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Flap!A demanding voice in me screams.
My wings obey without question. I am a faithful warrior, and there is still a certain tone of voice that gets me every time.
Once I find my wings again, I hover in place for a second. My lower lids blink rapidly, and I breathe through my beak. My heart races in my chest.
The smell of sunshine hits me like a wave, and I turn around.
I see the Summer Fae.
He is talking with the silver-haired Warlock. My head tilts to the side, and tingling in my chest tethers me in place while I watch him laugh and point to one of the boats tied to a wooden post. The words are pouring out of him in a way that has never happened between us. His gestures are wide, loud, and confident.
If I could’ve, I would have smiled. He is charming. The way that his head tilts back when he laughs at his own joke makes my blood feel like fizzy wine.
The Warlock looks over his shoulder as if he can feel me staring at them. In an instant, I am shooting back toward the sky.
I need to get out of here. The daydream has ended.
My heartbeat slows down, and a hollowness tunnels throughout my entire body. It is moments like these that crack the ice in my heart. The hairline fracture is terrifying. At a time, hunting the lowest beings of all species warmed my icy interior.
The thrill of freedom is no longer enough. With every being I kill, every soul I torture, a piece of myself is chipped away. I am passionate about protecting those who cannot protect themselves, but my life has been reduced to nothing else.
Sometimes I wonder why I bounty hunt at all. Take out one abuser, and a murderer pops up in their place. When I started, I told myself it was to make the world a better place. The riches were just a bonus.
There’s a bank account with my name on it somewhere in this land filled to the ceiling with piles of money. But riches do not cure loneliness. Cold metal doesn’t warm my frozen heart.
The only thing that makes me feel alive is seeing that mysterious Summer Fae. He is the spark that is keeping me alive.
I don't know him, but he is my entire reason for living.
I veer off toward a small island where I set up a temporary shelter while waiting for a contact. The temperature has already dropped to frigid temperatures, and a glass-sugar dusting of snow coats the coniferous trees. When my feet touch the solid ground, I am grateful for it.
I like being a bird. I have been raised to view it as a point of pride. I can almost hear my mother’s voice when I close my eyes.
“Not all Winter Fae have a shifter animal, darling.” She runs her manicured finger down my face in her version of a kind gesture. It takes all my self-control not to flinch despite the burning. Her long nail is sharpened like a claw, leaving a red mark on my face. “Treat her well; she will help you grow your power.”
Despite our many differences, I have always kept that piece of my mother’s advice in my mind. My owl is a part of me, and she has far fewer worries than I do.
I unroll the canvas bedroll I stashed in an icebox and work on making an igloo. It’s not cold enough to last long term, but my magic should keep it for the night at least. The frost doesn’t hurt me like the Southerners, but I’ve grown accustomed to more temperate climates. A damp chill reaches down into my bones and settles in my joints. They feel stiff.
My hands stretch out before me, and I close my eyes. Magic takes focus, so I take a deep breath. In through my nose, and out through my mouth. However, instead of feeling the delicate white strains of power flowing through me, I see hair the color of flames. Amber eyes focus on me from the other side of the room.
Enough,I think and open my eyes. My heart has other plans. Instead of seeing the frosty ground before me, I see my palms. They tingle as if they remember the last time I’d seen the Fae, and our hands had repeatedly connected.
His touch haunts me.
What would it feel like to hold his hand? Better yet, what it would be like to hold him. To touch him and feel his hands on mine...
Does he dream of me as I dream of him?
A strange restlessness takes over my body as I squat down and continue the deep breaths. I cradle my head between my hands.
I need to sleep. I need to rest. I have a meeting.
And yet…
I sprint across the cold ground. My feet pick up speed as I flex my powerful thighs and jump. In seconds, I’ve shifted back into my owl. My heart soars, feeling like I’ve set it free.
My wings grow sore as I race back to Port City.
