Page 24 of Captive of Secrets and Storms

Uncertain what to say, I dip my head and open the black purse. My jaw drops.

Cynthia is right. There are plenty of coins inside. But none of them are silver.

I withdraw a single gold coin. It’s the most wealth I’ve ever held in my hands, and there are over two dozen more inside the bag.

I extend my arm. “Will this do?”

Gold teeth gleam in the sunlight shining through the window with her wide smile. “Aye, girl. It will. Be sure to thank the Fae lord for me, will you?”

My hand freezes in midair. “What…what did you say?”

A sly expression crosses her aged face. “Relax, dear. There aren’t many of us left who can see through your man’s glamour. Your secret is safe with me.”

My heart begins to race, but I school my face into a calm mask, the same I wore when tending to patients. “Of course… Thank you.”

I hand her the money, willing my fingers not to shake.

Cynthia plucks the shiny coin from my grasp and bites the metal before dropping it into her apron pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you, Elara.”

A chill races down my spine.

I never should have told her my name.

“Thank you,” I say again, voice tight. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too, dear.” She shuffles into the back of the shop to do Gods know what.

I don’t stick around to find out.

I gather my belongings from the side of the platform, shove my old clothes into the bag, and grab the wrapped dresses from the counter.

Clutching the coin purse tightly, I practically run to the door. The bell chimes with my exit.

The street is even busier now. Bodies crowd the walkways. I weave through them fast, bumping shoulders and muttering apologies when angry words are thrown my way, some of which I don’t understand.

All the while, my pulse roars in my ears.

Cynthia knows about the Fae.

The tavern door is open. Jaxon and Darius sit at the bar, tankards in hand, grinning at the barmaid who flutters her lashes.

I push toward them, intent on warning them that their secret is out, only for a shadow to fall across my path.

But not their kind of shadow.

A tall, broad-shouldered, bare-chested man blocks my view of the tavern.

My fingers tighten on the coin purse, and I take a wary step back.

The man tracks my movement, and his lips curl in a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, hello there, pretty thing.”

6

The half-naked man closes the distance between us in two long strides.

The crowd swells, pressing close, and for a heartbeat, I’m trapped between the bodies and this towering wall of golden muscle and heat.

My breath catches, and a pair of pale-blue icy eyes hold me captive. The man’s presence wraps around me like a physical force.