Chapter 13
This is horrific. Appalling. I can’t be drawn to a Fae.
Attracted, sure. But the tug in my gut, the relentless urge to rise and erase the space between me and Rian, is far too intense. It’s wrong. Disturbing. I don’t understand it. I’ve barely spoken to the male.
And still, the pull grips me, unyielding.
Jaxon steps forward. The tavern floor creaks. My attention snaps to him, and I exhale a sigh of relief now that I’m free of Rian’s consuming stare, even as the unsettling emotions continue to burn through me.
I need to get a hold of myself. I have enough problems without adding fascination with a brusque Fae to the list.
With a deep breath, I take in the room’s atmosphere.
Tension thickens with each step Jaxon takes. Rian is half a step behind. Those seated closest to their path lean away as if afraid the shadows seeping off the males’ shoulders will wrap them in never-ending darkness.
The Fae keep their heads forward as they walk into the tavern. The patrons at the warped bar top scatter when they draw near. All of them except for Anton.
My sister’s apprentice stands facing the Fae with an unreadable expression, muscular arms crossed over his chest. Behind him, Rosie holds a bottle mid-pour, face pale.
A loud laugh pierces the tense air.
My gaze snaps to Lev.
His lips part in a wide smile, and his posture relaxes as he says, “It seems even the Fae have heard of your incredible mead stores, Odden.”
The tavern owner stands in the corner behind the bar, gripping the mug he’d been polishing. But at Lev’s words, he huffs a weak laugh and offers a wobbly smile.
A tickling sensation brushes my cheek. I turn and find Jaxon and Rian looking our way. Well, Jaxon looks at Lev. Rian is focused on me.
I snap my gaze to Jaxon.
The affable Fae speaks. “Indeed, we have…Brother?”
“Ironheart.” Lev sheaths his dagger and shifts closer to me. “And you are welcome in this tavern. As long as there is no trouble.”
Brave words. But effective.
“Of course, Brother Ironheart.” Jaxon shoots me a wink. “We’d never want to cause trouble for Elara’s friends.”
Ugh.
I force myself not to react to his instigating words. The troublesome Fae is too observant to not know what he’s doing.
Lev claps his hands. Several in the room jolt at the sudden sound. “Where is the music? It’s too quiet in here.”
The guitarist in the corner jerks his head and picks up his instrument. The first few notes are strained, cut short, but the music slowly smooths out. Jaxon and Rian face the bar once more, and the remaining weapons around the room are tucked away.
Conversation resumes, though the tavern’s volume is notably more subdued than before. Patrons cast wary glances at the Fae standing in the back of the room. Some of my neighbors stand up and leave, abandoning full cups. They, I decide, are the wise ones.
Everyone who remains is either too drunk to grasp the precarious situation they’re in or too curious to see how this encounter will unfold. I’m not proud to admit I’m a member of the second group.
My attention remains on the Fae, observing the trembling barmaid as she hesitantly steps forward when they speak to her. After a stiff nod, she spins around and grabs two empty cups.
“Did you invite them?” Ferria asks.
“Really?” I stare at her, deadpan. “Do I look that stupid?”
“Hm.” She frowns and flicks her gaze back to the Fae, shrugging. “Perhaps they’re bored in their camp.”
Her eyes lower to my arms—to the marks.
I pull on my sleeves. “Yeah…probably.”
I clear my throat and turn to Gayla and Dian. “So, have you two set a wedding date yet?”
“No.” Gayla sighs. Her fingers play with the hair at the nape of Dian’s neck. “It was meant to be after the next moon cycle, but with everything that’s happened…”
“Our parents postponed,” Dian finishes for her. “But it will happen.”
He places an affectionate kiss on her temple, then looks back at me and Lev with a mischievous smirk. “Speaking of betrothals. When are you two going to vow to the Goddess your undying love?”
Welm and Blyne add their own good-natured jabs and jeers.
Lev shakes his head. “None of your business.”
At the same time, I laugh and say, “Never.”
Dian frowns. “But what about the circlet— Ow!”
He jolts and glares at Lev, who readjusts his seat.
I glance at Ferria and take in her I told you so look with a frown.
I sigh. I can’t deal with this right now.
I plant my hands on the table and stand. “I’m going to get a drink.”
Lev tilts his head back to watch me. “Anton said he’d get you one.”
“True, but I think he’s distracted flirting with Rosie,” I joke, desperate to escape the awkwardness brewing at the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Before he can protest—or worse, offer to come with me—I weave through the tables. Most of the tavern has returned to their drinks with minimal glares at the Fae. But seeing me move captures their attention.
I ignore their stares and whispers and slide into the open space between Jaxon and Anton, only to find the two in the middle of a conversation. I stop short and glance from them to the space beside Rian. I’d rather be rude and interrupt them than stand next to the disconcerting Fae.
“Need something, Elara?”
I look up into Rian’s eyes and scowl at the amusement flickering in their smoky depths.
You know what? I’m not a coward. I won’t let him make me act like one.
“Nothing from you.” I step up to the bar and lean my elbows on the surface, grimacing when sticky moisture seeps through my sleeves. “Excuse me?”
Rosie’s skittish eyes meet mine. She steps forward. “Yes, Healer Stonebloom.”
I smile at the young woman. “May I have a cup of wine?”
