by Lizzy Ford
His tension melts, and his faint smile returns. “Sure.” He goes to the door and opens it. Most of his intensity is gone, though I sense something remaining.
Unable to decipher someone whose moods are so hidden, I cross to him and step into the hallway to wait for him. “Please tell me we’re going to the restaurant upstairs,” I say as he joins me.
He meets my gaze as he closes the door. “We are.”
“I’ve never eaten at a fancy restaurant. Am I dressed for it?”
Tristan laughs. “Don’t worry about it.” We stand in the hallway with the awkwardness of a date going to a junior high dance. He rubs the back of his head.
“You can … I don’t know. Hold my hand or something,” I say and then laugh. “Dude, you’re six hundred. You’ve gone on a few dates.”
“I have,” he acknowledges with a smile. “I don’t know you well enough to presume anything and don’t want to cross any boundaries.”
“Boundaries.” I start to laugh. Ben had never heard of a boundary, and Tristan is concerned about bumping up against mine. “You don’t need to worry about offending me or wearing kid gloves around me.”
“And you don’t know me well enough to say something like that,” he points out.
My instincts tell me he’s right. “Whatever.” The morning after a one night stand is a breeze compared to small talk with Tristan. “As long as you’re not secretly resenting me for putting you through this or have a girlfriend who will try to kill me before this is over. Been there, not going back.”
“No girlfriend.” He relaxes once more. “I don’t resent you at all. Fae mate for life, and never date outside our clan, so this is disconcerting to me.”
“Oh, to be stuck with someone you didn’t choose and a damn Kingmaker of all people!” I say with an overdramatic sigh.
“Exactly.”
The tension between us is too much for me. “Come on!” I hold out my hand. “Aren’t fae supposed to be happy tricksters?”
“Something like that.” He takes my hand.
Subtle magic drifts through me, tickling me from the inside out. The gleam in his eyes is back, the one that warns me he’s hiding a great deal of his personality beneath the aloof exterior. I have the urge to needle him until he reveals his true self, but I’m also not sure I’m ready for all that. Maybe he’s the smart one here and knows to keep his distance.
“If you change your mind about boundaries, tell me.” He’s amused.
“You can’t be too forward,” I tell him. “I survived a fucking werewolf alpha for god’s sake.”
“Ben is intense,” he agrees.
I can’t bring myself to say more about Ben, not when saying his name aloud makes me feel hollow. Tristan doesn’t ask. I can do a physical relationship, so long as I don’t have the intimacy I experienced with Ben.
We begin walking, hand in hand, towards the elevator. Tristan’s magic reminds me of a much milder version of N-Thrall, my drug of choice, and his touch manages to sooth the headache and buzzing I can’t get rid of otherwise.
We head to the top floor of the building. To my surprise, the entire restaurant is empty, and a serving staff of three awaits us. One of them leads us to a table for two beside an open window overlooking the city, intimately lit by candles.
“Where is everyone?” I whisper.
“It’s just us tonight.”
I glance at him. Tristan is smiling.
“The chef will make you anything you want,” he adds.
Even I know when there’s a Michelin rated chef waiting to cook anything in the world for you, you don’t ask for a cheeseburger. “My palette is probably not as refined as yours,” I reply. “He can make me whatever his favorite dish is.”
Tristan glances at the wait staff member nearest us, who darts away to comply, while a second man in a tuxedo pours us chilled wine. The ocean breeze is cool and mixes perfectly with the warm weather we’ve been having, alleviating some of the weightiness of the stale, humid air hovering over the city.
A string quartet begins playing, and the soothing music drifts over me.
Beautiful music, exclusive restaurant, a view with a price tag I don’t want to imagine … Tristan fits into an environment of casual elegance. I’m not sure I do, even though I’m currently loving it.
Matthew McConaughey, I think suddenly, identifying who he reminds me of. A younger version perhaps. They’re both a combination of subtle charm and lean strength.
“Dinner may take half an hour or more. You wanna see something cool?” Tristan asks.
“Definitely!”
Tristan stands and holds out his hand. I take it, shivering at the crawl of magic in my body, and accompany him to the other side of the restaurant, whose balcony is cordoned off. He lifts the velvet rope closing it off and we both go through.
Facing me, the enigmatic Tristan is smiling once more. This time, there’s mischief in his gaze.
“Close your eyes,” he directs me and takes both my hands.
“Why?” I ask.
“Close your eyes,” he repeats.
“Are you mad enough about the hospital thing you’re throwing me off a building?”
“I’d never hurt a Kingmaker.”
“Right.” I hear it this time, the outright amusement.
“Trust me.”
I don’t think I’ve ever trusted any drug dealer, even my former classmate. “What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he says dryly.
I close my eyes. If I end up splattered on the sidewalk below, at least it’ll be a quick death. He tugs me forward. We leave the warm, bright dining room for the balcony. The sea breeze is chilly on the side of the building facing the ocean.
We walk farther than I expect. I’m not sure how big this balcony is, but I’m starting to think my initial hunch was right. I pissed off the wrong person earlier today, and this is my reckoning.
