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“Yes.”

He gestures mutely, as if that explains everything. I study the inclines of his cheeks, the lacquer of his irises. I glimpse no self-serving agendas, nor devious intentions on his part. Not that I would expect them at this point, however much he wants to save his world. We’ve left the duplicity behind us, otherwise I wouldn’t have trailed him here in the first place.

And it’s true. I’m still in this game. I’m still aiming to win.

But if I win, he’s one step closer to fading. He and an entire race.

Where does that leave us? What happens next? How can we compete against each other, without competing against each other?

“Do you want to leave the dell?” Puck offers.

Yes. No. Now. Never. “I don’t know,” I whisper.

My voice wobbles, the words tripping over themselves. My intonations sound as though they’re made of pebbles—small and unstable. I feel repentant for that as well, because not once have I ever let my resolve slip.

I stare at our fingers, which have absently begun to thread together. My digits weave with his, bunching and forming a globe—or a combined fist—between us. Speaking of family, I’m not the only player letting their siblings down.

Puck examines my features. “And that, right there? That’s the Q & A Look.”

Yes, it is. I need to keep talking, keep asking questions. If not, my mind will stagger to places I don’t want it to yet.

He coaxes me to turn, linking himself around me from behind. Our legs plait together, his calf fur stroking the backs of my knees, my heels brushing his hooves. His torso rises and falls, his heart knocking into my spine like a ticking clock, steady and sure.

I escape into that rhythm, into this moment. Because once it’s gone, I don’t know what I’ll do. Once my thoughts readjust, I don’t know how I’ll feel about what’s happened.

Perhaps if I don’t budge, reality won’t surge in. Perhaps I can prevent that avalanche for a few more minutes.

Puck rests his chin on my shoulder. “You go first.”

“What about your brothers?” I ask. “What if they find out we were intimate?”

“Ahh, them.” He’s quiet for a while. “They know me for the shallow but savory rake I am. Satyrs don’t draw the line at humans, as the rest of our kin do. It’s not a common fetish, but we don’t object to pleasuring the ones who are willing. I doubt my frisky actions will startle Cerulean or Elixir.

“Now don’t scowl at me over your shoulder like that—satyrs don’t beguile humans into bumping hips. We’re monsters, but we’re notmonsters. In short, we force no one. Our partners come voluntarily, no pun intended.”

“So, you’ve bedded other mortals.”

“Only the emboldened, fanatical ones who’ve ventured just outside our border, searching for a thrill. Several males. No females. Because they didn’t step beyond The Triad, and because I didn’t intentionally lure them into trespassing, they weren’t condemned to play the game. Therefore, we had a merry time together.” He entwines a lock of my hair around his pinky. “I like this color on you.”

“Lucky for me, since it’s the only hair color I possess.”

“You don’t happen to have a pair of matching unmentionables, do you? Ow!” he yelps, his chest rumbling with humor when I twist and slap his arm.

He grabs my hand and nips my knuckles. “Behave yourself. Now where was I? Oh, yes. My rakishness and the infamous brothers. If they find out I’ve been a bad boy, they won’t be surprised. Annoyed, but not surprised.” Puck bites my middle finger. “Now ask me if I give a shit what they think.”

As much as I like hearing that last part, I give him another dubious look over my shoulder, and he tells me, “We each have our vices and limits. We each have our breaking points. Cerulean hides behind his candidness, which is rather clever, since no one suspects him of concealing anything. As for Elixir, he doesn’t hide a thing, because he doesn’t believe he has to—or that he can. It’s the world that hides from him.”

“How does the world manage that?”

“Quite easily, though you’d have to see for yourself. And me? I nurture my secrets by planting the seeds and letting them grow for the world to behold. I deny nothing.”

Puck says that while his brothers care for one another and have a pact to remain loyal, they have their own rules, in their own environments. Neither can tell the other what to do, only trust they’re working for the same end result.

He detours, breaking down the regions. Mountain Faeries are of the wind and air; they’re lofty and elegantly unpredictable. River Faeries are of the water; they’re transparent and fluidly lethal. Woodland Faeries are of earth and fire; they’re primitive, untamed. They’re boisterous, provocative, and sexual.

Speaking of landscapes, I have no idea where we are. “What is this place?”

Nostalgia fills his voice. “This is where I came from.”