To Stir a Fae's Passion

by Nadine Mutas

  Chapter 9

  Basil ducked as small pebbles hailed down on him, covered his head with his hands, and backed away. Squinting at the mischievous fae in front of him, he watched the last of her gravel missiles hit the wooden floor.

  He lowered his hands, cocked a brow. “Did you just stone me?”

  She had the good grace to look a little rueful. “I let them fall softly. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have pelted you with them.”

  He rubbed a spot on his head where one of the pebbles had hit him not-so-softly. “You know, I imagined the first time I got stoned would be more relaxing than this.”

  She frowned. “Relaxing? Isn’t stoning a method of capital punishment among humans? How can it be relaxing?”

  “No, I meant—never mind.” He grimaced. Time to change the subject. “Okay, so your element is earth. And the fae who built this”—he waved his hands at the impressive treehouse structure—“their element is wood, I gather?”

  “Correct.” She inclined her head, and a lock of her smooth black hair slid over her pointed ear.

  “But since your affinity is for earth, wouldn’t you feel more comfortable in a ground dwelling?”

  The small smile that stole across her face made his heart beat faster. “You’re quite perceptive. But my element isn’t precisely earth. It’s stone. Which is related to earth, same as wood.” At his frown, she elaborated. “Some of the elements for which fae have an affinity are related to each other, some are not. Fire is its own element, with no relation to others. Earth, on the other hand, is—in a way—a base element from which other, more refined elements originated. Earth gave birth to stone, metal, and wood. Which means earth fae can manipulate those three to a certain extent, but most of their power lies in controlling earth. Stone fae are strongest when surrounded by rocks and mountains, but they also feel at home in earth or forest dwellings, because stone is linked with those elements.”

  “And because you’re a stone fae, you don’t have a problem staying in fae houses made of wood.”

  She winked at him, and her playful expression hit him right in his heart. He could see it now, could see her element in her gray eyes, the stoic nature of the stones she could bend to her will mirrored in the depths of her calm attitude. Would her character have jagged edges, too, like rocks breaking off a cliff? Which parts of her personality would resemble the smoothness of pebbles polished by years of friction, which parts would be rough and cutting, like fractures forged under pressure? He marveled at the drive, his intense curiosity to learn about her, to explore what made up the pieces of her soul, her heart, her mind.

  Plenty of time to find out. Searching for Rose was shaping up to be a complicated endeavor with an unknowable timeline, but at least he had good company. Isa was more than he could have hoped for in a guide through Faerie—not only was she an invaluable resource, and pledged to protect his life, she was easily the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on.

  When she smiled, her slate-gray eyes sparkled with surprising mischief, her full lips tempting him to caress them with his own. First time he kissed her—yep, he’d already made plans to do so the second she welcomed that move—he’d take his time and drown in the taste, the feel of her. There was something to be said for the first kiss with a new lover, and he’d enjoy the hell out of that moment.

  And lovers they would be. He’d never been one to hem and haw about pursuing a girl—with the exception of Maeve, where the closeness of their families put a damper on his usual straightforwardness. Apart from that, he always jumped in with both feet when he was attracted to a female, because what was the use of life if you didn’t go for what you wanted, no-holds-barred, relishing the way love would steal your breath before you even knew you were falling?

  He wanted her, wanted to see if that buzz in his veins when she was near, that charge in the air between them, that subtle pull in his chest when he looked at her, would develop into the more he could almost taste.

  But there was something else he wanted to try first.

  He peered at her. “Now I know what your element is, can you help me find out about mine?”

  “Sure. It shouldn’t be too hard. Let’s sit.”

  They settled on cushions on the floor.

  “All right,” Isa said, “let’s see which element you feel most drawn to. Try wood first. We are surrounded by it, so it should be easy for you to connect.”

  He frowned. “Okay, how exactly do I do that?”

  Isa shrugged. “Try closing your eyes, rest your hand on the wood beside you, and just feel it. If it is your element, you should sense a sort of pull toward it. Or rather, you should hear it…singing, for lack of a better word.” She shook her head. “I promise, you'll know when you feel it.”

  “Okay.” Here goes nothing.

  Basil took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and laid his hand on the wooden plank floor beside him. He spread his fingers, feeling the texture of the wood, the unevenness of the material. After growing up among witches, seeing all the magic they were capable of, he shouldn’t feel so foolish waiting for an object to sing to him. Nothing happened. The wood didn’t greet him as an old friend, or anything along those lines. It was just dead.

  He opened his eyes and shook his head.

  “Nothing?” Isa asked.

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “Very well. Let’s try—oh, what the hell—stone.”

  “You think our elements could be the same?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know. We’ll see.”

  She grabbed one of the pebbles still lying on the floor and held it out to him. He took the small stone from her hand, the contact of their skin sending an electric buzz up his arm and into other parts of his body.

  “Same procedure.” Isa inclined her head, nodded at the pebble in his hand.

  Again Basil closed his eyes and tried to connect with the element he was touching. Again, nothing happened.

  With a sigh, he tossed the pebble aside.

