Chapter 2 #2
Gael watched her go, every instinct in him stretched taut between duty and something far, far more dangerous.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Just let the moment carve itself into his soul.
And said nothing.
BETH WALKED FROM THE pub to her cottage under a wide, clear sky.
Time feel unhurried while the sunlight filtered through the trees in soft, golden stripes.
The air was warm and faintly sweet with pine and distant wildflowers.
Birds chirped like nosy neighbors. A squirrel crash-landed on the undergrowth with zero grace and full enthusiasm.
It was a twenty-minute walk, one she still loved come snow, high winds, or summer sun. It gave her time to breathe, to shrug the day off her shoulders and scatter it along the trees.
She turned off the main road and into her quiet little lane canopied by green.
The noise, the thoughts, even her pulse softened there.
The tip of her cottage roof came into view, then the whole front slightly slanted from age, framed in thick ivy and stubborn roses she never had the heart to trim back.
The sight made her smile. It always did.
With only a living room, a bedroom, and a bath, her castle barely cleared 500 square feet of pure joy.
It was the first house she’d owned, the first one she’d felt safe in.
The one that meant she’d made it away from her father and a despicable future.
Here, she could grow something that was hers.
She stepped inside, dropped the purse on the table, and kept going to the bedroom, then to the second door without even stopping to change.
She opened it and stepped outside, smiling.
Her backyard was so over the top, so not something carefully designed or minimal. Nope. The garden was a riot of life, a wild jumble of scents and a bag of mixed colors that had no business working together, but somehow did.
Flowers bloomed in every shade imaginable from pale blush to screaming magenta, sunflower gold to a violet so deep it was nearly black.
Raised beds overflowed with strawberries, while tomatoes tangled toward the sky.
Neat rows of carrots, lettuce, and bright green snap peas stretched across one side of the lot.
Basil, mint, rosemary, and sage crowded the corners buzzing with bees.
It looked, honestly, like it had been planted half by intention and half by joyful accident and despite of it, things made sense.
You planted, you watered, you pulled the weeds, and things grew. Simple. Predictable.
Unlike a certain elf who could turn a casual meeting into a headache without even trying.
She took a seed bag and moved to the raised beds, scattering seeds into the neat furrows she’d made earlier.
Her fingers brushed the soil with precision, patting it down in a soft, even rhythm.
Gael would probably know the name for every damn thing she was planting in forty-five languages.
He probably knew how to read root structure like a love letter and tell the pH balance of soil just by scent.
Earth affinity and magic tuned to the bones of the world and all that.
That touch. Its memory clung to her like heat after a fever. Not burning but there, low and warm and maddening.
She clenched her jaw.
“Nope,” she muttered, brushing her palms off on her bare thighs. “Not thinking about that. Not today. Not ever. Nope, nope, nope.”
But her fingers hesitated because she was already warm. Her breath had already changed. Her whole body had tuned itself to some low, insistent frequency that hummed behind her ribs and between her legs and would not shut up.
It had been a simple touch. Not even that, really. But it clawed at something deep, at an ache that hadn’t stirred in years. Now it was crawling under her skin, impossible to ignore. His mouth. His voice. His scent. Looping through her like a curse she couldn’t shake.
Sin carved in silk, that’s what he was. He wasn’t bulky, elves rarely were, but there was a dangerous elegance in the way he moved. Even without his magic, his body could destroy things. Or worship them. And for one wild second, she wondered what it would feel like if one of those things were her.
Oh hell no.
She dropped to her knees by the spinach before her body could go any further with that thought and buried both hands in the warm, crumbling soil, forcing the earth to take it, all of it.
The heat. The ache. The sheer, traitorous pull of longing for someone who’d made it very clear she wasn’t on the list.
She. Did. Not. Want. To. Be. On. The. List.
Liar.
She let out a hiss through her teeth and shoved her hands deeper, up to the arms, like she could dig the want right out of herself. The dirt was cool and grounding, but not nearly fast enough. The flush in her cheeks wasn’t from the sun, and the damp between her thighs definitely wasn’t from sweat.
Absolutely stop this nonsense.
“Having fun?”
Beth jolted at the voice, then let out a breathy chuckle when she spotted Bryn leaning on the sturdy fence she’d built herself.
Another elf, with tress-less ash-blond, cropped hair and blue eyes so pale they almost looked white in the fading light.
Lean and willowy, too, but without the untouchable perfection.