I never back down from a challenge, and this feels like a subtle dare. Adrenaline lights my blood, and I strain to sense everything I can about what’s going on around me as Tristan leads me blindly.
He stops finally. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yep!”
“Open your eyes.”
I do so, and my breath catches. I instinctively clutch the soft material of his shirt, and my stomach drops to my feet.
“Fantastic!” I breathe, staring down. We’re on some sort of glass bridge extending from the side of the building. I watch the cars and stoplights thirty stories below us briefly.
An upsweep of wind tickles my exposed legs and ruffles my dress as it races past me. Confused, I extend a leg and test the air beneath me. It gives completely.
There is nothing between me and falling, even though my feet feel like I’m on solid ground.
“This isn’t glass. Is this … is this you?” I ask, looking up at him.
Tristan smiles. “It is.”
“Your magic fae power is to fly?”
“No. As the leader of the fae, I can tap into any of the powers I wish. Our magic is derived from nature. Wind and air are a part of nature.” He shrugs.
“So if I let go of you, I’ll fall?”
“One way to find out.” His eyes are twinkling.
I stare at him. “You just dared me, didn’t you?”
“I’d call it a double dare.”
I start to laugh. “You have no idea what you’re up against!” I exclaim. “I never back down!”
“Show me.”
This Tristan I like. Distant Tristan I don’t know what to do with, but I’m starting to see some of the adrenaline junkie he claimed to be when we first met.
I release him, not at all certain I’m going to float, and not at all caring. I’m almost giddy from a combination of his subtle magic and the thrill of possibly falling.
But I don’t fall. I take a step away then another. The air remains firm beneath my feet. I laugh loudly and venture farther from him.
“So y
ou’re not mad about the maternity ward today,” I say and twirl. The feeling of wind and my dress around my thighs is liberating, if a bit chilly.
“No.”
He’s watching me as I test his magic.
“You know, you have the life of the horrible, dreaded, evil Kingmaker in your hands,” I tease. “All you have to do is sneeze, and down I go. No one will blame you. And no one will miss me. That I guarantee. They’d probably give you a medal.” I laugh at my own stupid joke and skate and glide away. Every step is a breathless thrill, an unknown, and taunting the man keeping me in the air adds to the challenge.
“You’re a beautiful mess, Leslie,” he replies quietly.
I glance at him, not expecting the serious note in his tone. “Come out and play, Tristan,” I call. “I know you want to.” I hold out my hand.
He snorts, and the gravity leaves his features. “You sure you want that?”
“I dare you.”
“Fair warning. I don’t back down either.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” I ask with faux innocence.
Light flares in his eyes, and I glimpse a piece of him he’s been hiding. The fae leader is so much more than he’s been letting on.
Crossing to me, he takes my hand. “Do you dance?” he asks.
“Probably not the way you’d approve of,” I say, thoughts on the nights I’d grind it in to techno in a dance club.
“It’s easy.” One of his arms slips around my waist, and he draws me to him. With his other hand, he interlaces his fingers with mine.
The body contact, after his general aloofness, is jarring, and it takes me a few seconds to register he’s said something else in the time I’ve been marveling over the solid heat of his wiry, athletic frame. His strong arm is around me, his hand positioned at the small of my back.
The strange sense is back, the subtle draw I can’t grasp but know it’s there. This is different from what I picked up from the fae-bies earlier. This isn’t emotion. At least, I don’t think it is. I’m really not certain. It’s like swimming in smoke with my eyes closed except the smoke is also moving through me, rocking back and forth into my body and outward. What is this?
“Still with me?” Tristan asks.
I blink out of the weird sense and gaze up at him. His gorgeous features are shadowed from the night. We’re swaying to the music drifting out of the restaurant.
“Yeah,” I reply. “There’s an adjustment period to turning into some sort of creature.”
“I can imagine.”
I study him. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you?”
He grins. “Maybe. A little.”
“What an asshole!”
“And you’re brave.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t pretend it didn’t cross your mind to drop me like a rock.”
“It did.”
Not expecting him to admit it, I smile. “Why haven’t you?”
“The night is young.” His smile is more open this time.
“Here I thought you were a nice guy,” I say.
“I don’t think that’s your type.”
My brow furrows. It sounds a little too similar to something Ben said. “At least you don’t have to worry about it,” I reply.
“How so?” He twirls me around then catches me, leading us back into a gentle sway.
“I’ve never heard of a nice drug dealer,” I say casually. I look up at him, waiting to see if he’ll take the bait.
He’s smiling. “Did you think it’d be that easy?” he teases.
A flutter of heat races through me. I’m really starting to like this Tristan. There’s a sharp mind beyond the pleasant smile and aloof façade. I kind of like that and like the prospect of peeling away his outer layers even more.
He’s definitely got the potential to be the distraction I need.
“I really hope not,” I murmur. His challenge gives me some insight into him, too. I wouldn’t have dreamed of playing games with Ben, but with Tristan … I feel my mischievous streak bloom to life.
He’s guarded, but I bet I can fix that and knock down another of his guarded layers.
