Page 90 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

Just like before, in the temple.

I have no idea what it is about Rose, but I physically can’t seem to be afraid of her.

Which makes no sense. Yet it’s true.

Maybe her small size is tricking my subconscious into thinking she’s less of a threat. Or perhaps it’s the Call thrumming beneath my skin.

“Can I see your wings?” she asks, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “It’s okay if you don’t want to—”

My glamour drops, cutting her off mid-sentence.

The Nicnevin just stares.

If I were a confident male, I might preen under her attention. I’m certain any of her other Guards would. But I’m preoccupied with nerves instead. What does she see? A thin male, dangling from wings which are too large for his body? A weakling who continuously drained her life force for years, just to stay alive? An under fae with nothing to offer her?

I have no riches like the redcap.

No knighthood like the wolf.

I don’t even have a legendary reputation like Drystan.

By all logic, I’m barely better suited for her than Caed—because even he has a royal title.

“You’re beautiful.”

Her words snap me out of my own self loathing and toss me straight into a deeper pit.

So it’s my looks she values.

The pretty face I inherited from my asshole of a father, which made me so popular at the brothel.

Even with ink covering every inch of me, my cursed features are still enticing.

Rose’s face pales. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to anger you.” She pats the ground beside her. “Would you sit with me?”

Normally, the idea of being so close to another person would repulse me. The crowds on the way here were my own personal nightmare—one I survived by focusing entirely on her. All those fae reaching out. Grasping hands. Avaricious gazes. Screaming. Chains.

“Bree?”

Again, she calls me back. Hauling me away from the edge of the abyss. Without my conscious consent, my wings draw in and up, floating me closer to the edge of her garden until I land. Before I know it, I’m barely two paces away from her.

“So pretty,” she breathes, and I tense again.

Only to stop as I notice the direction of her gaze. She’s not focused on my face at all. Her eyes are glued to my wings. The ‘disgusting animal element’ that every other fae who used my body despised.

To test my newfound theory, I release my hold on them, and they explode in a cloud of inky mist. Rose blinks like she’s coming out of a trance, finally focusing on my face. Her cheeks grow pink once more, and she offers me a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she says again. “You just make it look so effortless. Everyone does.”

Wait? Was she even talking about my wings, or just the mere act of flying?

Those haunting violet eyes flick back to the open sky, and I silently pray to Danu that she’ll tell me what she’s thinking. Unbidden, I crouch beside her, trying to understand her expression.

I’m rusty at reading people. The only two emotions anyone has looked at me with in the last twenty years—longer—have been lust and rage.

So Rose—who seems to shy away from the first and never experiences the second—is an enigma. One I just can’t solve.

Eventually, I can’t hold back.

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