Kiss the Fae (Dark Fables: Vicious Faeries Book 1)

by Natalia Jaster

  An impatient breeze whisks our hair, scattering all that white and blue. This elicits a delicious shiver, and I respond by thumbing his ears.

  On a raspy hum, Cerulean plunges in fully. Prying my lips apart, his tongue slips through and lashes at mine. I whimper into the kiss, meeting the flat of that tongue with rampant flicks of my own.

  Dammit, he tastes of blackthorn wine and rainfall. Our tongues pump to a delirious rhythm, whipping into each other. Again and again and again, we split our mouths wide and then cinch tight. My body flares to life, the brushfire searing me from the inside out.

  I’m kissing one of them. I’m kissing a Fae.

  I’m kissing him.

  My thoughts dissolve. The world turns to smoke. I’m lost. I’m found. His mouth is a mistake, and each of my whines is a failure. And it’s intrusive, and it’s intoxicating, and it’s unfair, and it’s fatal.

  And it’s safe. By some calculating twist of magic, it’s safe.

  Because of that, it’s the worst kiss I’ve ever known.

  The erratic, windswept embrace drives the oxygen from my lungs. Every flex of his tongue is a bittersweet penetration that nudges tears at the corners of my eyes. I know where they’re coming from, but I hold them in while opening to him.

  We tilt in the opposite direction. His mouth snatches mine, the relentless tug of our lips pulling sounds from us both. My blood throbs, gathering to a breaking point in my pelvis. I’m wetter from this kiss than I’ve ever been while spread around a man.

  Time for me to take over. Licking my way into that disorderly, dark place inside him, I feel Cerulean unhinge completely. A pleasured noise leaps from his throat, and I swallow the vibration.

  We show no signs of letting up. Every touch, every taste increases the craving, failing to satisfy. And that’s how we lose our damn minds.

  I take more. I give more. I want more.

  I can’t remember where my hands have gone. They’ve vanished in the nest of his hair. His restless palm leaves my ass and joins the other at my skull, fixing me in place as his mouth clamps on to me.

  The wind flails around us. The kiss spirals out of control.

  We pitch ourselves into the unknown, our tongues melting, keening. I’m riled up, fed up, darting in and out of his mouth. He sweeps within mine, stoking a place that has us shaking from head to toe.

  All at once, we mimic the pace of another act. The kissing begins to feel like fucking. The furious clash of enemies, coupled with the fated bonding of mates. That sweet but stressed rotation of hips. The deep, churning thrust of bodies. Unable to stand it, my hips grind against his stiff length.

  Cerulean tears his mouth away. He whispers something inarticulate, the tone accusatory. The black moons of his pupils eclipse the irises, brilliant and brutal. They dip to my swollen mouth, and I do the same, eager to lick the dark blue flesh.

  This turning point is so awful, so good. Though we haven’t even started yet. It’s nothing compared to what I’m aching to do, nothing compared to what he does next, and nothing compared to my response.

  He sinks teeth into my bottom lip. Those ivories skim the ledge of my mouth, a sizzling path that teases me to madness. That’s what this kiss is—it’s madness and mayhem, mischief and magic.

  It’s a memory, so very new and so very old. It’s forbidden and familiar, a flurry of pain and desire, innocence and corruption.

  When I grunt for more, he denies me. So I nip his flesh, where his upper lip bows high. We keep doing this, straying around one another. Our mouths drift, our teeth nick.

  I should mumble something. He should murmur something else.

  We have to stop this, but I can’t find the strength to give a shit, and neither can he. At last, the Fae ruler is powerless, and the mortal captive is priceless. That’s how it feels while he touches me.

  We fit ourselves into a single piece, while the details around us crumble to ash. I hear the whoosh of a storm, a stirred-up squall disturbing the mountain. Somewhere, a distant cluster of pebbles dislodges from a cliff. Somewhere even farther, an avian cries out a brass note.

  Then I hear nothing but Cerulean’s ragged breath, which matches my own. We’ve gone and exhausted each other.

