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Then I hear my name.
Whispered in such a lyrical, musical voice, the male voice calls my name and, though I’d give anything I have to fall back into blissful unconsciousness, I warily open my eyes.
The sun slaps me awake. Holy crap, it’s bright. It’s the first thing I notice. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, though I guess between my shock, my grief, and my exhaustion… it was inevitable.
So, I have to admit, is this.
Rys.
He’s leaning against the right wing of Madelaine’s stone angel, his hip cocked, his lips parted just enough to reveal his blindingly white teeth. Gotta give the Light Fae credit. It’s a perfect pose, highlighting his gloriousness—and I’m willing to bet all the cash in my pocket that he’s done it on purpose.
Even the bright sun breaking through from behind him pales in comparison to his golden glow.
Where are my sunglasses? I had them when I sat beside Madelaine’s grave. They must have fallen off when I slumped over. Where— ah. Without taking my squinted gaze off of the threat in front of me, I pat the grass with my palm until I find them.
I slip the shades on. They don’t do a damn thing to dull his shine.
“Ah, Riley. I’ve been wondering how long before you came back here. That’s something else I adore about you. You’re so… predictable.”
Predictable. I think about yanking my shoe off and throwing it at him. I never did get the chance to whac
k him with my slipper the last time we met, and I’m sure he’d change his tune about me being predictable after that.
No. It’s not worth it.
“What do you want?” I push up off the ground, backing up so that he’s not so close to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Clever girl. You finally figured out a way to erase the trace I left with my brand. I suppose my rival did it for you.”
Rival? Oh, hell, no.
He called Nine that once before, too. It bothered me then because I couldn’t even imagine wanting anything to do with either fae; I was still angry with Nine, and I’d rather dive headfirst into Faerie and take my chances with the Fae Queen than let Rys touch me again.
It bothers me now because, even after the way I left Nine—again—my feelings for him haven’t changed. And because the only reason I don’t turn and run away screaming whenever Rys pops in for one of these chats is because he’s using glamour to charm me into believing he’s harmless.
Glamour… Nine warned me about this. I swore when he confessed the truth about the glamour that I wouldn’t allow it to affect me. Sure, the last time Nine warned me against his race’s magic, I developed a phobia of letting anyone touch me. This is different, though.
Pushing the sunglasses to the top of my head, I squint over at Rys.
He’s obviously not expecting that reaction and, unsurprisingly, he’s immediately suspicious.
His playful grin vanishes. “What are you doing?”
My mom could see through glamour. Carolina taught herself to do it, too.
If they could do it, so can I.
It’s tough to look at him so directly. No wonder I let myself be charmed for so long—it hurts too much to stare at his brightness, as if I’m staring at the sun. The shades might be able to help, but I don’t want anything to come between me and finally looking past the layer of magic that Rys has cloaked himself in.
It works.
Holy shit.
It works.
It’s like I’ve been looking at him through a glass of water. Suddenly, the glass shifts, the water moves, and I can see him clear as day.
I gasp.
