3. Lysandra
I dug my hands into the freshly tilled soil, my magic singing with the desire to grow—to create. The sun was high and my chartreuse wings drank in its rays like water. I didn’t let them out enough, but being Fae in the mortal realm was hard. It was why I lived in the middle of nowhere Montana, so I could grow crops and flowers in private and use my earth magic away from nosy neighbors. My father and I tried living on a not-so-isolated farm while I was growing up, and it worked for a while, but once I emerged, my magic was too strong to keep hidden.
My magic unfurled, latching onto the seed I laid out and encouraging it to flourish. I could have grown flowers without them, but people would have questioned where they came from. And once I had the seeds, it felt wrong to let them remain ungrown. A stem curled upward, leaves bursting from the green stalk as I coaxed the plant to life. With an extra burst of power, a bud swelled, and petals unfurled until there was a perfect orchid.
A strand of plum hair—the same color as the orchid—escaped my hair tie and fell in front of my eyes. I brushed it away with the back of my hand before using my magic to manipulate the soil into a flowerpot ready for transport to the cemetery. It had been two years since my father died, and I wanted to bring his favorite flower to his gravesite. He wasn’t Fae like me; he was a witch—a human. So even though we both had earth magic, he didnt have my power or my immortality.
I missed him so much it made me ache. What good was immortality when you were alone?
I shook away my melancholy and sprang to my feet. There would be time to be sad at the cemetery, but I needed to get a move on if I wanted to make it there before dark.
“Don’t be skipping practice now, not for an old man like me.
Even in death, my fathers teachings plagued my mind. He was relentless when it came to my magical training, never letting me take a day off. Toward the end, when he was sick and no amount of healing magic could help, he would shoo me from the house, insisting that I practice rather than care for him.
“When you go to Faerie, you’ll have enemies. The Fae can be ruthless, so you can’t show any sign of weakness.”
WhenI went to Faerie.
He said with such certainty, but I couldnt help but wonder if it would ever happen.
In the grand scheme of things, twenty-five years was nothing to an immortal, but my life was stagnant. I needed more. I wanted the thrill of navigating social landmines. I wanted to govern the subjects I learned so much about. I wanted to see forests that transformed from spring to autumn in one step and bathe in pools teeming with magic.
I wanted to be anywhere but here. In the middle of nowhere. Pretending to be a farmer.
I was about to practice fighting maneuvers—using vines and rocks to attack my poor scarecrow—when my pointed ears twitched at the rumbling of a truck in the distance. My wings retracted inside my back, and I quickly glamoured away every feature that signaled my true form. My ears rounded, my brown eyes lost some of their luster, and I added a slight sunburn to my nose and shoulders.
The faded blue pickup truck kicked dust up the drive as I ambled toward my door, flowerpot in hand. When I reached my porch, the driver threw the truck in park and I smirked, popping my hip and putting one hand on my forehead to shade my eyes.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I drawled. Thomas was the son of a dairy farmer the next town over, though the word town was a stretch. He was about my age, with long legs and muscles that came from manual labor. His skin had darkened over the summer just as his hair had lightened, making him look like some kind of Greek god in a t-shirt and worn jeans.
“Afternoon, Lysandra.” His voice was deep and always managed to send a thrill through me. My mom was hoping youd be willing to trade butter for some summer squash. We have family from out of town coming in.
If I said no? I teased.
His smile turned megawatt as he prowled toward me, butter in hand. I was told to do whatever it takes.
I snorted in laughter and jerked my head toward the door, urging him to follow me inside.
My house was quaint but comfortable. Plants grew on every window sill, stood in every corner, and littered every table in my country-style living room. I managed to find a spot on the mantle of the white-bricked fireplace to set the orchid.
“I don’t know how you keep the things,” Thomas said jovially, showing himself into my kitchen and putting the butter in the fridge. The kitchen was open and airy, with a butcher block countertop and white cabinets. Herbs hung drying from the ceiling over the island, and watering pots cluttered the farmhouse sink. “The one you gave me died in a month.”
