Page 55 of Curse the Fae

He startles, translating the implication: An elixir is a remedy, not a source of venom. That must have had some bearing on his choice.

It’s not his true name, as Faeries keep their true names secret. But why did he select this particular moniker?

My palm itches to cup his jaw and discover what such a caring touch would do to him, whether it would cleave him in half or awaken something new. I think he senses this urge in me, because he backs away like a targeted animal.

His lips part as if to answer. For once, he doesn’t act swiftly.

Afraid he will change his mind, I whisper, “What are you trying to heal?”

I’d meant to encourage him, but I’d forgotten he isn’t like a mortal or anyone else I’ve ever met. So, it’s the wrong thing to ask. Those pupils sharpen, as do his features.

Elixir snarls in Faeish. He whips around and thrashes out of the whirlpool, his tail hardening into limbs. I’m so stunned, I forget to conceal my view as the Fae storms naked down the stairwell, his backside and swimmer’s form on explicit display.

Air dashes into my lungs. I wade to the rim and peer over the side, watching as Elixir charges across the lower level and shrugs on his robe. He pauses, thrusts a hand in his pocket, and flings an object into the emerald bath.

“Use this on the welts,” he snaps. “I tire of hearing you make those wincing noises.”

The Fae evanesces, disappearing like a vapor. A moment later, a glass vial pops to the surface of my bath—the item he’d thrown into his pool. The cascades must have carried it to me.

In a daze, I pluck the vessel from the water. A rosy, jellied substance fills the container.

My mixtures serve only two purposes. Either they poison or cure.

That’s why he’d ordered Coral to bring me here, then joined me so soon after. He’d taken a detour to find me a restorative for my welts.

A translucent bead swims inside the mixture, reminding me of the drop of perspiration he’d extracted from me outside The Grotto That Whispers. He had pocketed the globule, transported it to his den, and dropped it into a bottle, then refused to tell me what he planned to do with the bead.

My head swings to where Elixir had vanished. When the reality of what nearly happened catches up, I plonk onto the seat. I’d been ready to set my own game in motion, yet I’d gotten lost along the way.

Lost in his scent, his voice, and his body.

I was so immersed in…in whatever we’d almost done…that my parting question hadn’t been intentional.

At some point during the bath, I had stopped playing a game. At some point, I’d forgotten to even try.

15

Coral arrives to escort me to my chamber. I follow her into the tunnels and through The Twisted Canals, where the bridges sparkle, and boats shave through the alleys.

In my peripheral vision, a handful of Faeries watch me from their respective corners. Reclining in a cattail pond, there’s a handsome merman with cyan hair. A Fae perches on a windowsill, fins sprouting from her arms. An undine lounges atop a boat, with splotches of blue coating the female’s skin, as though someone had thrown buckets of paint at her.

Their expressions range from flummoxed, to skeptical, to amazed.

The guard’s sultry voice curls toward me. “They heard what happened in The Bask of Crocodiles and wish to view the evidence for themselves.”

That bit of news does little to pull me from the haze. I trail along, my head foggy, my skin roasting from Elixir’s erotic speech.

I keep the vial tucked in my caftan pocket until ensconced at The Sunken Isle. Once inside my chamber, I reunite with the snake, who twines himself around my calf. His companionship brings with it the familiarity of home, the warm memories and reassuring sensations cradling me like a blanket. If this little creature hadn’t followed me here, I don’t know what I would do, how I would cope.

I don’t relish leaving this room again, nor am I eager to be caged inside. I need to know Elixir’s world, to learn more about who he is.

What I don’t need to know, what I never again need to know, is the heat of his breath against the shell of my ear. What I should never know again is the weight of his mouth near my jaw and the bottomless depths his voice reaches when he’s close to me. What I can never know again is the stifling expanse of his torso hovering inches from my back, the proximity of his hips, and the mutiny these details incited between my legs.

I don’t need to know any of this, and I should never know any of this, and I can never know any of this, and I will never know any of this. Not again.

But I want to know. And while I should feel repulsed and repentant, I also feel deprived, from my lips to my breasts, from my fingertips to my knees, from my core to my toes. My body quavers with a yearning it has no right to, the upheaval gathering to a tempest. This, without Elixir having set one bronze-capped finger on my skin.

What can he do with those sharp caps? Would a light graze make me quiver?