  Isa tapped a finger against her mouth, pondering. “I wonder…” She got up, and half-turned to him. “I’ll be right back.” She walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. A minute later, she reappeared, holding something in her hand. She closed the door and sat down opposite him again.

  “Here, take this.”

  He opened his hand to accept what she was holding out to him. When the cool earth touched his skin, an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.

  “Earth?” He glanced at Isa’s face.

  “Try it.”

  And he did. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the element in his hand, listening, waiting. At first there was nothing. Just like with the wood and the stone, he didn't feel anything.

  He was about to toss the earth out the window with a frustrated sigh, when…he heard it. A low-level hum, not unlike the one he experienced after his glamour was lifted. Only this one came from outside him, from the earth in his palm.

  His mouth fell open of its own accord. His heart beat faster. Could it be? He went deeper into himself, opened himself to the buzzing melody inside him. He strained to hear more of the other melody, too, the one coming from his hand. And yes, they were one and the same.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Isa said breathlessly.

  He opened his eyes, met her gaze of sparkling gray. He nodded, not quite able to put into words what he was feeling.

  A gorgeous smile lit up her face. She leaned forward, inched closer to him. “All right. Now, I want you to connect with it more deeply. You’re probably hearing two melodies, right?”

  Again he nodded silently.

  Isa seemed just as eager as he was to tap into his powers. A euphoric thrill flooded him, and goose bumps whispered over his skin at the tenuous bond forming between them, the shared delight.

  “Try to connect those melodies,” she told him.

  “How?”

  “Imagine it’s like…tying two threads together, at the most logical point. Vis
ualize it. Once you’ve done that, you should be able to direct the melody, and thus affect the earth.”

  He strained to listen to the hum resonating in him, to the corresponding almost-music coming from the element in his hand. They did…seem to overlap here and there. If only he could grasp the parts where they should connect, he might be able to knot them together. But every time he went to grab either thread, it slipped through his mental fingers.

  Minutes ticked by. He lost count of how many times he tried. All the while Isa sat opposite him, patiently waiting for him to achieve something that probably came naturally to fae toddlers. Heat rose up to his neck and face, choking him like a too-tight collar. The hum in him faded, as did the melody from the earth on his palm, drowned out by his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.

  His stomach hardened, and he shook his head once, balled his hand to a fist and crushed the bits of soil. “It’s no use,” he said and got to his feet, marched over to one of the windows, opened it, and threw out the dirt.

  Basil remained standing there, his back turned to Isa, and stared out the window, hands on his hips. The frustration rolling off him was palpable, tinged with a dejection that saddened her. He’d been so hopeful, so anxious to connect with his powers, and…she’d felt it, too. With him. For him. She’d breathed his anticipation and joy as if it was her own, and his disappointment now cut her keenly, as if she had failed at something that was dear to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  She walked over to him, and, driven by an impulse she couldn’t name, laid her hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shifted infinitesimally closer, the move seeming almost subconscious.

  “Maybe,” she ventured, “some of the glamour hasn’t lifted yet, and it impairs your ability to tap into your powers. Let’s give it some time. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”

  He nodded, turned toward her, and the move brought her hand from his shoulder to his upper chest. For some insidious reason, she found herself incapable of drawing back, her gaze glued to his face, to his eyes, the dazzling melange of shades of brown illuminated by the low light crystals scattered around the room. She saw it now, the earth in him. The kaleidoscope of his irises featured all the hues found in the soil, from lighter ochre to umber to burnt sienna to flecks of near-black.

  The gleaming gold of his hair contrasted starkly with the dark of his eyes, complementing a face of masculine grace that was so finely drawn, its beauty so honed, it almost hurt to behold it. A gift from his fae genes, for sure.

  Those mesmerizing eyes dropped to her mouth, and his intent lit the colors of his irises with an inner glow, warmed them until they glittered. That kind of focus…

  She inhaled sharply, and every feminine part of her sat up at attention, basked in his overt appreciation.

  When he slowly lifted his hand to her face, she didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, rooted to the spot by the irrational, uncontrollable desire to welcome his touch. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, so gently, so reverently, his gaze still locked on her mouth. Her pulse raced, her thoughts a scattered mess.

  He leaned down toward her, stopped with his lips a mere inch from hers, his breath caressing her skin, his scent a heady embrace.

  “Tell me you want this,” he murmured.

  “If I didn’t,” she whispered back, “you would have already been pelted with pebbles.”

  He laughed, so close to her mouth that his delight sank into her pores, lit up the darkness within her.

  And then he kissed her.

  The first touch of his lips on hers was the faintest caress, featherlight, a sweet hello. She breathed him in while a need—long-tamed and laid to sleep—awoke and stretched, reaching out for more. His next touch seemed to echo her awakening desire, his response unmistakable in the pressure of his lips on hers, the warmth of his hands as he rested them on her waist.

