Page 19 of Taken By the Fae

Heat fills my cheeks, and my pulse picks up at his offer. “I’m meeting a friend.” I point toward the booth Oliver’s in.

“No worries.” Grant pulls out his phone. “Let’s plan to hang sometime.” He holds it out, open to a new message. “Text yourself so you have my number.”

My pulse ticks faster as I take his phone and type in my number, then add a quickheyand send it. My phone vibrates from my pocket.

“I’ll let you get to your friend,” he says as I hand his phone back. “It was nice to see you, Aurora.”

“You too.” I smile before continuing to where Oliver is waiting, sliding into the booth across from him. “Hey.”

“I saw you getting your flirt on with that guy from the party.” He wiggles his brows, and I roll my eyes. “You gave him your number?” Oliver asks, flipping his navy ball cap around, making his hair stick out the front.

I shrug, scanning Oliver’s face while trying to be subtle about searching for any hints that he’s fae. “Maybe. I kind of like him.”

“Good. It’s about time you got laid.”

I scoff half-heartedly. “Thank you so much for being concerned about my sex life. I really appreciate it.”

He grins at me over the menu. “I ordered you an iced coffee.”

“Nowthat’swhat I like to hear.”

Oliver and I chat about classes after we order—him, the fried pickles and a caesar salad with steak, and me, a giant bowl of bowtie pasta with tomato sauce and grilled chicken. I let him do most of the talking, using that opportunity to inspect him. Oliver isn’t unattractive, but his complexion isn’t flawless like the fae I’ve met. His skin has texture and blemishes in spots, and his eyes are a dull brown and have darkness and lines beneath them, normal for any college senior—anyhuman. If the fae can alter their appearances to look human, surely they can create flaws to help sell their disguise.

I need him to lie, I decide, dropping my gaze momentarily. My eyes land on the utensils on the table, and I press my lips together.Or maybe I don’t. They’re likely made of stainless steel, which means there’s iron in them. I continue listening to Oliver go on about how many assignments his marketing class has as I pick up my bundle of utensils as if I’m getting ready to eat. I purposely fumble it, letting the knife slide out and clatter against the old hardwood floor. “Shit,” I mutter.

Oliver laughs. “Nice one.” He shifts to the end of the booth, and my breath halts. He swipes it off the floor and sets it back on the table with no reaction to touching it.

I let out a breath, reaching for my iced coffee. “Thanks.”

With that out of the way, I’m able to enjoy the rest of our meal—the first real one I’ve had in a couple of days. I scarf it down along with my iced coffee, then sit back and groan, because I ate way too much, but it was a-fucking-mazing.

We walk back across campus, Oliver pausing outside my dorm. “When you see Allison, will you tell her to give me a shout?”

“I will,” I tell him. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Of course,” he echoes before waving goodbye and continuing to his dorm building next door.

Instead of going inside, I head for the bus stop. I’m not entirely sure what possesses me to get on the bus and ride several blocks to the nearest hardware store, but I stand in front of a selection of fencing materials—including iron stakes. I walk down a few of the other aisles, stalling. Whether I’m trying to talk myself into or out of buying them isn’t all that clear, but after ten minutes of pacing, I finally blow out a breath and grab half a dozen of them, carrying them to the cashier. Sure, I get an interesting look from the teenager behind the counter, but I don’t really care. Not if having these is going to give me a sense of control over the crazy that has become my life in the last two days.

Choosing to walk back to campus, the stakes clink around in the canvas bag I bought to carry them in. Once I get back to my room, I store the bag in the bottom drawer of my desk and flop onto my bed, pulling my laptop out.

An internet search forfaeleads absolutely nowhere. I’ve been sitting on my bed for over an hour pouring over articles of mythology and the different origins of fae, and all it’s done is make my head pound.

Pacing the minuscule square footage of our room, I come up with a list of what I think I know about them. I fist my hair, groaning as I shuffle over to my bed and flop onto it, throwing my arm over my eyes as I focus on slowing my breathing.

“Aurora?”

I sit up in a flash and find Allison standing in the doorway. She looks fine, not a hair out of place, no wrinkles on her clothes. Her face is free of makeup, which is unusual for her; otherwise, she looks normal. “Are you really here?” I ask.

She takes a moment to smile. “I’m here.”

I launch myself off the bed and throw my arms around her.

She pulls back and stares at me for a moment and then hugs me tighter. “I am so sorry about everything. Are you okay?”

I step back. “Areyou?”

“I’m not the one who was attacked and fed on, Ro.” She surveys my face, studying me as if checking herself to make sure I’m not hurt. The guilt in her eyes makes my chest ache.

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