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Bear explained that, too — a safe word is for both people. And sometimes, the best safe word is ‘no’.

Ezra’s gaze is intent. “But I won’t. I’ll always say yes.”

I bury my face in his neck and breathe in his calming scent to slow my galloping pulse.

I want more. It’s like I can’tstopwanting more. I become addicted to his touch, his body, so different from mine, and the way his dark eyes watch me the whole time. He stares like he’s cataloging every moment.

I do the same.

On the nights Ezra turns my brain into nothing more than sparkling fairy dust with his hands and mouth, I sleep like a stone. I’m finally alive after so long just surviving. I’m so pleasant that even Lilian smiles shyly when we pass in the hall.

Come Sunday I’m almost buzzing with excitement for the show. It’s going to be different with Ezra watching. Of course, he’s seen the show before, but not since this new thing started. The vain part of me preens at the thought of showing off for him — and later, hearing how much he liked it while he holds me.

In the dressing room, my usual calm focus is nowhere to be found. Bear will be annoyed. I peer at myself in the mirror and find a flushed, wide-eyed stranger staring back. My skin tingles in anticipation.

Behind the stage, I fidget impatiently as we’re announced.

“Focus, fairy,” Bear rumbles behind me.

I take a deep breath. “Sorry.”

He leans in. I shift away immediately, worried he’ll brush my skin by accident, but he puts a gloved hand on my shoulder and holds me in place. He bends over me and his nostrils flare.

“You smell fertile.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “I — well, I am.”

He’s a stoneskin, so why does he care?

Bear lets go of me with a growl. “We have to cancel the show. I can’t touch you if you’re fertile, even with gloves — your magic is too potent.”

19

EZRA

Icrane to my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lysander coming onto the stage, but the emcee is still running through his bit. I’m behind the bar, so I won’t be able to watch up close, but that’s probably for the better. There’s something in the air tonight. Kink night is usually a pretty dry event, but I’ve been pouring glass after glass from the unlabeled bottles of riigan wine under the counter. Apparently it doesn’t just help Lysander with his nightmares, it gives a different kind of buzz to some monsters, especially stoneskins.

“They’re pretty much immune to normal alcohol,” Orion explains as he dumps an empty bottle in the bin.

“Why’s it so important to get drunk, though?”

He grins. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Uh, feel what?”

“Spring. The Greening is coming.” Sparks leap from his eyes. “Just watch the crowd — cut people off when they get rowdy. We give a little leeway around these times, but the red rooms are closed tonight.”

It’s not just the drinks, though — The Sanctum is more packed than normal, too. Orion explains that out-of-towners usually flood Greenriver for the festival, and apparently lots ofthem have heard about Lysander’s performance and are eager for the show.

So am I.

But instead of Lysander walking onto the stage, Thrain, the naga emcee, clears his throat into the mic.

“Hang tight, everyone.”

He disappears into the wings, and the crowd murmurs.

I lean over. “I wonder what’s up.”