Page 73 of Curse the Fae

Fondness and intrigue simmer in Elixir’s expression. “But it does. It matters to you.”

“Why did you bring me here?” I accuse.

Is this a mirage, or does the water lord look insecure? Whatever he’s about to propose, his tentative demeanor suggests he’s expecting me to reject him.

Elixir clears his throat, concealing the noise with a baritone grunt. “I would…very much like…” he rubs the back of his neck, then squats at the landing’s edge and extends his hand. “I would like to show you something.”

***

I should recall accepting his offer. I should recall disembarking from the boat. I should recall standing before him.

But as he guides me down a series of lantern-lit corridors, all that lingers in my mind is my hand taking his, the warmth of his palm, and our fingers weaving together. The last time we held hands, Elixir had balled them over my head while thrusting feverishly inside me. This is different. It’s consciously done and somehow riskier.

The Fae moves a step ahead of me, his free hand grazing the left wall and following its direction. His grip is neither firm nor loose, neither possessive nor indifferent. Until the lily pond, I hadn’t thought him capable of maintaining such a hold on anyone.

Those honed fingercaps press to my knuckles without biting into my skin. I concentrate on the cadence of his pulse thudding against my own and growing more rapid the farther we get.

Actually, I think about one other thing: Elixir’s face just after I’d emerged from the boat, when our hands made contact. The lines of his countenance had been soft for a span of only seconds. Then his brows had knitted, and he’d made a gruff noise while turning away.

As we wind through the passages, I get sneaky and lean sideways. A quick peek at his profile yields the same surly I-don’t-care-how-good-your-damn-hand-feels glower.

I bite my lower lip to stifle a grin. It’s rather cute to see him in the throes of denial.

At last, he ushers me from the corridors to a cave promontory overlooking a gulch twenty feet below us. The view is wondrous, with its glittering ceiling, sprays of jade foliage crowding every surface, and the aquamarine current gushing below. Grass carpets the overhang, the blades sinking under my feet.

Elixir kneels at the overhang’s rim, his feet also bare. “We shall wait here.”

“For what?” I hunker beside him, perch on the ledge, and let my calves swing over the side.

He shakes his head. “It must be seen, not told.”

Anticipation creeps into his voice. Then I hear the rumble of a stampede.

The ground ruptures beneath us. The gulch roars to life, the current rolling into rapids that thrash over boulders and crash into the vegetation. As the raging tide grows, the waves solidify and take the shape of horses.

“Kelpies,” I gasp.

The rapids manifest into a fleet of massive water horses galloping at breakneck speed, the equines’ bodies translucent yet sparkling with color—from citrine, to pale green, to azure. Their manes fly like banners; their coats are gilled or covered in scales; long whiskers splay from several muzzles; and fins sprout from their withers and legs. The kelpies are made of liquid, yet the details froth into tangible shapes.

They’re not illusions. They’re alive!

A chorus of whinnies blast from their mouths, the otherworldly sound as cavernous and melodic as a siren’s song. The enchanted spectacle robs me of breath. Dazed, I watch as they pass by us, spring into the air, and dive into the rapids with a tremendous splash that douses the gulch. At which point, they vanish into the water, becoming one with the breakers.

“It is called The Kelpie Rapids,” Elixir says, breaking me from my trance.

I catch his face angled toward me, his Fae senses listening for my reaction.

The tides continue in the water horses’ wake, rushing forth and soaking the environment. When the rapids show no sign of dwindling, I whisper, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you sure about that?” Elixir wonders.

With a startled laugh, I twist my body his way, only to be greeted with an equally remarkable sight. His head bows, and his lips slant, a close-mouthed huff of mirth escaping him. Is he teasing me?

Three seconds later, he sobers and regards the gulch with reverence. “Always, they run at this hour—the kelpies of old who created the tunnels and passages of The Deep. Millenia ago, they would race through this realm, forging rapids that dug craters into the walls. Now they content themselves to this place alone, to honor what they’ve contributed by sharing The Deep with other water fauna and Solitary Fae. They have given rather than taken.”

He emphasizes that last tidbit, which makes me grin. He remembers what I’d said.

Many people in my world base worth on one’s possessions. I see a person’s worth in what they contribute.

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