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The human locks her gaze onto Eamon. Her crooked grin is cocky like her lazy stride; a muted air of confidence, of an ease she has for herself.

Eamon draws away from the fountain.

The grin that sweeps his face is a brilliant one—and it twists my insides with an ugly feeling I know too well. The jealousy surges through me with enough force to curl my lips into a silent snarl.

I aim it at the woman advancing on us.

Then she moves into the soft glow of the light brushing the path—

And I recognize her.

This isn’t the first time I’ve met Bee. But since time works differently between the worlds and she’s in the faster human lands, it takes me a moment to understand the differences I see in her.

Sometimes, I wonder if it is the simple fact that there is more time stretched out into a single phase in the fae realm, or that the days and nights are shorter in the human lands. When there is little to do, time seems to stretch on for eternity—and sometimes, when I stare down the notched arrow into centuries of life, it frightens me so much that… I might like to fall.

And I decide that an almost-forever is a scary truth to Bee, too. She’s chosen the human lands, to age and grow old and die.

I can see the process of time all over her.

Two years has passed to me since I last saw her.

But that is eight years to her.

Guess she is around twenty-nine years old now, and in that time, she’s rid herself of those blonde highlights through her mousy hair that’s now chopped to the length of her collarbone. She’s gained some fine lines around her eyes, too. Not terrible,not ugly or old, and I still think her pretty—but she didn’t have those faint wrinkles last time I saw her.

She didn’t have that shape either.

Bee was human in her body back then, but now she’s womanly.

If I ever wondered the difference, it’s shown to me as she strides up the path, her full figure swaying with each step: Wide hips silhouetted by dusty pink trousers, and the shape of her full breasts contoured in the strappy white top moulding to her like a second skin.

No brassiere, I notice as she strolls closer.

Dare notices, too.

That much is obvious in the blatant stare he has directed at the approaching human, the gaze that burns into the peak of her nipples against flimsy white material.

He hasn’t moved an inch since she called out from the street. His gaze drops to trace the curves of her wide hips. He’s unmoving from the statue he leans his shoulder on, and I’m half-certain he can’t move, like he’s been stunned, petrified forever.

Eamon passes the now-statuesque Dare, and he spreads his arms wide for the human woman.

Before Bee can get too close, close enough for Eamon to pull her into a hug, Aleana breaks out of her silence—she staggers forward a step and a vicious snarl crawls through her.

Bee falters.

She arches a brow and slowly turns to aim her quizzical look right at Aleana. A small smile plays on her pink-painted lips as she raises her hands, as though in surrender.

Her tone is teasing, “Look like a human, not a human. I come in peace.”

Eamon laughs something of a dismissal and closes the distance between them in two long strides. He throws his arm around Bee’s slight shoulders, then pulls her into his embrace.

Aleana silences her snarl, but her eyes stay narrowed. “If you’re not a human—”

Dare finishes in a broken growl, “What are you?”

I throw him a bewildered look. Not because of his question, but for the lust that burns in his eyes, lust strong enough that flickers of gold dance over the hazel hues, a desire that threatens to break through the glamour.

Eamon draws back from the embrace. “She’s kinta.” The warning look he throws around the watchful fae, the look he lingers over me and Aleana, isn’t one to ignore. “And a friend of mine.”