Page 67

“You were good with her,” that smoky voice observes.

I twist my head and find those scholastic eyes staring back, brightening the forest from two feet away. Juniper’s got the notebook under her arm, and she’s flushed from reading.

I slouch like a delinquent. Basically, like a satyr. “I’ve had practice with Tinder.”

“He looks up to you, too.”

“Something like that. You seemed mighty rested.” I take the notebook and wag it like a tail. “It looks as if you actually slept.”

Juniper’s cheeks mottle, despite the censorious glare she darts at me. She’s private, her audience has barely left the premises, and I’d fucked her multiple times yesterday. After driving my fingers into her, then giving her that shattering climax on the desk, I carried Juniper to one of the reading chairs, knelt at her feet and sank my tongue between her legs. Even an insatiable faun wouldn’t be walking upright after all the things I’d done to corrupt this human.

Juniper grabs the notebook, but the flirt in me doesn’t let go. We fall into a gentle tug-of-war until her lips fold to keep from chuckling.

I finally let go and strap my arms around her. “Get over here,” I groan.

She melts into my kiss, the force of it prying her lips open. My tongue strokes deeply, coaxing a moan from her throat.

Sadly, Juniper pulls away too fast and fondles my vest collar. “Papa should know. I want to tell him.”

I stiffen. Her father is one of the main reasons she reads to the Faeries in the first place. She has memories of him doing the same thing with her, Lark, and Cove.

My woman had wanted to pass that on, to give the striplings an escape, something to enjoy despite everything that’s happening around us. Once a week, they gather to hear the stories Juniper’s begun scribbling in her notebook. She’d started right after our first night in the cabin.

Of course, she wants to see her father more than ever, to tell him in person about the wee sapling. Except there’s a problem, which I don’t need to rehash.

“I’m sorry, luv,” I murmur.

Juniper nods, ever the pragmatic of her sisters. They had been planning to see their father, to sneak into their world and reunite with him in secret. She’d also wanted me to meet the man who raised her.

Instead, all kinds of shit has gone down since then, from The Deep’s flood to the raven attack, to the point where it’s become too dangerous to leave Faerie. With the Solitaries on our asses, we can’t afford to gallivant into yet another enemy territory. That’ll just compile our problems—and our opponents.

And now that Juniper’s pregnant, any risk has become a dealbreaker.

Lastly, traveling to Juniper’s father could mark him as another vulnerability, as a target or bait to be used against us.

“You can send him a letter,” I suggest.

Juniper’s head flips up, longing etched in her voice. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Then do it. Write one with your sisters.”

“But we have to be cautious about delivering it. After Lark won her game and returned to Papa, her stay didn’t last. She was there and gone again. Nothing could be gained from lying outright about her reasons for leaving home willingly, since the townsfolk would only see through that. Having Papa tell them she’d left to be close to me and Cove made sense at the time.”

I know all this. It was a motivation the family believed everyone would understand. It was also the truth, aside from Lark’s desire to be with Cerulean.

“What are you getting at?” I ask.

Juniper frowns, the cogs and wheels turning. “But what if knowing she’d gone back to be near her sisters eventually inflamed the villagers? What if our captivity here triggered their anger, not only on our behalf but humanity’s? What if it created another incentive to rage about your kind? And what if that drove them to watch the house?”

My eyebrows knit. “You think spies are keeping tabs on your father.”

“I think nosy people are keeping him in their sights. By now, why wouldn’t they? If that’s true, how do we send a message and guarantee it won’t be witnessed or intercepted? If they’re not embittered about us being taken by the Fae, it’s still plausible they’ll be sniffing around to see if we turn up at the house again.

“If they see Papa receive tidings in any form deemed strange, or if they manage to steal the letter without him knowing, they could find out what’s happening here. They won’t believe we’re still on their side. They’ll conclude we’ve turned on our people, been seduced by Faeries. And that could endanger Papa.” She rocks on her heels. “You think I’m overanalyzing things.”

“I think you’re worried,” I tell her. “Though yes, you tend to overcomplicate, for good reasons and with good instincts. Except you once told me how you and your sisters were outcasts there. That alone provokes me to do serious damage to your neighbors.”

“It doesn’t matter if we were outcasts. The people of Reverie Hollow don’t need to fret about our wellbeing, as if we’re family. They only need an excuse to riot.”