We talk and kiss ourselves to sleep. Then we wake up, and I twist in the sheets to find Cerulean propped beside me, the linens barely covering the naughty parts. He rubs my ankle and watches me with a languid grin. All elegance, all flaws, all him.
Later, I’ll sidle nude to the archway and soak up the vista. And he’ll saunter up behind me and tuck my body against his bare one. He’ll nibble on the crook of my neck, and I’ll twist my head to meet his lips.
We’ll wander through the wildlife park, and we’ll share our first meal together. And we’ll puzzle out a new way to restore this mountainous labyrinth, and we’ll present it to the fauna, and we’ll mount a campaign to convince the Solitaries. And we’ll find out what my sisters are up against.
And we’ll drift across the vista. Maybe Tímien will grant us a ride, so that Cerulean’s wings will continue to heal. Maybe I’ll fly with him, or maybe that nightingale will honor me with another trip, and we’ll travel side by side.
Until then, I open my arms, my breasts spilling from under the covers. “You gonna keep a lady waiting?”
Cerulean shakes his head. “Be very careful now. They say I’m a vicious one.”
“And they say I’m a mutinous one. Guess that makes us even.”
With a malicious gleam, he whips the sheets aside. We make love again, our limbs clinging at the top of this tower, our voices ringing from the summit of a mountain.
I’d tell you we soften up after that—but I’d be lying.
Sometimes he stalks me across a bridge, the pair of us fighting, our voices clanging across the range. We bicker about the past and future, about immortals and humanity, and the balance between. When he taunts, I shout.
I’d tell you we get harsher after that—but that’s not true, either.
Most times, we debate, chuckle, and tease. I know which one it’ll be, based on the steepness of his smirk and the depths of his whispers, or the tempo of my pulse and the sass in my tone.
We’ll meet halfway. He’ll stride into a room with a ravenous glint and sly words perched on his tongue. When his lips snatch mine, I kiss him back.
I’d tell you it’s pure—but we’re not tykes anymore.
I might catch a devious tinge in his gaze, or in the notes of his flute. He might catch me in a riotous mood, venting about magic and then snapping the curtains closed in his face.
I might awaken to the wind nudging the sheets up my calves. In which case, I’ll flip on top of him before he can get sneakier.
He might dream while I watch his lashes flutter, and he’ll sense this, and he’ll reach out, lacing our fingers tightly.
There are nights when we get lost in a passionate tumult, marching from the cliffside before saying something we’ll regret. But eventually, we find our way back to each other.
Other nights? We’re too naked to get out of bed. It’s either quick and desperate, or it’s slow and agonizing. Always, it’s bliss.
We’re tender one day, raving the next. We’re mood swings and compromise, desire and kinship. We’re separate, and we’re one.
I’d tell you I know what to expect from here—but I’ve got no clue.
Don’t know what’s ahead for us, other than we’ll face it together.
Don’t know what’ll happen to my sisters, other than I’m waiting for a sign, a signal. As for the rest? Those are their fables to tell.
So I’ll just tell you one more thing. Lots of times, humans and Faeries become enemies. But every once in a while, they become something unexpected, something more.
Look closely but keep your wits as wide as the horizon. Carry a weapon but keep your heart open.
Because sometimes, they fall in love with you. And sometimes, you love them right back.
Epilogue
Cerulean
She wears the sky on her shoulders. Standing at the lip of the promontory, she gazes at the mountain range, her hair melting into the billowing sail of her nightgown. Moonlight trickles across her form, illuminating her skin so it appears as translucent as the wind.
I like seeing her this way—untouchable as a cloud.
Ah, but I’m a spoiled one. I do so favor having the privilege of touching her, nevertheless. The very thought of it stirs up a heady breeze, the flux rustling erratically across my bare chest, disturbing the tether of blue dangling over my flesh. While spying on her from the drapes of our chamber, I stroke a finger up and down the feathered tip, my mouth curling with intent.
Very careful now. Pace yourself.