“Oh, uh…I’m so sorry. We ran out.” Her eyes flick fearfully to the Fae looming at my side.
I force a bright smile, ignoring the tendril of shadow creeping along the bar top toward my arm. “That’s okay. How about mead?”
She bobs her head. “Yes, we have mead.”
I wait.
When she doesn’t move, I prompt, “May I have a cup?”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She flits away to get my drink, but not before giving Rian another scared glance.
Smart girl.
Anton’s voice reaches me. “Have you or the others come across anything strange in the Forbidden Forest?”
My ears perk up, and I shift to hear Jaxon’s reply.
“I’m surprised to find you here.” Rian’s smooth voice swallows up his comrade’s words, demanding my attention.
I meet his swirling gaze and fight off a shiver. I lift my chin. “I could say the same to you.”
“Someone accused me of not doing my research on Verdanthia’s role in the rebellion.” He lifts his glass, the amber liquid catching the light as he studies it. Then his gaze cuts to me. “I intend to prove them wrong.”
I blink. Wait—he cares what I think?
“Oh,” I murmur.
He takes a sip, and a faint grimace tugs his lips.
I smirk. “Not to your taste?”
His eyes narrow a fraction, flicking over me before he answers, “Just…different.”
The shadows on my arm tingle.
Rosie reappears and sets a cup of mead in front of me.
I drag my attention from Rian long enough to give her a strained smile. “Thanks, Rosie.”
She nods but lingers, hands wringing, eyes flicking nervously between me and the Fae. “That will, um… That will be one copper.”
I lift the mead and gesture toward Rian. “Put it on his tab.”
Rosie pales.
Rian exhales a low, amused sound. “That’s fine, Rosie. Thank you.”
I arch a brow at his sudden politeness but say nothing, sipping instead.
The mead slides smoothly and sweetly over my tongue, floral and honeyed. I hum, licking the taste from my lips before taking another slow swallow.
“Good?”
I meet Rian’s gaze. His stormy expression is unreadable, but no less intimidating.
“Very,” I clip out, making the conscious decision not to thank him.
Thanks hints at debt. And it doesn’t seem like a good idea to be in debt to Fae for anything. Anything else, that is.
I smirk and say, “I bet Fae have magical wine that makes them immune to hangovers.”
A low chuckle escapes him—brief, unexpected, rough-edged. I feel it more than hear it. Like the brush of fingers down my spine.
I ignore the way my stomach tightens and take another sip.
“No,” he says, voice dropping a little. “But it does heighten our senses to tantalizing degrees.”
I raise a brow. “Tantalizing?”
He nods. “All experiences are amplified.”
I shouldn’t ask. The meaningful look he levels on me tells me I shouldn’t.
But curiosity gets the better of me. “Experiences?”
His gaze slides over me, slower now, shadowed but with a sharp glint. “Sexual experiences.”
I choke on my drink, coughing as heat rushes up my neck. This time, Rian’s laughter echoes off the tavern walls—dark, smooth, effortless.
It’s…beautiful. And I hate it.
“What’s so funny?” Jaxon leans around his friend, eyes glittering with mischief.
Anton shifts closer, stepping into the loose circle we've somehow formed.
“Humans,” Rian says, still chuckling. “They’re all so predictable.”
Indignation flares, even as heat creeps higher up my neck. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering, Rian lifts his drink to his lips. And damn it all, I can’t look away from his mouth.
I grit my teeth and force my gaze away—and freeze.
Every eye is on us.
On me.
I’ve been so wrapped in Rian’s shadowy pull I didn’t notice the rest of the tavern holding its breath.
But the moment Rian and Jaxon glance over their shoulders, heads dip and conversations stumble back to life—too loud, too rehearsed. A performance meant to look casual.
It doesn’t fool anyone.
“Your lover is worried for you,” Jaxon says lightly.
I blink. “What?”
He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.
I follow his motion and find Lev. His features are hard, stony. But the worry burning behind his eyes undermines his unaffected facade.
“He’s not worried,” I lie, gripping my cup too tight, then mutter under my breath, “He’s probably just feeling guilty.”
“Guilty?” Jaxon lifts a brow. “About what?”
Shit.
I did not mean to say that.
“Nothing.” I drain the mead, the flavor now bitter on my tongue.
Jaxon opens his mouth to press further, but Rian cuts in.
“Anton says your sister is a smithy.”
My eyes snap to Anton. He offers a small, reassuring smile—relaxed in a way no one else in this tavern dares to be around the Fae. Either he’s incredibly brave, incredibly foolish…or not as prejudiced as the rest of town.
“Elara?” Rian’s voice breaks through my spinning thoughts.
“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Yes, my sister is the smithy.”
“You should bring her to our camp,” he says. “We’ve weapons that could use mending.”
The hum of the tavern shifts. Shoulders stiffen. Hands twitch toward tankards. Conversations taper off.
I force a smile, tight and polite. “Or you could take the weapons to her at the smithy.”
His grin widens, wolfish and bright. “An even better idea.”
The moment stretches.
Then a voice slices through the air like a blade. “What in the Cursed Ignar’s name is going on here?”
I whip around. Captain Steelvice stomps through the tavern, shoving aside drunk patrons who impede his path. His sword is drawn and leveled at my chest, and his eyes burn with fury.
And he’s not slowing down.