Page 19

“Anyone ever tell you that when it comes to Faerie business, you should never hit the ground running?”

“None of my acquaintance,” I say. “Though the Fable,When a Fae Gets Cocky, alludes to it. I’ve read that one five times.”

“A second ago? I was being rhetorical.”

“A second after that? I made up the title.”

His lips twitch. “Such cheek. I do fancy smart asses. Couldn’t you have made up that title earlier, when I asked for a story?”

I grit out, “By rhetorical, may I assume you’re too lazy to formulate an inquiry worthy of debate?”

“Me, lazy? Hogwash.” Puck sets down the chalice and reclines in the seat, linking his ankles atop the table. Now that we’re idle in brighter shafts of light, his gaze lands on my arm, and he frowns momentarily. “What happened to your bracelet?”

The nymphs happened, that’s what. But with the long sleeves, how does he know I’m not wearing it in the first place? And what makes him think it’s any of his concern?

When I make no reply, he dismisses the matter and links his arms behind his head, the muscles bunching like a cliff range. “You’ll get those cute weapons back in due time, along with your pack—if you can locate them, seeing as you’ll need those perks for our merry game.” He appraises my dress from its hem to its neckline, where the tops of my breasts inflate from the material. “Notwithstanding, if you play in that, you’ll get dirty.”

“What game?”

“You read the letter.”

Mind the trees. Touch the roots. Hunt your fears. Chase your desires. Miss your target. Hit your mark.

I stuff the reply he deserves back down my throat. “It lacked details.”

“Bloody true. And there are plenty of those. You know, details.” He wiggles his fingers as if speaking about pixies. “By the way, how badly do you want to know? Should I go slowly or tear off the bandage in one swoop? Very well, your deadpan expression says it all. So here it is: You’re to participate in the hunt.”

A hunting expedition? That doesn’t make sense. It’s too simple.

“A Fae hunt,” I repeat.

“Is there any other kind?”

“With Faeries. I’m to participate in a hunt with Faeries.”

“Including myself. Sounds like a riot, doesn’t it? Say yes, and a-hunting we will go.”

And now he sounds cryptic. “What are you hunting?”

He smiles and tips his head. “Why you, of course.”

6

Word by word, I dissect his answer. I follow the shape, depth, and direction of Puck’s meaning like a set of paw prints. But it’s no use. This particular trail belongs to a crafty predator that’s too far ahead of me.

The pines bristle, making candlelight thrash from the branches. Puck transforms as he had when we were last here, right before he’d ordered me away. The Fae regards me neither smugly, nor mischievously. Indeed, he doesn’t seem regaled by his own announcement.

Shadows catch the left side of his countenance, forming a black half-moon, while firelight strokes the right side, enameling the slopes of his jaw. The contrast splits his face in two, so that I can’t tell which half is a greater threat.

I prefer it when his riddles fill the void. His silence is deadlier.

Me. These monsters are going to hunt me.

The irony is profound. My brain trips over itself, wondering if I’ve missed a crucial detail, a sign that he recognizes me. An eye for an eye. A form of payback. Star peddlers and fortune tellers might call this karma, if I believed in such nonsense. That’s Cove’s obsession, not mine.

Still, I search Puck’s visage for recognition and find no proof.

I consider three potential reactions to his news. Cove would retreat a step, as though the words have reached out to snatch her. Lark would stride forward and dare those words to make contact, to fight her. I take the neutral option and regard the satyr placidly.