I scoff. To say the least, I won’t be following my own advice.
I was born to believe humans beneath me, from their lack of magic to the shapes of their bodies, unadorned with the wonders of nature, not a single fauna trait to their credit. At best, I had deemed mortals unremarkable.
She has proven me wrong. Her hair is a wild tangle, gossamer threads whisking about her face. Her body is a cliff’s peak, slender yet strong, striving for the heavens despite her inability to fly. She’s a lark, the rare bird that sings while airborne. She’s my captor and my idol.
“Minn ó vjafnmadur,” I whisper. “My equal.”
In every sense, at every turn, she has been my undoing. And how I relish my errors, my atrocious misguidance. If not for that, I’d have forsaken the chance to discover this female. And so, I admire my love when she’s not looking. I make no apologies, for it’s my favorite way to savor, to absorb, to consume her.
How very gluttonous of me. How marvelous to catch her in a solitary moment.
It wouldn’t be the first time, nor will it be the last. To be certain, I’m that sort of sneak.
Since our first encounter, I’ve watched her one thousand twelve times. Well, thirteen, counting tonight.
As striplings, I studied her profile from between the bars of my cage. As strangers, I leered from the shadows of a bluff as she trespassed into my realm. As enemies, I observed from my throne while she braved my kin, her whip uncoiling for battle, her eyes rings of mercury, a storm brewing across her face. The sight had been nothing short of astonishing, everything close to mesmerizing, and ultimately infuriating.
In that moment, I’d been grateful for my seat, lest she compromise my equilibrium. Nonetheless, I’d suffered, barely able to sit still. I’d yearned to leap off the throne, close the distance between us, and do irreparable things to her mouth.
I’ve watched her frolic with nightingales and befriend my fauna family. I’ve watched her search for me in a crowded ballroom. I’ve watched her head tip back in ecstasy while my body vaulted into hers, spreading her legs like wings, her thighs quivering around my waist.
Presently, I lean against an archway and tilt my head. She indulges in the starlit vista, then flips a lock behind her rounded ear and closes her eyes.
The sight of her happiness whisks my blood into a tempest, my length stiffening. Sigh. Truly, my cock is forever at her mercy. Though I’m scarcely lamenting, for I have plenty of pleasurable tricks yet to share with her.
My shoulder blades tingle, my wings itching beneath the plates of bone, writhing to break free and splay wide. To say nothing about the tips of my ears. Fables, this woman and her temptations.
Enough of this. Enough now.
I feel a wicked grin split my face. Two panels of feathers burst from my back, snapping outward and flexing to their best advantage. We winged Faeries have a tendency to show off this way, particularly with our mates. Then again, she’s always been a challenge to impress, which is precisely the way I prefer it.
The span of quills snatches a current of air and launches me off the threshold. I swoop her way, the air swelling beneath the vanes and quavering the fringes. My flight is a ravenous one, at once needy and predatory. I’m careful in my descent, floating quietly to the ground, so as not to aggravate the wind and alert her. That would hardly be any fun.
It’s a tranquil hour, the torchlights erupting, the flames painting the teal night with bonfires of color. I stalk across the grass and pause inch
es behind her. The silken wind answers my call, accepting my plea and stringing around her waist.
Lark yelps, then relaxes when the draft coaxes her against me, her spine tucking itself into my chest. My arms replace the wind and slink around her middle. I drink in her flirty, feisty, fiery chuckle, lost in the brass chime of it.
“Sneaky Fae,” she remarks.
“Mouthy human,” I murmur.
“You know it. So how long have you been watching me?”
I smirk privately. “Ah, but it would take a hundred years to answer that.”
“Good thing we have time.”
“Then I shall tell you—”
“Lemme guess: For a price?”
How I love that she knows me well. How invigorating and terrifying.
Prickles rush across my fingers, equally warm and cold. It shall be a challenge, learning how to get away with things in spite of her.
The instant I fix my grip on Lark’s midriff, she gasps in approval. “You’re naked.”