“Green thumb,” I muttered, a little pissed that he killed my plant. I followed him, rounding the island so when he stood, I waited behind the open refrigerator door. “That really what you want to talk about?”
His smile was slow and sexy. He closed the door and spun us so my back was pressed against the island. “We could talk,” he murmured, caging me in and leaning down to the curve of my neck. “You’re the one who always wants to jump right into things.”
I hummed as he licked a bead of sweat up the column of my neck, stopping by my earlobe.
I never formed true relationships; the fear of being summoned to Faerie was a constant threat. I had a few friends in high school, and a few boyfriends, but nothing stuck once I emerged. Thomas was the closest thing I had to either, and our relationship was transactional. He came by once a week, we fucked, and then he left. He always mentioned other things—dates, conversation, once or twice he said he thought I’d make a good wife—but I thought it was out of good-guy guilt. He felt like he should be offering me these things. Maybe I would have taken him up on it if I was another person. But I would stay the way I was for centuries, and eventually, he’d catch on to my lack of aging. I could glamour my appearance once a week, but I didn’t want to live like that.
Thomas didn’t wait for me to accept or refute his offer for conversation before he unbuttoned my shorts, shoved them down along with my panties, and hoisted me onto the island. I wasn’t a small girl, so the fact that he could manhandle me and toss me around like I was no more than a bag of feathers was such a fucking turn-on.
His lips slid down the curve of my neck to my large breasts while his fingers scored a line of fire down my soft stomach toward my pussy. “You ready for me, Lysandra?” he purred, dipping two fingers inside me and humming in approval when he discovered exactly how ready I was.
As he worked me closer and closer to the edge, a little voice inside reminded me of all the things I was supposed to do that afternoon. Visiting Father’s grave. Practicing magic.
My orgasm quickly chased away those thoughts, and I sunk into the oblivion of rough fucking.
“It’s the anniversary, right?” Thomas asked after we were finished. We screwed most of the day away—which was a common occurrence when he came to visit—and the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. We were tangled in each other, a mess of sweaty limbs and salty skin. It was the only concession I made in our relationship, mainly because I was so starved for touch since my father died that I needed this. I needed to be held for a few hours a week, to have someone trace gentle lines across my skin while I sank into their warmth.
“Yeah,” I murmured, hiding my face in his chest and stroking the light smattering of hair there.
“Did you want me to take you to the cemetery?” He kissed the top of my head, and I shut my eyes against the tears brewing. I shook my head and burrowed into him. “Did you want me to fuck you again so you forget?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged, and his chest bounced with easy laughter.
“I’m afraid she doesn’t have time for that,” a deep voice intoned from the door. I shot up, and it took every ounce of willpower not to summon magic to my hands. Thomas shielded me with his body, but not enough that I couldn’t see the intruder.
In the doorway was a tall man in a three-piece suit. His skin was unnaturally pale, so pale I could almost see the veins beneath his skin, and yet something was alluring about him. He looked like an old Hollywood movie star with his perfectly styled blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets, completely casual and at ease in a home that wasn’t his.
“Vlad,” I groaned, sinking back onto the mattress. When Thomas realized I knew the intruder, he relaxed. What he didn’t know was that Vlad was a vampire and my contact in the magical world. The only time I saw him was when he had a message from my birth mother in Faerie. “Can’t this wait?”
“Nope.” He popped the p. Turning his attention to Thomas, he stared intently, and his voice deepened, taking on an otherworldly quality. “You were just leaving. You never saw me.” Thomas’ jaw slackened as he succumbed to the magic behind Vlad’s words, got dressed, and left the room in a trance.
“Your squash is in the kitchen,” I called. Judging by the start of the engine, he didn’t hear me. I scowled at Vlad. “What could be so important that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
“Your mother was assassinated.”
Oh shit.
I should have spent today training.
I never met my birth mother. According to Vlad, she insisted it was for my safety; she had enemies that were growing more powerful and it would be better if I stayed in the mortal realm. But I always assumed she would come to get me at some point, that she’d eventually beat her foes and bring me to Faerie to introduce me to the court. My father warned me that was a pipe dream, and I’d likely only be taken to Faerie if Titania died, but hearing it was still a shock.