  But how much more can I take from him? How much more can he offer?

  Might as well add one more mistake to my list of offenses. With that in mind, my fingers sketch his ears again. And that fucking does it.

  Cerulean shudders and claims my mouth for another disastrous onslaught, our tongues flaying one another to bits. I catch his kiss and yield under him. Some current of energy crackles where our lips roll, shooting up my limbs and hurling me into the sky. A wild kiss in a wilder place.

  Have I ever been this wide awake? This alert?

  Has he?

  With every swat of his illicit tongue, a warped version of myself comes to life and takes flight. My hands rove higher into his hair, my arms roping around him. Instead of returning to my ass, his palms sink from my skull to my tailbone.

  The kiss intensifies from carnal to conscious. It deepens and explores, our lips splaying around each other. Not slower but much deeper.

  That’s scarier. A cold draft of fear passes through my heart.

  Yet the dawning sun combats that response, drizzling warmth over my toes and nestling into my shoulder blades. I sigh into his mouth. Cerulean hums, lapping up the sound, the movements of his jaw calming down. That only intensifies the sensations, the breeze buffeting his trousers and my nightgown.

  I’ve never been kissed like this. I’ve never known anything close to this confused passion, this profound aggression. I’m surrendering and setting myself free all at once. I’m kissing a nemesis who’s also a friend, as if we were always supposed to be here, as if we set this in motion a long time ago.

  Heaving my mouth from his, I struggle for breath. For a pent-up moment, our eyes stumble into one another. His angular features go slack, his lips a dark swell of blue. There’s no trace of mockery staring back, no riddles braced on his tongue.

  For once, we’ve shut each other up.

  Maybe I’m as monstrous as this Fae. Why else would I let this happen? Why else would I be ready for more?

  Later, I’ll curse myself for this. Until then, I break another rule: Never fall for the enemy.

  Cerulean opens his mouth, likely to say something catastrophic. Instead, I grip the fine slopes of his cheeks and mutter, “You fucking vice of a Fae.”

  His amused lips twitch as my mouth snatches his.

  22

  By the time we come up for air, the sun has risen fully. It’s a great big mouthful of butterscotch hanging overhead and gilding the world. For once, it’s the kind of view I’d see back home.

  Not that I’m paying it much heed. My eyelids flutter open, and I catch merely a glimpse of the vista beyond the thatch of Cerulean’s hair. Over his shoulder, I blink into the shaft of light, then at him.

  His arms entwine my middle, his palms imprinting themselves into my rump, which he must have gripped again sometime during the maelstrom of our kiss. My arms are slung around his neck, hooking on to him as if I’ll collapse without the leverage.

  On second thought, not as if I’ll collapse. As if I’ll levitate into the forsaken sky.

  Our bodies make a cage of one another. My heart pounds so hard it threatens to crack through bone. His own riotous heart does the same, if its drumming rhythm is anything to go by. What would happen if those organs crashed through the barricades and collided?

  Mouths parted and hovering an inch apart, we pant moist air against one another. Cerulean’s nostrils grapple for oxygen. With each of his intakes, I suffocate a little more.

  We kissed. This isn’t a dream or a nightmare. It’s a bit of both, sensual and disturbing.

  I see my face reflected in his pupils, my body a pinprick, a distortion of myself. In other words, I’m being dramatic. And I don’t do dramatic, because I leave that to Cove, because she’s better at it. My sister
can swoon without compromising herself.

  Then again, she wouldn’t have kissed a Fae. Juniper, either.

  The thought of them has me wiggling from Cerulean’s embrace. But it’s no use, because he’s got me trapped inside arms welded from steel.

  Fussing only causes my tits to bump into his pecs. Bumping only leads to visions of us tangled and chaotic, naked and sweating up against a cliff wall.

  Our lips are too close for comfort. The bows of his mouth tickle mine, even as clarity returns. His gaze narrows, mutating from lust to skepticism.

  “What trickery is this?” he grates out. “What have you done to me?”

  I release a breathless scoff. “When will you learn? To have an effect, mortals don’t need magic.”

