Desert Tales: A Wicked Lovely Companion Novel

A former Winter Girl, especially one who had fled to the desert years ago, wouldn’t come here to the home of the reigning Winter Queen without serious reason. Donia focused her attention on the summer street, and her wintery climate expanded beyond her yard. New buds on the trees froze as she looked upon them. I won’t surrender all of my power for you, even now, she silently swore to the Summer King, who would no doubt be darkening her door soon. I am your equal now, Keenan. Come fight with me.

Then with the solemnity of early winter mornings, Donia turned away and resolutely closed the door. 

CHAPTER 18

Far from the Winter Queen’s home, Sionnach walked slowly through town with Carissa. He had spent several hours looking for Rika, checking all of her usual hideaways, but had been forced to admit defeat. She’d never been this angry with him, and he could admit—quietly, to himself—that he would be angry if he were in her position. Of course, he manipulated people and faeries as easily as he breathed, so he wouldn’t end up in her position. Still, he could allow that she had grounds for her ire. He’d simply wait for her to calm down and return, and while he waited, he’d enjoy a date with the mortal girl . . . and try to ignore his injuries.

Carissa was, like so many young mortal women, full of dreams and passions. It’s why faeries found them so alluring. Something about the impermanence of mortals seemed to make them crave living intensely. Things that would pass in a blink for those who lived for centuries were urgent to mortals. It was beautiful.

As Carissa and Sionnach walked toward the tiny diner he liked, he offered her his arm. He tried to move slower with her, careful in his movements so he didn’t slip and reveal his Otherness. Technically, a faery shouldn’t ever reveal his true nature to a mortal. Exceptions were only to be made in extreme circumstances—a detail Sionnach used to justify giving so much information to Jayce. Sionnach considered the well-being and safety of the desert just such a circumstance; he simply hadn’t quite verbalized how Jayce fit into his plans before allowing the mortal boy such rare access. Rika’s anger over Sionnach’s lies of omission made sense, but once she calmed down, she’d see that his plan had been the only solution left to him at that moment.

She has to.

As Carissa snuggled close to Sionnach, he pushed his anxieties away to focus on her. “I’ve missed you lately,” he told her.

“I worried that you were”—she blushed—“bored with me.”

“For some reason, I don’t find you at all boring.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair, before nuzzling his face against her throat to smell her. Then he kissed her neck, partly so she didn’t notice that he enjoyed sniffing her.

She giggled.

“I like you,” he said simply. “I missed you, but it wasn’t a good time to see you. I had things I needed to deal with.”

Then, before she could ask questions he couldn’t answer honestly, he gave her a proper kiss. She looked dazed when he pulled back.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He grinned at her before opening the door of the diner. “After you, lovely . . .”

Sionnach learned years ago that mortals appreciated it when his manners were theater-elegant. She might not be in pearls and velvet, but she was beautiful and should be treated like it. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and was rewarded with another adoring look.

A few steps in, she stopped and said, “You realize that we’re at a total dive, right?”

He looked around with feigned shock. “This? My staff tells me this is a prime establishment.”

He led her to a booth and brushed crumbs to the floor. The seat had a visible gash in it, and the tabletop was carved with former patrons’ names. The table tilted just a bit as he put a hand on it. But, like so many places in the desert, there was a defiance in the beauty of the old diner that glimmered just under the surface.

“Your seat, my dear.”

She slid into the booth and looked up at him curiously.

He ducked his head in a flare of instinctive shyness—fearing that he was wrong about her, worrying that she would hate it—and looked up at her through the hair that fell over his eyes. “Is it too awful for you?”

“No.” She reached out and caught his wrist, tugging him until he sat beside her. “I’m with you, so it’s perfect.”

Somewhat embarrassed, he admitted, “My finances are lacking.”

She entwined her fingers with his. “Don’t worry about it. There’s no real jobs here . . . or places to go or . . .” She looked out the window at the partially lit signs, scrubby plants, and cracked asphalt. “This whole place is awful. As soon as I can, I’m out of here.”

Sionnach tensed. He wasn’t surprised at the vehement tone in her voice, but he didn’t see the world the same way she did. He wanted her to see it as he did, to maybe stay here a while longer. “It can be wonderful here too. Beautiful. There are treasures here that I haven’t found anywhere else . . . and we have fun, don’t we?”

She turned to smile at him. “It’s not awful with you here, but it was before.”

As Carissa snuggled into Sionnach’s embrace, he glanced down at their entwined fingers. She might be a mortal, but he’d miss her. If he were a mortal, he’d follow her for a time to whatever place she fled to, but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t ever be. The desert was always going to be his rightful place, and she was—like all mortals —a lovely distraction and fleeting moment in his eternity.

Outside the window, four solitary faeries rushed up and pressed their faces to the glass. They were his responsibility, but he’d told them previously that they weren’t to intrude when he was with human girls. Although Carissa couldn’t see them, she obviously felt him tense beside her because she asked, “Are you okay?”

“How could I be anything else? I’m with you,” he assured her. He hadn’t actually answered the question, but overt lies were impossible. Luckily, like most people, Carissa didn’t notice simple misdirection.

When she looked away, scanning the room for their server, Sionnach scowled at the faeries. He subtly tilted his head upward in a gesture that clearly conveyed that they should depart. Instead of obeying, they mocked him —one swept another into an exaggerated dip, a second folded his hands and clutched them over his heart with a moony expression. They weren’t doing anything horrible, but he didn’t want an audience. He didn’t want them to bring their reminders of his responsibilities and challenges into his rare time at pretending to be free.

“Go away,” he mouthed silently.

Carissa glanced at him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He smiled reassuringly before he said, “I was merely thinking.”

“About?”

“Well . . .” He leaned in close to her as if he were going to say something serious and then whispered, “Food.”

Carissa laughed.

A waitress dropped a menu on the table with a thunk.

“How almost kind!” Sionnach gave her an irritated look and lifted one of the sticky menus to hold it out to Carissa. As he reached for the other menu, he saw that his disobedient faeries had donned mortal glamours and were walking into the restaurant. Gone were their tails and thorns. Instead, they now looked like standard desert- living teens. Their clothes were all a little worn, but their overall appearance was that of a rowdy group of potential troublemakers rather than absurdly long-living creatures who needed to be kept in check by their Alpha. It wasn’t that they were bad in the mortal sense of right and wrong; faeries were merely less cautious, more mischievous, and often unmindful of the breakable nature of more finite creatures.

Sionnach didn’t want to deal with their testing of his rules—not here, not in front of her—but they came up to the booth. One dragged a chair over to the booth. Two others slid into the bench facing Sionnach and Carissa. The fourth stayed standing.