“What?” I asked, using my magic to grab clothes from my dresser. It felt wrong to be naked during this conversation. Vlad turned around to give me some privacy and waited until I was dressed to continue.
“Your mother, Queen Titania of the Spring Court, has been murdered in her bedroom by the male she held prisoner for centuries.”
“She kept prisoners in the palace?” I gasped.
“One,” Vlad answered, like that was somehow normal. “Your mother wasn’t known for her morality. I assumed your father told you of her nature.”
“Sort of.” He told me about her leadership in Spring Court and said many of the Fae were unhappy with it, but when I asked for more, he’d been vague. “So, what now? Do we go to Faerie?”
“No,” he scoffed. “Unless you want to get killed. Now, you come with me to train with a friend of mine.
“Why—”
“Because she’s the only witch with magic at a Fae level, and while you’re good, you’re not good enough.”
I balked. I’d trained all my life to take over the throne. I was homeschooled in Faerie politics, had spent countless hours learning how to use my magic in a fight, and had practiced defensive tactics until I couldn’t move my muscles. How could that not be enough?
“Don’t take offense,” Vlad said with a roll of his eyes. “You were trained by your father, who was human—” he said the word with contempt “—and he died soon after you emerged. You need an opponent who can challenge you.
“And while you’re staying with Katie and her family, I’ll teach you about modern Faerie, the things Titania didn’t tell your father, and what you’ll need to know to seize the throne from the male who killed your mother.”
It made sense; it just wasn’t what I expected. Part of me was hesitant to leave my father’s house if I wasn’t going to Faerie.
Ridiculous. Earlier today, I was hoping for something to change, and now that I had the opportunity, I wanted to cower in my home like a scared little girl.
“I’ve already listed your house for sale,” Vlad continued. “I’ll take care of all matters involving that, though you may want to text your fuck buddy so he doesn’t get suspicious. Say it’s been too hard to maintain everything since your father passed, or there are too many memories here, or some shit.”
There were too many changes that arose in the past few minutes, and it sent me reeling. I spun in circles, calculating all the things I needed to pack. What would happen to my plants? I couldn’t take all of them, but I couldn’t just leave them to die. They needed my magic.
“Hey,” Vlad snapped, gripping me by the shoulders so I was forced to stop my flustered pacing. “Stop. Take a breath.”
I held his gaze as I inhaled deeply and released it slowly. As the air rushed into my lungs, my mind focused. I ran my fingers through my hair, smoothing down the mussed strands.
“How much time before we leave?” I asked once my heart returned to a normal rhythm.
“Did you learn how to teleport?” he asked. I nodded. Teleportation was one of those things only Fae and a handful of witches were able to do. My father had a friend—a teacher from a school in Washington State—come out and teach me. It was the one concession he made to our isolation. “Then we need to leave before one in the morning so we arrive before sunrise in Salem.”
“Thank god.”
“Goddess,” Vlad corrected. “Might as well get used to saying it.” Right. The Fae believed in a goddess, not a god. The human phrase came more naturally to me but would point out that I wasn’t raised in Faerie. Another thing I needed to get used to.
I spent a few hours packing my clothes and a few other things I would need. Then, I convinced Vlad to let me drive to my father’s gravesite where I planted every single plant from my home beside various graves that looked neglected. One day, I’d learn how to keep them growing forever, but for now, these plants were sturdy enough to provide some atmosphere and hopefully comfort to the souls who’d passed on.
As I planted a sea of orchids around my father’s grave, Vlad said, “There’s one more thing I haven’t told you.” The moonlight glinted off his pale skin like a beacon in the night. “My friend can’t know you’re the heir to the Spring Court throne.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to pretend to be twenty-one, and just emerged. Your father passed and you had no idea you were Fae. Katie had a friend in a similar situation, so she’ll take pity on you and train you.”
“That doesn’t explain why I have to lie,” I asserted, staring him down.
“I’ll tell you in time. For now, you’ll have to trust me.”
“Famous last words,” I teased. “Fine, let’s go.”