  “Then what is this nonsense?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you feel it, too.”

  “Come on. You know I do.”

  “You exhaust me. I want to let you go, but I can’t. I want to punish you, but I can’t. I want to take your mouth again, but cursed it all, I can’t. Why?”

  I could echo his words. This mess would be easy to clean up, if it were limited to a perverse, hate-fueled attraction. But I hear what he’s left unspoken.

  Why did the kiss feel natural?

  Cerulean stares at me, bright with confusion. If he expects me to have answers, then we’ve really done each other in. I’m used to swapping tonsils with blokes in Reverie Hollow, but this? This I can’t shrug off like a coat.

  Also, I feel bad for the taunt about his species, especially after what he’d said about magic requiring more skill and sacrifice than I’d given it credit for. It makes so much sense, I’m galled I hadn’t considered that while growing up.

  I tuck a lock of white behind the lobe. It’s a mighty girlish thing to do, but after having a Fae kiss the shit out of me, I have no excuse. What’s more, my nipples pebble into the film of my nightgown, grazing the planes of Cerulean’s chest.

  He notices, his eyes deepening to a glossy, bottomless blue. “Be very careful.”

  “Or else?” I hazard.

  But he doesn’t need to answer. I’ve got an imagination.

  A breeze slinks between our bodies, breaking the trance. We wring ourselves from each other. Yet I feel him every-fucking-where, those instrumental hands engraved on my skin, that wicked tongue tingling my lips.

  The sun burnishes the exposed apexes of his ears as he bends to retrieve the caps. I’d gotten everything he said about how this horizon works. It’s about honest questions and candid answers. Must mean it’s about actions, too.

  I quip, “The Horizon That Never Lies. With a name like that, maybe we should blame it for this fiasco. Maybe that’s what’s got us so randy.”

  “Or perhaps we are the ones to blame,” he says, clicking the caps over his ears. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Meaning this was a fluke? Or a gaffe?”

  “Which do you prefer? One, both, or neither?”

  “Enough, Cerulean. Stop talking in circles with me. I’m sick of it, and I can’t do it anymore. If we’re on this peak to be real, then let’s be real. Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

  “Pun not intended, but in truth? I cannot remember why I brought you here. I’m constantly losing my way around you, yet I can’t help myself. You provoke me to distraction. Be it night or day, I can’t stop thinking about your mortal mouth, nor can I stop coveting that mouth, nor loathing you for it. Is that real enough, pet?”

  “We’re back to pet, are we? Kissing me must’ve given you the jitters.”

  “Me? Afraid of you?” he says with a tart laugh.

  I step closer. “Then prove it and kiss me again.”

  A monsoon passes across Cerulean’s face. “You’re playing a treacherous game.”

  “You started it a long time ago.”

  “Oh, my mutinous one. You still have no idea what I’m capable of.”

  “And unlike you, I can take the gamble.”

  “Can you now? I’ll keep that in mind.”

  With a flick of his wrist, a gust lurches toward the Horizon. Minutes later, Tímien reappears, the blades of his wings slicing through the panorama. The journey home is quiet, except for the whistle of wind and the flap of the avian’s feathers.

  Cerulean and I part ways without a backward glance. Where do we go from here? No place, that’s where. This doesn’t change anything. It can’t, despite what I’ve learned about his history, despite the likelihood of our pasts being linked, and despite what that could mean for my heart. I took what I wanted while betraying myself, my sisters, my family—my damn dignity.

  That’s one kiss too many.

  ***

  Hours later, I toss and turn in the sheet. That episode at the Horizon has warped the dynamic between us. No matter what we think or say, something pivotal happened on that crest. That something has been building for a while, if my suspicions are correct.

  I still taste him, still feel the brush of his tongue. Earlier, the dawning sun had risen, but now it’s begun to recede. The day yawns into a drowsy afternoon, oozing goldenrod beyond the windows, the color splashing through the curtains and onto my bed.

  In a few hours, the light will dim. The fauna will roam this haven. And not far off, Faeries will do cruel things.

