Page 124 of Fae Farewells

Stone coughed as he tugged his pants on. “Maybe.”

Palmer rubbed his neck, still naked. “Not that, no.”

I grinned at them, watching the panic roll over their features. I shouldn’t have, but I was enjoying the look of “Uh-Oh” they were wearing.

“Then what?” I purred.

“Fuck,” Palmer whispered. “I walked right into that.”

“That you did, Mage,” Stone smarted. “Should have just stuck with the maybe. She’d have left that answer alone.”

Sunday, June 21th

Afternoon

Regretfully, we had to go back to the celebration.

I would have much rather lounged in bed with my Kitten for the rest of the day.

The mage could stay too, if she wanted him to join us again.

The crowd was thinning, but the fae still mingled in the courtyard, chatting with the Winters like they weren’t royalty. It was odd to witness, though it seemed like a regular occurrence to everyone else.

We had barely made it past the hounds when Novak appeared beside us.

“Where did you go? We were look—Why do you smell like sex?”

“Because we had sex,” I replied, giving him a bored glance as I walked around him. “Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?”

The vampire gasped. “I missed it?”

“Afraid so,” Palmer said derisively, rolling his eyes.

“Godsdammit,” Novak mumbled

I bumped him with my elbow, thinking as loudly as possible to project my thoughts to him. But I only showed him a snippet from my point of voice as I sank into Sloane, looking up to see Palmer wrap her hair around her throat.

“Damn, Demon,” Novak drawled, fisting his hand to bite at his index finger. “What a fucking view. That’s hot.”

“No,” Palmer snapped as the vampire turned to him.

“But I haven’t even asked,” the vampire defended.

The mage rolled his wrist. “Hurry and ask, so I can tell you no.”

“If I ask, you’ll think about it,” Novak pointed out. “And I’ll get to see your angle, anyway.”

As they bickered, I went with Sloane to search for our fae in the crowd. But Pete cut us off, his agitation palpable in his frantic fluttering.

Pete, the butterfly. Not Pete, the pedmar or the giant man.

She brushed her hair over her shoulder, letting the black butterfly land without tangling his wings. He clung to her, and she shushed him, though the butterfly couldn’t make a sound.

“Slow down,” she mumbled.

“Am I walking too fast?” I didn’t think I was.

“Not you. Pete.”