I push Tristan away and dance on my own. Not the nice girl dance, either. Closing my eyes, I keep time with the slow pace of the orchestral music playing for us and add in the sensual side I discovered as a werewolf. Some of it remains, along with an enhanced intuition. I definitely appreciate the drape and feel of fabric more, the brush of the breeze against my skin, the heat of my palms as they drift down my arms, torso, hips. I’m more in tune with my body since being a wolf and better coordinated, too, which comes as an unexpected boon.
I might have made a clumsy wolf, but being a wolf made me a more graceful person.
I imagine my hands to be Tristan’s as they explore my body and recall the exhilaration of being a wild animal, of experiencing the world in four dimensions and reveling in every delicious second of my enhanced senses. Pleasure was heightened to the point of euphoria.
Mostly, I remember being free of everything: my duty, the judgment of the Community, my inability to fit into either of the worlds I belong to.
I love this sense of freedom, of being one with myself, of being able to appreciate the tiniest of pleasures touching my body gives me, from the silky material of my dress to the smoothness of my skin.
Recapturing the sensation of being sensual is easier than I thought, and I’m soon so lost in feeling, I’ve almost forgotten Tristan, until I feel the heat of his hand on my hip. More of his magic caresses me from the inside.
I smile to myself and push him away once more, returning to my solitary dance. It’s harder to resist him, which I’m guessing is a sign he’s affected enough for his magic to slip through his control.
“You know how this ends, don’t you?” The timbre of Tristan’s voice is lower.
Ignoring him, I suppress the flare of desire his words create.
This time when he touches me, my breath catches. I don’t have to guess if smoke is moving through me. I feel it. Warm, energetic, tantalizing. His hand slides around my hip to my lower belly, and he presses my ass to his hips. His magic is not so subtle this time, holding me in place. It feels like it’s playing with my adrenaline and desire. His other palm traces down my shoulder and arm, light enough to tickle, and he takes my hand and places it up at his neck. His hand goes to my belly.
I rest my head against his shoulder, and we sway with the music. Only this time, I’m in a state of heightened awareness and arousal.
“I believe you now,” he murmurs.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t need kid gloves with you.”
I smile, enjoying the sensation of his hard, warm body at my back and the cool ocean breeze ruffling my skirt from the front. The plane of awkwardness and uncertainty between us has been broken, for which I’m grateful. I don’t like not knowing where I stand, even with a stranger, and I know to be careful with my emotions this trial.
“How about we enjoy dinner and skip dessert in favor of you strip dancing for me?” he whispers.
“You have this planned out,” I reply, amused.
“I’ve had six hundred years to fantasize. We’ll see what I come up with.”
I laugh. “Deal.”
Tristan releases me and takes my hand once more. We walk together to the restaurant and to our seats. It’s almost too warm in here after our jaunt outside. Tristan’s gaze is on me, and I watch him, intrigued by the unique color of his eyes and the idea I can still feel the rocking of the wind through me. Or … magic. Whatever it is.
“How have you been handling your father’s passing?”
I’m not expecting the personal nature or directness of Tristan’s question. “Fine. I guess. Why?” Before he can answer, I frown. “What kind of question is that? How does anyone handle the death of a loved one well?”
“They don’t,” he admits with a half-smile. “But those who haven’t dealt with it will always say they’re fine.”
&
nbsp; “I’m dealing with it,” I reply. The moment the words leave my mouth, I’m thinking about how I can’t bring myself to sit at my father’s desk, in case he comes back.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Tristan says and reaches across the table. He squeezes my hand. “Fae are empathic beings. We pick up on the emotions of those around us easily. I felt you were in pain since we first met.”
Talk about invasion of privacy. I pull my hand free and sit back, folding my arms across my chest. “I don’t really want to talk about him.”
“I respect that. You’re welcome to talk to me about anything, if you feel like it.”
Maybe I liked it better when Tristan was being aloof. The idea of trusting him, or that he seems to think I would, confuses me. These guys know more than I do about the trials. They know one of them is probably going to get exiled and another stuck as my mate. They also know the hidden rules I don’t, that Tristan may want me to trust him, but is also required to deceive me.
What makes him think I would trust him?
What makes me trust Ben, even knowing all I do?
I chew on my lip, my gaze on my wine glass. Tristan’s gentle magic manages to keep the tight ball of emotion from forming in my gut. He’s easy to tease, easier to talk to, and I’m pretty sure the sudden desire to tell him my life story is a result of magic, because it’s definitely not me.
Quiet time with my thoughts leaves me frustrated. “Empathic,” I repeat, shifting my focus. “So you feel everything?”
Tristan pours me wine. “I do. As the fae leader, I’m the most sensitive to my world. I experience the emotions of every person I meet,” he replies.
“Isn’t that overwhelming?”
“The first couple hundred years,” he said with a smile. “It’s why there’s never been a fae leader under four hundred years old. We have to learn to adapt to what we are.”
“And normal fae, they can do it, too?”
“Normal fae tend to pick up the emotions of their immediate family and loved ones, not everyone else.”
I study him. “How are you not crazy? Did you learn to block everyone?”
“Crazy is a relative term.” He winks. “But no, you learn to respect the emotions of others. To block them would be to deny what we are, in the fae philosophy. Nature flows through us, and emotions are part of nature.”
