddies through me when I realize the animal is waiting for me to climb onto its back. How quickly moments in this place fluctuate from one extreme to the other, from magical to gruesome, from terrifying to wondrous. Like water itself, sometimes the moments are still and peaceful, other times raging and unpredictable.

The creature snatches my weapon in its teeth and angles itself toward me. I waver, then gingerly loop one leg over the arc of its back, and we bob in place like a boat. Unsure of what to do with my hands, I set my palms on either side of its body.

Elixir lingers beside us, his voice firm. “Hold fast,” he instructs. “Do not let go.”

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