Not nearly as powerful or, let’s be honest, as beautiful as Gael, Bryn had something else going for him: he wasn’t a conceited prick.
Down to earth. Friendly. Not that she’d been around him a lot, they were possibly only acquaintances.
Still nice, though. “It’s more relief than fun,” she said, standing and cleaning her hands and arms. She didn’t immediately cross to him but waited a beat longer than normal.
Elves and their damn sense of smell. No need for Bryn to catch a whiff of her. .. moment.
He didn’t seem to notice. “Did you have fun at the Oreads’ party?” he asked, squinting into the sun.
“I did. Were you there? I didn’t see you.”
He shook his head. “Passed.”
“Oh? How come?”
He glanced away, lips twitching into something that was too stiff to be a smile. One hand ran down the edge of the fence post. “Let’s just say some of the out-of-town attendees wouldn’t have appreciated my presence.”
She frowned. “Gael and Valerian?”
“Mostly Gael.”
That surprised her. Bryn looked so mellow, practically allergic to drama. “Why?”
Bryn gave a dry chuckle. “Oldest story in the world.”
“That’s a lot of stories. You’ll have to be more specific,” she said, then paused. “Unless it’s painful.”
He shrugged, but his eyes stayed fixed somewhere out past the tree line. “It’s been a long time. I’ve mostly made peace with it.” After a moment, he drew in a long breath. “There was this girl. Elf. Beautiful. Fun. We fell in love, but she was tied to the High Family, and I’m, well, not.”
Beth’s heart dipped, already guessing where this was going as she walked to the fence.
“When Gael found out,” Bryn went on, “he strongly encouraged me to walk away.”
She stared at him, stunned. “He what?”
Another shrug. “She was sweet. Said she didn’t want to go against her family. By the time Elara and Aryon knew anything, the decision had already been made.”
Beth’s jaw clenched. If she could kick Gael in the teeth, she’d do it right now. “I’m so sorry, Bryn,” she said softly, reaching out and resting a hand on his arm. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “That’s not hard to believe, but still awful.”
“It’s alright,” he said, slapping the fence rail with both hands like he was shaking it off. “Anyway, I wanted to see if you felt like going to Hallow Falls this Sunday?”
She smiled, but the invitation surprised her. They weren’t close. Friendly, sure, but not Sunday-adventure close, and it nudged at her, like a note slightly out of tune. “I’d love to, but I’m working all day. Sorry.”
“Of course. I’ll bring you back some blackberry honey.”
Weird. “Sure. Um, thank you.”
And then, as if summoned by her irritation and the sound of his name being tossed around by unworthy peasants, Gael appeared. He stepped around the edge of the lane, all cold marble and effortless disdain.
Bryn saw him, and Beth saw everything change. His shoulders tensed, his smile thinned, and the warmth flickered out of his eyes. “I should go,” Bryn said flatly, already pushing off the fence.
Beth barely had time to respond before he walked off, steps a little too clipped, posture a little too proud.
Gael stopped where Bryn had been, watching the elf’s retreating back with all the warmth of a glacier. “Do you know him?” he asked, voice low and perfectly unreadable.
Beth wiped her already clean hands off on her shorts, looked up at him, and someone help her, he was still hot.
Unfairly so. That face shouldn’t be legal, that body should come with a warning, and she despised herself for noticing it.
“I know a lot of people,” she said coolly.
“Not that it should be a concern of yours.”
“You might want to be careful,” he said in a clipped tone.
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you know me. Just a human, arguably even lower than him. There’s nothing to worry about.”
His jaw worked once, twice. His expression said he knew exactly what she was referring to. “There are always multiple sides to a story,” he said tightly.
“And yours would be the right one, I assume.”
“It’s of no consequence. You’ve already chosen the villain.”
They locked eyes, the silence between them pulling tight. Then his gaze drifted to the garden around them, taking in the unruly, lush, joyous wild beauty she’d carved out with her own hands. “You tend to this?”
“I do.”
He swallowed, as if the act of speaking was a burden. “It’s beautiful.”
“You don’t have to compliment me if it physically hurts you.”
He nodded once, curt. “Have a great day, Beth.”
“You too, Gael.”
And as she watched him march away, spine straight, silver-blond hair woven into those tresses that marked rank among elves like a crown made of entitlement, Beth realized there really wasn’t a limit to how many times you could think Take that, bitch about someone.