Page 149

Puck misreads the expression on my face and grimaces, as if I’m afraid of him getting too close, since we’d agreed it was over between us. Anger, pain, and lust scrunch his visage into a ball. Then his instincts kick in, his countenance flexing into a sarcastic smirk. “Well, shit,” he mocks. “How impolite of the weather, don’t you think?” He spreads his arms and executes a half-bow. “Time to get going, luv.”

“Puck,” I say.

He rotates toward the tree looming over us. “Let’s see which fauna are in a merry mood to give us a ride.”

“Puck, wait.”

“Though, if you want to see Sylvan before heading to the mountain, it’s best if we travel by air.”

“Puck!” I snap, nervous and annoyed. “How…how do you say…‘I love you’…in Faeish?”

He stops. Under the torrent, his hooves jolt in place, and his shoulder blades pinch together. I wait forever, the rain pelting this world, splashing the leaves and lake’s surface.

Slowly, the satyr turns. The storm pastes his hair to his profile, darkening the waves to a shade of claret. His eyes blaze with astonishment and a new kind of fire, one that’s never kindled there before.

Yes, it’s rare for his kind to fall in love. Yes, satyrs can’t recognize the emotion unless it’s requited. And yes, I let my feelings reflect back to him, exposing them for him to catch, to share.

Finally, he prowls my way. Closing the divide, he halts an inch from me, our chests brushing. Droplets plunk from his antlers and land on his eyelashes.

The Fae tilts his head, his gaze searching mine. “You want to learn my language? That’ll take time.”

My voice cracks with joy. “I’m a quick study.”

“Bloody true.”

“Even so, I don’t care how long it takes. Now stop tarrying and tell me how you say—”

“Eck elsja fick,”he murmurs, his accent gruff and sensuous. Then he repeats himself, drawing out the syllables as though for the first time.

“Eck elsja fick.”I pronounce those three words, returning them to him, offering them in kind. As I do, his eyelids hood.

Submerged in the rain, we go still. I glimpse his parted mouth—wet and hovering—while Puck’s own gaze stalks my lips. Then a ravenous, guttural snarl builds in his throat. He shakes his head—”Fuck it”—and grabs me.

His arms band around my waist and haul me into him. On a cry, I fling myself against his body, my fingers spearing into his hair. Puck yanks me off the ground. His mouth clamps on to mine and pries my lips apart, the heat fueling higher, harsher.

The kiss explodes. Our tongues collide, striking at a frenetic pace. He licks into me, the hot flat slipping in and out, making me dizzy. I kiss him back, taste him back.

My soaked breasts mash into his torso, our wet garments rubbing in a glorious friction. One of his palms braces my scalp, fixing me in place while our lips fuse, rolling together. Like this, I shiver and burn with him.

We break apart only to switch angles, gasping into another smoldering embrace. His vicious mouth folds with mine, his tongue darting along the seam and then flicking between my lips, plunging and retreating and licking.

I feel his touch everywhere, yet everywhere isn’t enough.

I want to kiss him more, and more, and more. I want my body rocking above his. I want us naked—wild and untamed. I want to make him howl. I want to love him.

I whine when the satyr peels himself away, my eyelids flapping open to behold rings of decadent brown. Puck speaks against my swollen mouth, his sultry breath coasting across my skin. “I’ve got an important question for you, luv.”

Delirious, I can only nod. “I like questions.”

“No, you like answers. I like questions.”

“What do you want to know?”

A fiendish grin slides across his face. “You hungry?”

38

With Sylvan recovering, Puck corresponds with another creature through the roots. A majestic buck arrives, the spruce trees quaking under its weighty approach. The deer looms before us in its larger shape, the scopes of its eyes reflecting our drenched forms.