Page 136 of Never Kiss a Fae
I immediately felt guilty. I’d expected a professor or someone to teach me, not Sol. He had his own work to do. “You don’t have to waste time on me. If you just point me to where the textbook is, I can start reading. I clearly have a lot of catching up to do.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Put your palm on the ground, Claire.”
I swallowed and did what he said, mostly because he was a muscular giant and that look on his face brooked no argument. And his tone, well, it sort of reminded me of Exos’s tone.
My heart gave a pang at the thought, my connection to him humming in response.
Still alive.
I closed my eyes, wishing I could follow the path to him, to find—
“What do you feel?” Sol asked, his deep voice drawing me back to him and the task I’d been assigned.
Heartbroken, I wanted to tell him. But I knew that wasn’t what he desired to know.
So I pushed my reservations aside and allowed him to help me. It was the least I could do since he’d chosen to take the time to help me when he didn’t have to.
Life fluttered beneath my hand, the tickle of grass against my skin a tease to my senses. I tilted my head, following the thread of the element into the soil beneath and luxuriated in the earthy notes filling my nostrils.
It felt almost refreshing. Cool. Hypnotic.
I sighed in contentment.
Fire breathed passion. Air stirred sensation. Water encouraged tranquility. Spirit warmed my heart.
“Earth is invigorating,” I breathed, swimming in the undercurrents of power.
“Yes,” Sol agreed, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn’t see because my eyes were still closed. I had the picture of a tree in my head, the one with fruit dangling from the limbs. Mmm, what I wouldn’t give for a peach. That wasn’t what I’d seen in the photo, but I craved the sweetness of summers past. My grandmother used to bake the most delectable pie. I could almost remember the smell if I concentrated enough.
My lips curled as I found the ingredients in the earth, not for the dessert, but the core ingredient—a peach pit.
It seeded beneath my palm, growing roots to secure itself to the soil, and pushed through the grass. “I miss peaches,” I whispered, my brow furrowing. “I miss home.”
“Me, too,” Sol agreed, his words a breath on the wind. “But I can never go back.”
“Why?” I asked, my creation growing in my mind, boasting vitality and scenting the air around us. “Why can’t you go home, Sol?”
“Because there’s nothing left,” he grumbled. “The plague has taken everyone I love. There’s no one for me to go back to.”
“Why is it spreading?” I asked, not understanding. “If Ophelia is dead, how are more fae falling ill?”
“Because it’s not her.” Sol’s tone sounded pained, causing my eyes to flutter open in concern. His eyes were on the tree I’d unknowingly blossomed, the leaves budding as if in the heat of spring. Several other students were gaping at my creation, most of them staring in awe. “That’s very impressive, Claire. But it’s not the assignment.”
My branches sprouted with life, my desire to taste a peach taunting my tongue. It all came so naturally, so unexpectedly, that I giggled when the first hint of little green pits developed on the tree.
“What is it?” a soft voice asked.
Aflora.
Her wide blue eyes gazed lovingly at my creation, her lips parting as a peach fully developed before her.
“A fruit tree from my childhood,” I said.
“It’s beautiful,” she praised. “May I touch it?”
I nodded, biting my lip, uncertain of what else to say. But the petite fae seemed too lost in the masterpiece hanging over my head to care for words. She stroked the tree with adoration, several others wandering over to join her.
Sol watched without a word, a strange spark of energy in his earthy gaze.
