Chapter Nine
ABBY
I KEEP CLOSE to Samuel as we walk down the narrow street, heading to the store he claims sells gloves. I want to ask more about delysum, but I’m hesitant to do it in such a public setting. Besides, Samuel is already suspicious of me. Digging deep into the plant the shifters are currently harvesting into a weapon probably isn’t my best move.
Faeries are beginning to pour out of the buildings, and I scan everyone we pass. The men are almost all in dark, muted, linen clothing, and the women are in cotton dresses. They’re simple and loose, relatively unassuming, but I don’t let it fool me. Before Lill got so sick, she was strong. Freakishly strong.
These people may look normal—ignoring their stark-white hair and violet eyes—but we are not the same. I’m at their mercy.
Most we pass don’t pay me any mind, but the few who do seem friendly enough. They shoot me polite, closed-lipped smiles or subtle head nods, and I can’t help but notice how their gazes almost always dart to my hands.
I need to get those gloves.
“Are there a lot of humans here?” I ask Samuel.
He makes a sharp right, and I scramble to catch up. He has long legs and a fast pace, and I just barely avoid running into a faerie woman as I round the street corner.
She’s about as tall as Lill, and her long, wavy hair hangs to the small of her waist. Her thin lips part and her eyes grow wide as she sidesteps me, her beauty threatening to stop me in my tracks. She looks like she belongs on a movie set, not walking the streets of some small town.
“Not really,” Samuel says, answering my question. “Humans aren’t exactly rare, but it’s not an everyday occurrence you see one walking down the street.” He makes another right. “We’re almost there.”
My feet slam against the cobblestone, causing Samuel to glance over his shoulder. His lips twitch, and he slows his pace as he notices my struggle to keep up.
We pass another woman, and I can’t help but notice her dark-brown hair. It stands out amongst the sea of white. Maybe she’s part human.
“Do all faeries have white hair?” I ask.
“No,” Samuel says. “It’s the prevalent color, but we have a wide range. You’ll often encounter faeries with dark hair, and occasionally one with red. Our eyes are always violet, though.”
I nod, eyeing the gloves of a man we’re passing. They’re the same color as his pale skin, blending in seamlessly with his arms, but there’s a definite shine as they reflect the sun’s light. It’s amazing how subtle the gloves are. I’m not sure I would’ve ever noticed them if they hadn't been pointed out to me.
“Why the gloves?” I ask. “Seems like it would be easy enough not to touch somebody.”
I rarely find myself having physical contact with people I don’t explicitly mean to be having physical contact with. Keeping my hands to myself is easy. Maybe not if I were a faerie, though. If I could discover my fated mate just by touching them, I’d be walking down the streets with my arms extended. I’d be trying to touch everybody and everything. The idea of having a mate is too romantic not to.
Samuel shrugs. “They’re mostly ceremonial, I guess. They’ve admittedly gone in and out of fashion over the years, but we’re currently in an upswing.”
I hum, not immediately responding.
Samuel seems nice, and it makes me sad that he’s not often permitted to touch women. Magic seems cool, and maybe I’m biased because I grew up in a realm without it, but I don’t think it’s a deal-breaker.
If I were a faerie, I’d let Samuel touch me.
“Why don’t you know any of this?” Samuel asks. “The faerie who brought you here should’ve informed you of the inner workings of our realm.”
I press my lips together. I can’t exactly tell him my mode of transport was a sickly twenty-seven-year-old faerie woman who has been hiding out in the human realm for the past twenty years.
I clear my throat. “I paid a heavy sum to be brought here, and his kindness didn’t extend much past that. He dropped me off and went about his life. I’ve only been here for a few days, so I still have much to learn.”
Samuel sucks his cheeks into his mouth but doesn’t push further. I hope I’ve passed inspection, and I make a mental note to cut back on the questions.
