He makes an animalistic sound of frustration in the back of his throat. “You’re so ... so ...”
“I’m so what, huh?”
“So ...”
Rachel grabs his hand and places it over the umbrella pendant around her neck, keeping a firm grip on his wrist. He struggles to pull away from her for a beat, before exhaling in relief and blinking a few times as he gets rid of the fugue in his mind.
“Do you feel better now?” she snaps at him.
Orion looks away from her.
She releases his wrist and places her hand on his unshaven cheek, nudging his head so their eyes can meet in the gloom. Rachel narrows her eyes at his icy stare, undaunted by the implied threat of bringing up what’d happened, what Orion had said. Bubbling rage cancels out fear and common sense. The tension coagulates. Electricity crackles in the air the longer they stand there, their resolve unwavering.
There’s a shift.
Anger, pain, and fear trickle away.
They close the space separating their bodies.
Rachel moves her hand away from Orion’s cheek and feels her way around his neck, pulling him closer until their lips collide. She feels his free arm snaking around her waist, hand resting against the small of her back. Orion pulls her even nearer. When that doesn’t satiate their desire for closeness, their mouths part and tongues dance. Their breaths combine, hearts seemingly beating to the same fast-paced rhythm. He takes a step forward and she backs up against the arched wall, before his hand changes direction again, finding her hip.
She pours herself into him—all of her ire, relief, desperation. Everything she’s bottled up since he so unceremoniously left Shadow Grove. In turn, she accepts his pain and dread and anger, every part he’d hidden away since she showed up in the Fae Realm. Rachel deepens the kiss.
Orion reluctantly pulls away, breathless, and rests his forehead against hers.
Her chest heaves as she searches for air, dizzy from the kiss. Her swollen lips still pulse, her skin remains tender where his stubble had scratched. The places his hands had lingered are warm, crackling with life.
They’d both needed someone. Probably anyone would’ve sufficed right then. She’s not naïve enough to imagine the kiss being anything other than a desperate attempt to normalize an abnormal situation. But there is no denying their chemistry. She’s still unwilling to label this something between them as anything other than companionship, or the increasingly sameness of their personalities, but it’s there. That chemistry is real.
Normal people don’t react like that. Dougal’s words from when he’d been influenced by Golvath rings through her mind, chastising her for her strange behavior in certain situations. Freak out for God’s sake!
“You do know this thing between us won’t end well.”
Rachel grins, pushes onto the tips of her toes, and presses another kiss in the corner of his mouth. “We’ll worry about that once it stops being so much fun.” She lowers herself to the ground, reaches around the back of her neck, and unclasps the necklace.
“What are you doing?” Orion asks. “No. What if—?”
“I pushed Golvath out of my head this morning without the help of the Ronamy Stone. I’m sure I can do it again.”
He reluctantly takes the pendant into his fist.
“Don’t lose it.”
He releases his hold on her and backs off.
“Yes,” Mercia’s hiss of triumph echoes down the bell tower.
Orion’s eyes widen as a golden flame flickers into existence, moving up to his wrist, enveloping his entire arm. “She did it,” he says, looking at Rachel.
“Well, stop standing around then. Glisser Mercia out of here and then come back for me.”
Orion extinguishes his flame and quickly fixes the necklace around his neck. A heartbeat later, he’s gone, leaving Rachel alone in the dark against the stone archway.
“Finally. Some privacy.”
Twenty-Three
A Royal Hunt
Cameron Mayer—or rather Golvath—steps out of the shadow, wearing a smirk that could easily curdle milk. He’s dressed in the faded leather jacket she’s seen him wear so often; his jeans are ripped at the knees, and the biker boots are scuffed up at the toes. Other than his familiar appearance, though, something about him is definitely different.
“It’s the ears,” he says, answering her unasked question before pushing his hair aside to reveal his elongated ear, which ends in a sharp tip. “I got tired of hiding them.” He releases his hair and walks up to her, taking Orion’s space. “Now why would you think about a prince when you are in the company of a king? Honestly, Rachel, stop being so mediocre.”
“I’d much rather be mediocre than homicidal.”
“He’s not getting back in,” Golvath says, rolling his eyes. “He’s not coming back to save the pretty damsel, because he’s not strong enough. Woe always you.”
“What’s your deal?” she asks, mentally placing one brick atop the other to protect her thoughts from his probing mind. “I’ve come up with countless theories and none of them really fits, so seriously, like, what’s your problem?”
“You are m—”
“No, no,” she interrupts, wagging her finger. “Don’t put this on me, Golvath. From what I’ve heard, you’ve been pulling this same exact stunt for ages. You see a girl you like and then you build her up in your mind until she’s some pure, untouchable goddess. Then—and please correct me if I’m wrong—you throw a hissy fit and turn the entire village into mindless minions because you’ve convinced yourself she’s out of your league.” Rachel drops her arms to her sides. “What is that about? I mean, you didn’t even give me a chance to respond, and I’m actually not that hard to impress.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Rachel Cleary; you’re no goddess,” he says. “If anything, you’re Fae-bait.”
Fae-bait?
“Well, screw you, too.”
Golvath flinches, astonishment blanching his face.
Rachel pushes away from the stone archway and walks up to him, incensed and unafraid, until she’s in his face. “You’re pathetic.”
The crack is as unexpected as the force behind his slap. Rachel stumbles back, covering her burning cheek with her hand. The glare
