Gerick’s jaw flexed.His hands tightened at his sides until the leather of his gloves creaked.He hated himself for naming it, even silently.
The forest behind him shifted.A branch cracked under a careful boot, and the soft press of pine needles announced exactly who was coming before her voice did.
“You’re brooding loud enough to scare the trees,” Perizada said.
Gerick did not turn.“I’m not brooding.”
“No, of course not.You’re standing in the dark staring at a murder book with the energy of a male trying to intimidate furniture.”
Despite himself, his mouth twitched.Barely.
Peri stepped up beside him, silver hair loose over one shoulder, arms folded across her chest as she stared down at the Nushtonia.The mist curled around her bare ankles and then drew back, as though even the realm understood that high fae did not appreciate uninvited touching.
For once, she did not look amused.Not really.The sharpness was there, because Peri without sharpness would be like a sword made of yarn, but beneath it sat something quieter.
Concern.He disliked seeing that on her face.It meant the situation was worse than he wanted to believe.
“Lucian wanted to come,” she said after a moment, tilting her head toward the book without quite looking at it.“Lilly told him if he hovered over you one more time, she was going to turn his boots into live chickens.”
Gerick blinked.
Peri shrugged one shoulder.“I’m paraphrasing.”
“That sounds like something she would do.”
“It does.”Her gaze remained fixed on the book.“She’s worried about you.”
“I know.”
“So is Lucian.”
“I know that as well.”
“So am I,” Peri said, her voice softer.
Gerick finally turned his head to look at her.
The high fae’s expression gave nothing away.That was one of Peri’s more irritating talents.She could announce emotional devastation with the face of someone deciding between pastries.He held her gaze a heartbeat longer than was comfortable, then looked away first.
Coward, he thought.
“What do you feel?”she asked.
He stared at the book.Its surface had gone still, the dark cover reflecting moonlight in uneven streaks.He could see his own silhouette in it, blurred and stretched, like a man drowning in glass.
“Her.”
Peri did not speak.He appreciated that.
After several breaths, he continued.“Not the way Nick feels Kara.Not the way Fane feels Jacque.It has never been that.But I know she lives.I know when the book presses against her.I know when she fights it.”
His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides.The leather strained.
“And I know when she is not fighting something.”
Peri inhaled quietly.The breath made a small, soft sound in the still air, and somehow that tiny noise felt louder than anything else in the clearing.
There it was.The truth walking into the clearing and standing between them like a blade.