  She met him eagerly, and when she opened her mouth against his, he licked at her, grazed his teeth over her lower lip, bit her tenderly. He inhaled her gasp, went back to kissing her before she could react, exploring her as one might sample and savor a delicacy. Pulling her closer, he seemed to drink her in, absorbing her every response, as if kissing her until she forgot her own name was his sole purpose in life.

  Every shiver, each sigh, any lick of her tongue against his, appeared to fuel his determination to make sure his name was branded on every last cell in her body. His hands cupped her face, his fingers sliding into her hair, as he angled her head to kiss her even more fully, until she couldn’t say whether she’d ever been kissed before, until everything fell away beyond his heat stroking her senses, his taste sinking into her soul.

  He devoted himself fully to this moment, as if he had all the time in the world, nothing but time for her. By the gods—no one, no one, had ever treated her this way. He kissed her like nothing he tasted for the rest of his life would ever caress his senses the way their kiss did.

  The desire he kindled burned her from the inside out, setting her very bones on fire. For him. Breath heavy and fast, she pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, over his neck and into the silk of his hair. Desperate. She was desperate for more touch, more sensation, needed to feel him. And yet he held her still, kept his focus on kissing her, as if intent on driving her insane by giving her enough to make her smolder, yet too little to let her combust.

  When she uttered a sound between a whimper and a frustrated growl, he laughed. Laughed against her mouth, rested his forehead on hers, his hands still cradling her face. The intimacy of that gesture hit her hard, smashed through the fog of need and passion in her brain. What in the woods’ darkest pits was she doing? This was wrong on so many levels. He was the very last male she should lust after.

  With a hitch in her breath, she drew back, her eyes downcast, and turned away from him. “We should go to bed. I’ll take the top bunk, you’ll take the bottom one. We leave at dawn.”

  She didn’t look back, didn’t dare check for his reaction. The heavy silence that followed her statement was indication enough. She could only hope he wouldn’t press her for an explanation.

  No way could she tell him the sinister truth behind her need to keep him at arm’s length.

  Chapter 10

  The morning light streaming in from the living room windows painted Rhun’s face in a golden glow, made his pale blue-green eyes shine even more brightly. Plopping down on the couch next to him, Merle sighed.

  “It’s not fair,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “How blindingly beautiful you are.” She gestured wildly in his general direction.

  That damn, sneakily hot-as-hell smirk of his curled his mouth, lit his eyes.

  “Of course,” she added, just to take him down a notch, “you often temper the ethereal quality of your looks by opening your mouth and shooting off a sarcastic remark that makes me want to strangle you, so there is some balance.”

  “I’m offended,” Rhun declared, glaring at her.

  “Oh? Why?”

  “My sarcastic remarks only make you want to strangle me? That’s so mild and unimaginative. What happened to wanting to eviscerate me after beating me to a pulp? Do I need to step up my game? Because clearly I’m not annoying you enough anymore.” He crossed his arms and pouted.

  She snickered and smacked his shoulder. “I may yet use that spoon I’ve been threatening you with.”

  One side of his mouth tipped up, and his eyes sparked with interest. “That’s more like it.”

  “I’ve been wondering,” she said after a pause, sobering, “about this witch-demon hybrid thing.” She waved at her belly. “I’m a little worried about it, to be honest. I don’t know what to expect. How much of her will be demon, how much witch? What will her powers be like?” She looked up at him. “Her needs? I didn’t find any precedent to go by…”

  “I did.” He shrugged at her inquisitive look. “I d
id some research among my kind. Turns out there was a case of a mating between a bluotezzer demon and a witch some eighty years ago, in Europe. She was expelled from her community, which is probably why you didn’t find anything in your archives.”

  Merle growled, irate at the thought of another witch being ostracized just because she fell in love with a demon. Those damn bigoted, narrow-minded, hateful—

  “Yes to all of that,” he said, nodding at what had to be a murderous expression on her face. “Anyway, the couple had three children, all of them daughters.”

  “The witch gene.”

  “Yep, seems like it.” His free hand came up to twirl a lock of her hair around his fingers. “They had witch powers.”

  “But…?” Merle prodded. His tone definitely indicated a but.

  “They were part demon, too.” He met her eyes. “They needed to satisfy one of the nourishment needs of my species, but only one, and always the same one, for the rest of their lives.”

  Merle blew out a breath. That wasn’t so bad. “Well, then I hope they’ll only have to take pleasure.”

  Rhun bristled, his aura blazing. “Well, I damn sure hope they won’t! If it was up to me, they’d have to take pain.”

  She stared at him, baffled.

  “We are talking,” Rhun growled in response to her scowl, “about my daughters. They will never—ever—take pleasure from a male. They will be cute little witch volcanoes for their entire lives, and the only thing they’ll ever do to males is cause them pain. Are we clear?”

  Merle stared at him a moment longer, trying to maintain a straight face, until she couldn’t fight it anymore. She burst out laughing. Flopping down face-first on the couch, she laughed and laughed and laughed, coming up once, thinking she could sober up and stop.

  One look at Rhun’s disgruntled expression had her wheezing with laughter again. She barely noticed when he left the couch and stalked out of the room, muttering something sounding like “not funny” under his breath.