Page 15 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Her bargain is manifesting, I realise. This is what the destruction of a gateway between worlds looks like.

The glow intensifies, and soon the metal which forms the archway at the top begins to dissolve, falling away like black sand.

But even when the gate is completely obliterated, Rose doesn’t get up. I drop to my knees again, trying to reach her along our bond, only to be violently rebuffed. Between us, the Call vibrates with her pain and fear, almost choking me.

There’s nothing I can do. I pull her into me and stroke her hair. My control was already slipping, so it’s little surprise when the golden shield of my magic surges to life around us. Yet the threat isn’t a physical one. Powerless to help, I cradle her as she slumps against me. A quick check confirms that she’s passed out from the pain. I brush her hair out of her face to check her pulse, only to freeze.

The Rose in my arms isn’t the same one I entered the portal with.

Her glamour is gone.

The true face of the Nicnevin—of my mate—stares back at me for the first time, and I can’t breathe.

She’s more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen. No. Not beautiful. All high fae are attractive to an extent. Rose is captivating.

If anyone had ever tried to roll everything I found attractive in a female up into one person, it would be her.

Her hair has lengthened and turned from a light brownish blonde to a pale strawberry shade. The bone structure of her face has sharpened, becoming more angular. She’s lost the rounded cheeks and fine eyebrows she had before, and they’ve been replaced with bold brows, slashing cheekbones, and long, pale lashes.

Her figure fills out before my eyes, transforming her from sickly thin to a soft hourglass. She’s still a delicate, dainty little thing—her height hasn’t changed—but her body looks less like it might break at the flick of my fingers now.

It’s then that I realise I’m kneeling on soft grass. The golden orb of my shield drops away, revealing the trees as they burst back to life. New buds shoot out, forming a thick leafy canopy between us and the warm sun within moments. Nature is racing to catch up, and the speed at which it’s happening is hard to process.

Goddess. If this is happening everywhere, keeping her return a secret will be impossible.

“Did I faint again?” she mumbles, blinking open long lashes to display the telltale violet eyes of the Nicnevin. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to anymore.”

Even her voice has changed from the rough, coarse timbre of her adoptive mother’s into a lilting, higher tone.

“God, I sound…” she begins, pushing out of my arms.

I clear my throat. “The glamour is gone, and…”

“How can I hear…?” Her hands fly up, brushing aside her thick wavy hair to reveal the sharp, long points of her ears.

“Your senses should be sharper now that you’re in Faerie and you’ve lost your glamour,” I explain.

At the mention of it, she gasps, her hands flying to her face to trace her new features with her fingertips. Then she looks down to examine her new body, which is confined in clothes that are now far too tight for her.

When she cups her breasts and stares at them in disbelief, I have to look away or risk embarrassing myself.

“Oh, God—” She cuts herself off and drops her breasts like they’ve burned her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise.”

A glance back shows her cheekbones are painted red again. Shit, now I’m blushing. My cheeks are on fire.

Come on, Jare, you’re ninety-seven years old, not twenty.

“Dear Lord, I’m really…”

She’s still speaking, but I can’t get the image of her holding her breasts out of my mind.

Change the subject. Change the damn subject now.

I seize on the first thing I can think of. “I don’t know how attached you are to your mortal beliefs in a male deity…”

“Oh, I hated it,” she admits. Is that relief in her voice? “Reverend Michael was such a horrid piece of work. Needling people who barely had any money for tithes. I never saw any God in his church.”

Thank the Goddess. She’s supposed to be the physical incarnation of Danu, but we’ll broach that another day. I’m not certain where the ethics stand on attempting to convince the divinely blessed to believe in the divinity which blessed them… Most fae are born feeling their connection to the Goddess.

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