We walk away from the town’s center, the clustered buildings spreading out and the streets widening until I no longer feel like I’m suffocating. I glance up at the sky, noting how low the sun is, as Samuel turns and pulls open a storefront door on our left.
Unlike last time, he gestures for me to enter first.
I eye the racks of clothing lining the building as I step inside.
“Evening!” a deep voice shouts from behind a counter beside the door.
I give the man a closed-lipped smile. His hair is slightly darker than that of most of the other faeries I’ve come across, the color a medium blond. His eyes are a vibrant violet, though, so I know he’s a faerie.
Samuel leads me toward a large display of gloves at the back of the store. There are easily a hundred pairs folded neatly on narrow shelves, all made from what looks to be white leather. Children’s sizes are on the left, and they grow larger as they move to the right.
I touch a pair, wanting to feel the fabric. I’ve never seen a material like this before, and I cringe as I realize they feel exactly like skin. I really hope that’s not what they’re made from, though. The old me would’ve assumed that Lill would’ve mentioned the fact that the faeries wear skin gloves, but I’m coming to learn there’s a lot she never told me about this place.
“What size are your hands?” Samuel asks.
Clearing my throat, I glance at my hands. I can’t say I’ve ever taken the time to measure them, but they seem about average. I’ve never been told otherwise.
“Average,” I decide.
A loud laugh bursts from Samuel’s chest, but he quickly tapers it as he realizes I’m being serious. He places a fist over his lips and clears his throat, trying and failing to hide his slightly mocking smile. I can only imagine what he’s thinking about me.
“All right,” he says, collecting himself. “Place your hand on this.”
He pulls a metal tool off the shelf, one identical to the foot measurers that used to be available in shoe stores. I obediently place my hand in it, letting Samuel mess with the sliders until he’s decided on a size.
After a second, he puts the tool away and grabs a pair of gloves off one of the left shelves. I slip them on, still cringing over how skin-like they feel.
“How much are they?” I ask, noticing there are no price tags.
“Does it matter?”
I shrug. Guess not.
If Lill were here, she’d be laughing at me. Knowing her, she’d be curled up in the corner heaving with how hard she was laughing. She’s always had a flair for the dramatics. The bitch.
Samuel watches as I slip on the gloves, and only once they’re secure on my hands does he reach out and adjust them.
I have to admit they’re comfortable. I’m accustomed to winter or gardening gloves with thick fabric and scratchy seams, but these feel like a second skin. They mold to my fingers, and the material is so thin, I hardly feel like I have anything on. I feel like I could perform brain surgery with these bad boys on.
I guess when you live in a magic world and wear gloves every day, you manufacture ones that are damn near perfect.
Samuel adjusts the fabric around my wrists, his eyebrows furrowed as he fiddles.
“They’re a bit loose,” he says. “Human bones are thinner than ours, but I can’t afford to buy you tailored gloves.”
“They don’t feel loose to me at all,” I hurry to say. “They’re great.”
I feel guilty, like I’m taking advantage of this man. He’s desperate to touch me, desperate and longing to find his mate, and I’m making him buy me things first. It’s cruel.
“At least try on a smaller size,” Samuel says.
He grabs another pair off the shelf, which eventually turns into four, and after much convincing on my end, we finally settle on the original pair I tried on. Samuel obviously feels bad as he mutters about them not being a proper fit, which only worsens my budding guilt.
The gloves are comfortable, and I’m not trying to spend all this guy’s money. He’s been exceptionally kind to me, and if anything, it’s I who owes him .
He respected my personal space, answered my questions, and bought me food. Back in the human world, that would make him better than eighty percent of men I’ve had the displeasure of meeting. I’d probably take him home with me for this alone.
I’d be open to doing it now if I weren’t on a mission to save Lill. If this is how attentive Samuel is when picking out a pair of gloves, I can only imagine what he must be like in bed. It’s such a shame I’ll never know.
Unless he’s my mate.
I’m not counting on that.
“I appreciate this,” I say, following him to the register.