“And you’re about to be,” I predict.
Thusly, my fingers pluck the straps of her fetching little nightgown and coast them down her arms. The cloth drops to the grass. Hmm, such a shame that lovely attire had to be discarded. Of course, sacrifices must be made. For if I’m going to behave sneakily, I might as well be consistent.
A tapestry of white and teal constellations burnishes our bodies. We wear nothing but our charms, her thigh cuff and my ear caps. And why not? There’s no one lurking about. Interlopers have vacated the tower, Moth having sent the servants away hours ago, the moment my love returned to me.
Lark. She returned to me.
After everything, she came back. I’ve never known such intensity as the moment I saw her lingering beside the gazebo. In all my centuries, I had assumed I’d felt every emotion there was to experience by now, but again, she proved me wrong. My mouth had dried, my breath quickening and the weight on my shoulders lifting. Curse it all, but the joy had been excruciating, the relief overpowering, the desire maddening.
Those same impulses spur me tonight. For good measure, my wings stroke Lark’s hips before crimping to my sides. Her head falls against my shoulder, giving my mouth access to the pulse tapping at her throat. I waste no time, my lips opening over her pebbled skin and plying her with slow, languid kisses.
Her shiver is a draft, her aroused sigh a gust. I burrow my face into her hair, inhaling the scent of coffee and foggy mornings. Her favorite things, each fragrance infused into her curves, emitting an incense that hardens me to the brink of pain.
Fables forbid, this won’t be easy. Holding out never is.
She has no idea how many times I’ve wanted to grab her in the past, before our kiss under the Horizon. How many times I’ve thirsted for her mouth, wanting to swallow her sarcasm whole and taste her defiance on my tongue. How many encounters in which my pelvis tightened in her proximity. How many times I envisioned sweeping her off the ground, taking her against the nearest solid surface, and dragging out the climax until she fainted from pleasure.
I sense Lark smiling as she sways her backside into my prick, the teasing motion pulling a hiss from my parched tongue. “You’ll pay dearly for that.”
“Not if you can’t catch me.”
A thrill eddies through my wings. “Oh, but I’ve already done that.”
“Yeah, except I know my way around this mountain now.”
“Is that a fact?”
Lark pauses for effect, then swings and ducks around me. My mouth wreathes as I wheel slowly and prowl across the grass while she retreats backward, a reckless endeavor on this promontory. Our feet swish over the green, torch flames illuminating the swan-white of her figure, the swells and tapers of her nudity on display. I once resented those infuriating distractions, loathed them, suffered the insult of them, even as they destroyed me little by little.
Yet I digress, which won’t do. Not when my quills detect the makings of a game.
We pause in a shaft of moonlight, enabling me to scent her excitement. It’s a human aroma, rich of earth and blood and fortitude.
A moment later, she spins and flees, sprinting across the lawn to the wildlife park, her unshod toes kicking through the underbrush.
I launch off the ground, my wings snatching a pocket of air and vaulting ahead. This craving hasn’t gone away—the chase, the pursuit and play of it. She dashes into the thicket, cutting a path through the moonflower trellis and hopping from one level to the next. The fauna pay her little heed, because she’s now one of them.
Tímien and the fauna who raised me, Moth who has become my sister, and Lark who has become everything. This is my family.
Puck and Elixir are my brothers, my brethren. They matter to me, but it’s become exceedingly more complicated and shall require a great deal of conniving to change that. I wish I could say otherwise.
My wings span the air. I dive between the trees, my plumes skimming the leaves and snuffing one of the torches. I veer east, then west, biding my time, relishing the cadence of her exhalations, this newest excuse to watch her.
What’s more, there’s no rush. Her destination is clear.
Pearlescent beams dapple the gazebo, tails of ivy lacing the framework. My prey races toward the structure’s womb, but shortly before she reaches the threshold, I plunge. Diving behind her, I belt my arm around her waist and hoist her against me without breaking my speed.