  The Solitaries will come out to play, because tonight’s the masquerade. They’ll dress in fancy clothes and don masks. They’ll dance under the Middle Moon. They’ll congratulate themselves for being themselves.

  The only good thing that’ll come of it? They’ll celebrate the animals of this world.

  That, and they’ll probably fuck.

  With a growl, I twist in the coverlet, the folds snarling around my hips.

  I want out of this bed. I want out of this room. I want out of this tower.

  I want to flee from the dark shell of my thoughts. I want to leap into the wind and let it carry me away.

  I want to kiss him again. I want the air spiraling around us like before, when he showed me the wind, when I really saw it for the first time. I want to feel like I did right then, like we shared the same passion, the same awe. I want to relive those seconds before our mouths self-destructed. I want that madness one more time. I want it to matter. I want it to be insignificant.

  Will he fuck somebody tonight?

  How does he move in bed? What maneuvers does he know? How does he sound when he comes? Which sounds does he draw from his partners?

  Frustration, guilt, and jealousy clash at the nexus of my body, a molten ache condensing in the slit between my legs. My hand moves, cupping the mound of curls. Feathering my digits through the crisp tangle of hair, I trace the dampness, slick and warm. And for a while, I tease myself, my fingers combing over the coils and tracing the swollen nub.

  Careful. Very carefully now.

  I conjure a fantasy of his voice, his words penetrating the silence. Pressing harder into myself, my body flops to the side, in search of the perfect angle. I face the curtains billowing around the open window, the sheer material bloated and quavering.

  Does the wind have a beginning? Does it have an ending?

  As if summoned, the source of my curiosity slithers across the floorboards and jostles the ends of the bedsheet. I freeze. The material shifts, nudged by an invisible force, and inches up my calves.

  My heart jackhammers. I know these shenanigans. From past experiences, I know them well.

  Only now, I’m aware of who’s responsible. He’s probably done this to numerous mortals, so that he doesn’t remember those nights in my room. But contrary to the last bouts, this is anything but random. And unlike those other incidents, I react differently.

  Nerves buzzing, I roll onto my spine and spread my arms to the sides of the mattress. My belly’s a hive of droning bees. Every movement is deliberate but slow, because this isn’t surrender—it’s shared. An offering for an offering.

  Rapt and willing, I wait with my palms twisted upward.
I don’t know how I got here, or where this is leading, but I know it’s with him. That’s all I count on. If we’re about to make another mess of each other, we’re doing it together.

  The wind stalls in contemplation, then prowls ahead, circling my ankles. My toes curl, but the rest of me goes rigid, because moving will spoil the anticipation.

  But already it’s tough. Really tough not to budge.

  An erotic chuckle resounds, the breeze carrying his response to me. Yes, he can make contact through the wind, but to what degree? How far is he able to take this?

  Can he feel me? Can he taste me?

  He must, albeit not like he would if he were here. Nonetheless, a resonant hum entwines with the draft. Allow me.

  It’s not a plea. It’s a proposition.

  An enticement. A promise.

  The wind continues its path, coaxing my feet apart. My teeth sink into my lip, sealing in a whimper. Can’t blame me for wanting to keep a smidgen of my excitement under wraps, lest he get smug. I’m not here to validate him.

  Based on the teasing trail of wind, he likes that. Even though I haven’t kicked his breezy backside from this chamber, I reckon he wants to see what it takes to win me over. I bet he wants to test that, to see how much of him I can take. I think he wants me to make it difficult on him. After that, I think he wants me to succumb.

  Oh, my mutinous one. You still have no idea what I’m capable of.

  And unlike you, I can take the gamble.

  So that’s what he’s after, while I’m willing and laid out like a feast. Fine by me.

  Let’s see what this Fae can do. Let’s see how long we last. Let’s see—

  My breath hitches as that sly gust sketches the flesh around my knees, tracing the scars made by countless chimneys, countless pits of darkness. A raw and achy emotion wells in my throat. He changes course, his pace delicate across the knobs of my knees, the wind grazing its lips over those old wounds.