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Flowers seemed to surge toward me. My magic was life-affirming. That waswhyI called the dead so easily. A carpet of wildflowers surrounded me, and in my glee, fangs extended. I felt weirdly like some sort of fanged fairy tale maiden—neither sleeping beauty nor the wall of briars, neither the hungry wolf nor the hooded maiden. I was always stuck between two options.
My voice was lisping because of the fangs as I asked, “What if they’re just . . . burning through a bit of tension? Are they doomed to togetherness because of an oops baby?”
“Conception requirestruelove. It is why so few children are born to us. We arrange marriages based on compatibility, but love is necessary for conception.”
“But what if it’s just a moment? Fleeting?” My voice rose in outrage, and I cut the edge of my tongue on the spare teeth now protruding into my mouth. “Or what if the human doesn’t know? What if they grow apart? Or . . . the fae spouse wrecks a car? The human justdiesat home as a result.”
He offered that suddenly-infuriating half-shrug and stroked his hand through the carpet of wildflowers. “There are no cars inElphame.No wars. No diseases.”
“But if the human spouse leaves to go visit—"
“They cannot. No one but the fae can open the world door,” Eli said carefully, as if he expected me to lash out. He glanced up from the blossoms. “Mother never saw the world of her birth again. Gran didn’t either.”
“So, you could trap me here.” The pit in my stomach was deep enough to bury bodies.
Another shrug. “Perhaps if I explained what you truly are capable of, but my uncle forbade it.” Eli plucked a purple flower and handed it to me. “To the fae, you are ‘half-dead,’ Geneviève. If you were human, you’d be kept here in hopes that you would select a husband from the eligible men. He thinks you are of the grave.”
I stared at Eli in growing horror as the weight of his mother’s—and grandmother’s and countless other women’s--fates came clear to me. My teeth retracted. Apparently, sorrow worked the opposite of rage. I tried to stay calm, to stop my rage at these women’s fates. Carefully, I said, “To be brought here, to be trapped, married in order to breed. . . Forced marriage is a legalized rape.”
“No,” Eli said sharply. “Relations must be consensual. If brought here, a woman can build a life, and she can stay unwed. Marriage requires a naturally forming love bond orexplicitconsent.”
“But if they don’t fall in love or have sex, they’re still trapped in your world. They canneverleave.” I had never felt grateful for my dead-side, but that heritage was saving me. “If I was just human . . .”
He nodded.
“I can’t decide if I’m grateful not to be welcome in this world,” I whispered. I leaned back so I was stretched out under perfect, cloudless skies and resting in a mound of flowers. “I’m not keen on the speciesism. Xenophobia is shitty. . . but being trappedanywherewould suck, too.”
Eli stared at me, and I realized then that there were things I’d missed that he was expecting me to understand. I rolled it all over in my mind. I suspected it was the “sex could result in marriage” part. Maybe he thought I’d be angry at that?
“Were you going to tell me about the love-bonded-insta-marriage thing?” I asked.
“Why? You are so certain that we are merely business partners, that you want no relationship, so what risk is there to you?” Eli leaned down and kissed my cheek, my forehead, the tip of my nose ever-so-softly. “Or are you lying to both of us, Geneviève? Is there a risk that we will be wed if we make love?”
“No,” I answered quickly.
He laughed. “As you say.” He remained half-propped up over me. “Shall we stay like this, or should I carry you to your bed? You look tired again.”
“I am, but I could walk.”
“Easily?” he asked.
“No.” I closed my eyes to better enjoy the feel of the sun sliding over me, the soil under me, and the man next to me. “Can we do something?”
“Of course, bonbon. What would you have of me?”
“Can we just . . . notdealwith any of it for a moment? No injections. No faery kings. No hard questions. No thinking about how close I was to death.”
Eli’s hand stroked my cheek. “I would be fine never again thinking of how close to death you were.” He paused. “I was afraid in a way I’ve never been.”
My answering half-laugh was equal part sob. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Shall I leave you here to rest in the sun while we avoid everything?” he asked softly.
I opened my eyes finally, needing to see the face hovering so close to mine. I reached up with one arm and languidly pulled him closer. It was a gentle kiss, nothing like the one we’d shared outside the morgue. It felt more dangerous in the context of what we’d said, though. When I released him, he was still close enough to feel my words as I said, “I won’t admit to saying this later, but . . . would you hold me?”
Eli stretched out beside me and pulled me closer, so my cheek rested on his chest. “I shall never speak of it,” he promised.
Eli had saved my life. He’d brought me here to heal—and in doing so, he’d condemned himself and given me time to heal without the clock moving in my world. It wasn’t a proclamation of love, but it was damn close to it.