She chirps, her feet leaving the ground as I pitch us into the sky. We soar across the range, my torso flush with her spine, her tremulous laughter swinging through the wind—and I see it, the breeze ensnaring the sound and carrying it over the mountain.
I hold her close and say, “Spread your arms.”
Elation ripples through her body, the sensation unfurling into my quills. Lark does as I bid and extends her arms, aligning them with my wings, the wind surging beneath us. She gasps in delight, realizing that she’s flying.
I relish that small noise, audible only to me. How I crave more of it.
“Now, then,” I croon. “Tell me where to go.”
She nods. “Higher.”
Amusing indeed, and very much like her. I obey, arcing us into the celestials and devouring the sounds of her joyous whoops.
Direct me. Command me. Show me where you’d go. Let my wings be your own.
If I may, Lark adjusts rather well to ordering me around. She shouts, and we steer around The Wild Peak. She squeals, and we plummet into a vertical dive, shooting toward the valley.
Near The Parliament of Owls, Tímien and the winged raptors momentarily join the voyage, creating a funnel that spirals around us.
At Lark’s behest, we chase the eastern terrain, then streak west through ropes of foliage. Under the moon, she flies us over every precipice that has led to now, to this moment. I pitch us through a cloud, splitting it and sprinkling mist onto our naked flesh. Her breasts pump savagely, but she nestles in, trusting my grip.
I could do this for eternity, or at least, for the next hour. Hence, I revel in this tour, meeting her desires as the sun peeks over the horizon.
Abreast of the tower, I warn, “Careful now. Or you’ll fall.”
She twists her lips to my ear, puffing against the wing caps and echoing my words. “But I’ve already done that.”
Fables eternal. She dares entice me while in flight?
I charge to the promontory and land us where we started. At the edge of the world, we move as one, my hands whirling Lark to face me and her arms flinging around my neck. Our mouths breach the distance. Then at the last moment, we pause and expel sharp blasts of air, our lips suspended, hovering inches away from a soul-crushing kiss.
Trickster that it is, my length rises higher between us.
“Well, hello there,” Lark coos, thoroughly proud of herself. “Feels like you slept well.”
“Mutinous, mercenary, meddlesome human,” I pant. “Well enough to heave you off the grass and fuck you against the wind. You have only to
ask. Or are you trying to ruin me?”
“Nah, but I’m still waiting for you to answer my question.”
So how long have you been watching me?
Forever. For a lifetime. For as long as she has allowed me to, and even longer.
“Hmm.” I lean into her ear and whisper, “True indeed. But if you wish for a thorough response, I suppose we’ll have to make a deal.”
Lark speaks against my lips, humor and affection softening her voice. “Hot damn. You just can’t resist.”
“Never,” I say with a vicious grin.
I resist nothing where she’s concerned. Though, I do have a bargain in mind. If she wants to know how often I’ve watched her, my price is simple. A moan for a moan. A heartbeat for a heartbeat. Her pleasure for my confessions, her rapture for my secrets.
Her kiss for my kiss. Her love for my love.
Indeed, I like to think it’s a fair trade.
***
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Author’s Note
Welcome to Faerie, lovelies! I’ve been so nervous and excited for you to finally step into this new world, and I hope you’re as hooked as I am.
When I first began reading about Fae lore and came across the theme of Solitary Faeries, the muse began to simmer. With their reclusive habits and tendency to dwell in nature, this mysterious batch of the Folk immediately sparked my interest. Oh, how I fancy secluded settings with mystical legends stashed amidst the trees. My introverted, woodland-loving heart went pitter-patter.
Inspiration came from a constellation of places, including Aesop’s Fables and my childhood fascination with the movie, Labyrinth. That, combined with my love of wildlife, led me to Lark & Cerulean’s story. And ahh, how I adore these two. With every intense scene, their relationship took me by surprise, as did this universe. I can’t wait to explore the rest of The Dark Fables with you!
Kiss the Fae (Dark Fables: Vicious Faeries Book 1) Page 37