Samuel sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and I fight back a smile when I notice his cheeks turning red. Is he blushing? That’s cute. He’s cute.
“Find everything you need?” the man behind the register asks.
He glances between me and Samuel with a bored expression.
“Yes,” Samuel says, setting the gloves on the counter.
The store clerk’s gaze drifts to my bare hands, and he stares at them for just a second longer than I’d like before he picks up the gloves.
“You want a skin match for these?”
A skin match?
Samuel peers at me out of the corner of the eye, and after a brief pause, he gives the clerk a curt nod. Are they going to match the gloves to my skin? That’s how everybody else wears them.
The clerk sets the gloves behind the counter, and I let out a quiet squeak when the magic surrounding me begins to move. It usually just floats through the air like dust, and I’m a little frightened as it begins to swirl.
I glance at my hands, assuming whatever’s happening has to do with them, and I bite back a scream as I realize the magic is so thick around my fingers that I can barely see them. It doesn’t feel like anything, but I still don’t like it.
A few seconds pass before the magic dissipates, and I hope my heavy breathing isn’t too noticeable as the store clerk reaches underneath the counter and pulls out my gloves.
They’re now the color of my skin, a perfect fucking match, and I can’t look away as Samuel pays—this time with small, hard coins he pulls out of his back pocket.
Now I’m really concerned he didn’t pay at the restaurant.
Samuel grabs the gloves off the counter and wordlessly hands them to me, and I slip them on before following him outside. Things get awkward when we step onto the sidewalk.
He’s held up his end of the deal.
“Farbay is that way,” Samuel says, pointing down the street to our left. “It’s a straight shot, and you’ll find signs along the way.”
Good to know.
I muster courage before straightening my spine and meeting Samuel’s eye. He’s already looking at me, probably waiting for permission to touch me. What if I don’t give it? Will he touch me, anyway? I’m getting the feeling he wouldn’t, not that I plan to turn back on the promise I made.
“You can touch me.” I clear my throat before continuing. I hope I don’t regret this. “And you can do it… intimately… if that’s how you prefer.”
Samuel’s eyes grow wide before narrowing. He doesn’t look like he believes me, and I shove my hair out of my face with a huff before tilting my chin up in a clear invitation for him to touch my face or kiss me. He said that’s how faeries like to do it.
Samuel still doesn’t move.
“Do you mean that?” he eventually asks. “I was under the impression you wanted me to touch your hand with mine.”
I lick my lips. “You’ve been kind and helpful, and I like you. If you want to kiss me or touch my face, I’m okay with that.”
The column of Samuel’s throat bobs as he gulps, and after what feels like a century of waiting, he cups my cheeks. He’s still wearing his gloves, so I suppose this means he intends to kiss me.
I shut my eyes and pucker my lips when he begins to lean in.
Samuel’s lips are soft when they finally find mine, but nothing happens. No sparks, no wow moment, nothing that I assume happens when a mate bond is triggered. He lingers for a moment, stealing a proper kiss despite the lack of bond, before pulling away with a dejected sigh.
“Thank you,” he says.
I nod. A tiny, minuscule part of me hoped I’d be his mate. He’s friendly, and the thought of having a mate is so romantic. It’s probably for the best he’s not, though. That would throw a wrench into my plans, and I can’t stray.
“Are you disappointed you helped me today?” I ask.
Samuel pauses, thinking through his response before answering. “No. There’s something off about you, and I know you’re lying to me, but you seem kind. I was hoping you would be my mate, and I admit I’ve spent the better part of the past hour fantasizing about it, but I’m not upset I helped you. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”
I blow out a long breath. “Thank you, Samuel.”
He dips his chin. “You’re welcome, Abby.”
He spins on his heel and walks away, and I watch him round the nearest corner before turning in the direction he pointed out earlier. I’ve only got a few hours of sunlight left.
I tighten my backpack straps, pulling them tighter, before taking off.