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“Wouldhe be able to follow us into your house?” I asked. Waking up in Eli’s arms wasn’t something I wanted to let myself get used to, but I already found myself sleeping in his guest room more and more. I pretended it was convenience—central location or some such excuse—but tonight, Ineededthat security. I needed the fae sanctuary Eli had created.
“No. Nothing can enter my home without consent.” Eli grabbed a pair of swords and gestured to the door.
The trouble with Eli was that he understood what I needed before I did most days—but he rarely pushed me, so when he did, I tended to be pliable. I think that was the secret that allowed him to get closer when no one else had. Well, that and a judicious use of faery bargains, a clever mind, and a body that . . . okay, fine. There were a lot of reasons he was The One.
I glanced at him as he led me to his car. “Shouldn’t you be angry?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
I waited as he opened my door.
“You are never boring, cupcake.” He watched me get settled.
At least he was still referring to me in dessert terms. That was a fae thing, the intense love of desserts, rich and decadent treats, and it would irritate me to no end if any other person did so. Eli, though, had this tone in his voice that promised sinful hours, and I had to resist a shiver lately. We hadn’t crossedallthe lines because we were engaged, and the fae were tradition-based people. But I knew all too well what that tone promised.
“Were you planning on yelling?” I asked when he got in the car.
“So civilized, Geneviève. Asking me. Waiting for my outbursts.” Eli didn’t look at me. “How is it that you can be so rational and infuriating in cycles?”
I sighed. “I should’ve mentioned Iggy.”
“True.” He slipped the car into traffic, driving cautiously as if he had to control everything in order to control his temper.
“I’m sorry . . .?” My voice rose at the end, sounding more like a question than an apology.
“You are not. You are sorry I’m displeased, but not at all sorry you withheld information that would’ve taken a second to—”
“I was embarrassed,” I interrupted. “You have everything together and I just accidentally raised a wing of a cemetery, and oh, by the way, I have fangs now. And did I mention I’m alsoaccidentally engaged to a faery prince—”
“A handsome faery prince,” Eli interjected in a laughing voice.
“Fine.” I slouched in my chair. “A gorgeous faery prince.”
“Gorgeous, is it?”
“Yes.”
Eli laughed. “Pouting, Geneviève?” He reached over and took my hand in his. “You can trust me. You can talk to me about feeling overwhelmed or angry or scared or raising corpses who refuse to obey.”
“Iknow. I’m just not used to sharing things before I have a clue,” I admitted.
“Or at all.” He squeezed my hand as he said it, taking some of the sting out.
We drove in silence as he took us to his home, a building in the Garden District that felt increasingly like my home, too. I wouldn’t say we were living together, but more and more I found myself here at night. Several nights each week, I slept alone at my place, but just as many nights found me here.
The house wasn’t ostentatious like a lot of the Garden District homes. It had no balcony or gallery, no porch or Ionic columns. But even as plain as it was, there was a feeling of age to it. Eli’s home looked like it could have been one of the first in the city. A stone fence surrounded the house and yard, and a wooden gate opened at our approach. That gate was undoubtedly expensive, as everything wooden rotted in this humidity—unless it was magic.
The benefits of being fae were sometimes subtle.
Still silent, we entered the house, and I felt peace fill me. The foyer floor was marble so polished it could be glass, and the wood under the bannister was dotted with buds and blooms. It was as if Eli had transported part ofElphameto this world. We walked to the second-floor landing of Eli’s home, opening the door—wood inlaid with silver and brass—as Eli murmured words in his language that I didn’t understand but could replicate if ever I needed.
Just inside the door I slipped my shoes off, and Eli did the same. He put the swords on a rack that he had added there for this very reason.
“Geneviève. . .”
I met his gaze.
“I can feel the energy pulsing from you,” he said.
