Page 87 of My Faire Lady

Her fingers curl inside me, and my core winds so tight it might snap in half.

“Scarlet,” I say, or at least I think I do.

My thoughts are so muddied, my breaths shallow pants—each of my nerve endings fraying each time she drags her tongue against me, her fingers following the tempo of my hips.

She doesn’t respond, and for a heartbeat I convince myself my words were only spoken in my head, but she yanks me against her mouth, and her fingers press farther, deeper, faster, and the heat spreading through my body crashes over me.

The world splinters and swallows me whole. Pleasure sweeps over my body in waves, and I go weightless, floating. Tendrils of magic brush against my skin, and warm, solid hands wrap around my waist, pulling me back down. They comb through my hair, and a thumb brushes under my chin.

I blink my eyes open to Scarlet’s face. She cradles me in her arms, and a smile so genuine, so heartbreakingly beautiful spreads across her face. My whole life, I’ve stitched myself into whatever version I thought others wanted to see. And Scarlet—she just unraveled every thread, restitching it the way I was always meant to be.

She opens her mouth, as if she’s going to say something, but I cover her lips with mine and ease her to the floor, putting my weight against her. I cup the back of her head, the rug swallowing my fingers as I press my thigh between her legs, savoring the hitch of her breath.

“I don’t have magic,” I say, against the curve of her throat. I press my hand down her stomach and unclasp the button of her pants. My fingers dip beneath her waistband, and I whisper, “I hope that’s okay.”

31

My eyes open to a hazy purple staining the sky, and I search my mind for a rune that can delay the sun from cresting over the horizon. But, of course, there are things magic cannot do.

Stop time. Shrink distance. Control love.

Lottie shifts, nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder, and I wrap my arm tight around her. I bury my face into her hair and close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath, savoring the lavender.

It’s the first time I’ve shared my bed. And as I study the patterns of the plaster on the ceiling, I swallow the ache climbing the back of my throat. It’s not fair. The days of waking up with her hair splayed across my chest and my fingers drawing lazy circles across her bare skin will come to an end.

I wish I could bottle it up—her warmth, her smell. The peaceful set of her lips as she dreams.

The day she leaves, it’ll tear an unrepairable hole through the fabric of my being.

My fingertips slow on her skin, and the twin flames rune presses itself into my mind. It would be as easy as breathing, tracing it against her skin—binding her soul to mine.

I close my hand into a fist. When she leaves and inevitably finds someone else she wants to share a bed with, I can’t be selfish enough to keep her heart hostage. I have to let her go, completely.

Holding my breath, I ease my arm out from under her head, careful not to wake her. I need to get back to searching for a cure, before the faire awakens and we open the gates for another day.

I slip into a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt, gathering my hair into a low bun at my nape. My reflection stares back in the mirror above the dresser, and I furrow my brow, leaning closer. It could be a trick of the light, but a faint glow stirs beneath my skin, one that wasn’t there yesterday. I straighten and sort through the threads of magic within me, and they’re thicker, stronger.

Chewing my lip, I study her splayed on the bed—hair a wild halo around her head. Her presence, her touch, makes my magic stronger, somehow. But not the land’s.

Ever since the beginning of the summer, I’ve been spinning my wheels, trying to find an answer for the magic. Dead end after dead end after dead end.

I blow out a breath and pad into the living room. Nesbit stretches out on the couch, feathers ruffling as she lets out a string of high-pitched chirps.

“I know, I know,” I say, pulling the coffee grounds and her feed from the cabinet.

She flicks her tail through the air and leaps off the back of the couch. Only as she slinks to her nest, do I spot the wad of stuffing she has clenched in her jaw and the rip in the seam of the couch cushion. She jumps into her nest, eyes locked on mine as she stuffs the newest addition into her twigs.

“Perhaps I should make you an outdoor pet.”

Her eyes widen, and another handful of chirps come from her mouth as she drops into the nest. I roll my eyes, and steam billows from the lid of the coffee maker, a bitter warmth filling the air.

My heart wrenches, sinking. I’ll stand here every morning, for the rest of my life, making coffee. And Lottie will be on the other side of the world, without me.

The thought of living a life without Lottie is like treading water, walking through tar. A tunnel with no end in sight, no light.

A knock comes from the door, and I straighten from the counter, settling my thoughts. There’s only one person who would visit this early in the day, and I’d rather not have him sorting through the events of last night.

I unlock the door, and before I have a chance to twist the knob, Boden barrels into the living room. Nesbit hisses from her nest, but he’s unfazed—the smile on his face brighter than the sun cresting the horizon.