Desert Tales: A Wicked Lovely Companion Novel

If Rika had only her desires to consider, they’d spend more time touching and less time talking, but she knew she was being unfair. She’d had time to learn about him before he knew she existed. Still, she let herself simply enjoy his caress for a moment more before asking, “What else do you need to know?”

“Everything. What you did before we met.” Jayce stepped away, clearing his throat briefly as if the temptation was more than he wanted. “I just want to know everything about you, your world, your history. Everything.”

She knew he suspected there were plenty of things she hadn’t told him—especially when she slipped and commented on things she wouldn’t know since they’d only just begun dating. The times they spent together, unbeknownst to him, had taught her so much about him. She’d already felt like she’d known him so well . . . at least, she had thought so until he took her into his arms. Then she realized that there was this entire part of him she couldn’t have known until now.

When Rika thought about her life, about memories she’d tried for years to ignore, there was nothing in her remembrances that she wanted to share with Jayce. She’d made a bad choice, and she’d suffered for it until the next girl made that same foolish choice. Then she’d hidden herself away until a strange fox faery slowly lulled her into friendship. These were not memories she wanted to share—or even have.

As calmly as she could, she told Jayce, “Nothing about the past makes me happy. It’s now that matters. Who cares about what happened then?”

When only silence met her words, Rika wondered if she needed to say more, but then he brushed his lips over hers.

“It’s good that I want to know everything about you.” He offered her a teasing smile. “You really aren’t good at the dating thing, are you?”

“Well, I’ve only done it one other time.” She tried to match his playful tone, but failed. So she kissed him and then added, “And he wasn’t as exciting as you. He was just a jerk of a faery.”

“Right. I’m more fun than a faery.”

“He didn’t want me, Jayce,” she said quietly. “And the person he pretended to be wasn’t real. I wasn’t a person to him; I was a game.”

“Then he was a fool.” Jayce rested his forehead against hers. Their bodies touched, and in the way he had of making things seem better with the right words and gentle caresses, he eased the shadows she was trying to forget. “Don’t make everyone suffer because of it.”

Rika stepped away from him, trying to think of the words to give him what he sought without surrendering her past. “I’m trying not to. I’m happy now. I made some mistakes; then, I came to the desert trying to forget them. Now, I’m with you. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“Sooner or later, it will. I want to be with you. That means I need to understand your world.” Jayce took her hand.

“This is my world too,” Rika objected. “I wish it was the only one. . . .”

He tugged her forward, but instead of continuing the conversation, he resorted to the only thing other than kisses guaranteed to make her smile. “Art fix?”

“Art fix,” she echoed. “Did you find something new? Where? Did you do it? We could run if you tell me where.”

He laughed. “Patient one,” he teased. “It’s just this way. Let’s walk.”

They walked along the street for a short distance, and then turned into a shadowy alley. Graffiti decorated the side of the buildings—intricate murals and abstract sketches, faces and artists’ tags.

Rika leaned her head on Jayce’s shoulder and looked up. “Good dimensions with the reds . . .”

“Too busy,” Jayce rebutted.

“Minimalist.” She mock sighed.

“The simple things are best.” He kissed her.

When he pulled away, she gave him a look of adoration. “Good argument.”

Then she looked back at the graffiti, smiling and leaning close to Jayce. They stayed together for several moments, and she marveled again at how much these past few weeks had meant to her. After long years where no one touched her in affection, now she felt like the span of minutes between caresses was too long.

Jayce motioned toward an opening between buildings, not quite an alley but more of a passageway. “Cut through here.”

They wound their way through it to a wider passage and then one alley and a second. Together, they crossed a small street, Jayce leading. Rika trailed behind him, holding his hand as they stepped into a third alley.

When she saw the ground, saw the body there, she yanked her hand free and ran. “No!”

“What?”

Jayce couldn’t see because he had only human sight, but there, unconscious on the ground, was Sionnach. He was the only faery in the desert that she’d called a friend, and he was bleeding on the ground.

She dropped to the ground and reached out to see if Sionnach was alive.

As she touched his arm, he became visible to Jayce as well.

Jayce dropped to his knees beside her, looking as shocked as she felt, and she wished now that she could shelter him from her world. Seeing bloodied bodies appearing out of the air was understandably startling; the ugly part of Rika’s world—the part where violence was not rare—wasn’t something she’d ever planned to share with Jayce.

He looked like he might be sick for a moment, but then he swallowed and asked, “Is he alive?”

“Yes. He’s alive still.” As she examined Sionnach, her hand brushed the weapon, still dirty with Sionnach’s blood. She recoiled in pain and disgust. “Iron.”

Jayce glanced at the weapon she was carefully not touching now.

“Can you pick it up so I can have someone get the . . . scent from it later? To track who did this?” She knew she was blushing, as if the faeries’ more natural animal traits were embarrassing. This, too, she would rather have not shared with him.

Silently, Jayce pulled a bandana from his satchel and wrapped the bloody weapon in it. His gaze darted worriedly at Sionnach, as he tucked the weapon into his satchel. Later, Rika would need to talk to Jayce about how attacks were handled in the world of solitary faeries—or hope that he didn’t ask questions she wanted to avoid answering. For now, though, she was simply grateful that he was willing to help her and that she didn’t have to touch the noxious weapon.

Rika opened Sionnach’s shirt and held it away from his stomach. The gouges in his stomach were inflamed, swollen, and angry.

Sionnach moaned as she prodded the injuries, and she tried to examine him without letting her own whimpers or cries of fury out. There would be time enough for temper later. Right now, she needed to be strong.

In his state of weakness, Sionnach’s fox-ish traits were more obvious. His features were sharper, cheeks more defined, tail obvious, and the tips of his pointed ears visible. He looked more faery than she ever would.

“Where do you go when one of you are hurt. . . . I mean . . . You can’t take him to the hospital, right?” Jayce stepped back from them, near but obviously not knowing quite what to do. “I want to help. Tell me how.”

“In the courts, there are healers. Here”—she pulled Sionnach’s shirt farther up, and she could see the slash was partially healed—“Shy will make do with my care. I need to move him.”

“Is he going to be—”

“He’ll be fine.” Rika looked up as soon as the words left her lips and offered Jayce a contrite smile to soften the harsh tone of her words. “But she won’t.”

“She?”

“There’s only one faery stupid enough to injure Shy. Maili’s going to find out how very idiotic that was.” Rika paused and glanced at Jayce, needing him to understand that she wasn’t a monster. “I’ll check first. Either Shy will wake and tell me or I’ll have someone scent the weapon.”

Jayce nodded.

Rika lifted Sionnach and cradled him in her arms as if he were a small child. His head lolled back, and the fear she was trying to ignore grew. Faeries are resilient, she reminded herself. Sionnach