Page 27 of The Fae Menagerie
Doyle cocked his head to the side, a motion I deciphered as his thinking pose. His eyes flicked closed as though he was watching, or listening to, a replay of the morning in his mind.
"I heard a high whine I couldn't place. Mother acted like it was nothing, so I did the same." He pursed his lips. "If this was all a distraction?—"
"It's not," I reassured him. "Your mother isn't trying to kill me. She had every opportunity to do it when she visited."
Unlike Doyle's blunted teeth, Mother Thera's were sharp. If I saw her in a dark alley back home, I would think she was a vampire or some type of shifter. "She could have ripped my throat out when she leaned in to hug me. I don't want to think about the ways she could kill me with magic."
"She can't kill you with magic in here," Doyle said. "Yes, she could have ripped your throat out, but that would have been messy." His wings bounced up and down in a shrug without moving his shoulders. "Whatever this hole is for, it isn't magical, either. I can't figure it out."
"They've already tried poison," I said. "Could it be some type of gas?"
"Pumped in from Horace's enclosure while he's asleep?" Doyle frowned.
"Is the chandelier suspended by magic?" I asked.
"Yes." His scowl deepened. "The same magic that would hold in poisonous gas. You're a genius."
I didn't feel like a genius. I simply wanted to live to see my family again.
"Did you hear that?"
Doyle shook my shoulder when I didn't respond to his grating whisper. "Parker. Are you already dead?"
I flopped onto my back. No, I was not dead, but I was wide awake, thanks to my fae protector waking me every five minutesto alert me to sounds in the enclosure. He would have known that, too, if he paid attention to the eerie glow of the walls and ceiling.
Then, I heard it too. The sound of buzzing.
It was a sound I recognized. "Wasps?" I asked.
"Fuck no. No wasps allowed in here." Doyle flew out of bed like a rocket, his naked back rippling beneath his wings as he threw open his closet door and flipped through a few belts hanging from a hook. He grabbed the handle hanging behind all of them and pulled, knocking the belts to the floor.
"You're going after wasps with a pickleball paddle?" The paddle was modified with the handle of a tennis racket attached to the flat wooden square with duct tape. I had seen nothing like it, and I couldn't imagine what it was for.
"This is my wasp racket," he said. "Knocks them out of the air, and then smashes them on whatever surface."
"Those must be some damn big wasps."
"Depends on where they originated. Are you allergic to the ones from the human realm?"
"No." I had no allergies that I knew of. My parents had introduced me to every continent and every species they could get their hands on before I was two. As far as privileges went, yes, I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and that spoon was heaped with every allergen imaginable. I wasn't picky about food, and I was still alive, so win/win.
"Stay here." Doyle stalked out of the room. I stared at the door for a long time, still pondering his gorgeous backside. Since when did I notice people's asses?
Yes, Doyle was naked. I'd asked him to continue to sleep how he liked. I didn't want him to change his habits because he now shared a bed with me. I wanted him to feel comfortable in his enclosure, as much as possible, at least. This was still fae prison.
Since the first night, I slept naked, too. I was already used to it by the time I'd talked Doyle into sharing the bed, and it was so big, we never touched. When I couldn't sleep, I wished he would wrap himself around me. It would take me years to gather enough courage to ask him to do so.
I leaned back against the pillows, still unable to sleep or look away from the door long enough to close my eyes. A battle raged outside, one full of loud bangs and shouts.
"I got you!"
"Get back here!"
"Oh, you little …"
"I hear you!"
I couldn't tell if his antics were for me or if this was all part of battling a horde of flying insects.
