Page 4 of A Song of Air (Fae Elementals #4)

H er face tilted up towards the open air, nose leaning to where she imagined the stars were. Her body was sprawled against a wooden surface, her hands patiently resting against her lower abdomen. Night had fallen, the temperature dropped low, and the cold clung to her bones.

The wind ruffled against her curls, pushing the strands against her freckled cheeks. She relaxed her body, sinking deep into the wood, and let her magic go astray against the night. It whipped and flew in varying degrees of harshness.

Beside her, her familiar ruffled her feathers.

You are acting petulant, she squawked. Stop that.

Bryson let out a breath and her magic eased back. Without the wind, she was forced to listen to the pounding silence of the night. She didn’t like it because torturous thoughts threatened to invade. Her magic picked up again, the wind ruffling the feathers of her familiar in a teasing way.

The hawk screeched with indignation.

“Calm down, you oversized chicken.”

The disrespect...

Bryson chuckled at their easy banter, but the sound died as easily as it had been born. She couldn’t stop thinking about the day, about the humans they’d killed and the Fae they’d saved. Soon, they would rehabilitate in the camp and slowly heal from their ordeal. At least their bodies, if not their minds.

She figured healing the mind was a longer process, one she didn’t even begin to understand. Though she herself had healed from the pain, there were some wounds that were invisible and hurt more than any cut upon flesh ever could.

She felt herself drowning in those wounds even now, in the chaos of her memories as they invaded her mind. How terrible was it that the last thing she would ever see with clear vision was the way her father and sister ran towards her right before the explosion? That the last thing she would clearly see was his terrified face?

If only she hadn’t been wandering, he wouldn’t have tried to save her. He wouldn’t have reached for her. He wouldn’t have used his body to shield her and her sister...

They would have died anyway. That was one thing she knew for certain. If it hadn’t been the explosion, it would have been something else. The camps, maybe. The hands of the cruel human soldiers. Sometimes, Bryson marveled at the fact that she herself was still alive.

As the thoughts crept along her mind, she felt an itching begin to form just beneath her skin. It was a burning anger that she felt could never be sated. A thirst for violence so potent, she sometimes frightened herself with the force of it. It battled against who she was and who she thought she should be, against the reality of the present and the teachings of her past.

She should move on from the tragedy, but it was that very same tragedy that gave her the ability to fight back and want for more. But even as she thirsted for it, Arlo’s voice commanded her mind like it always did.

“It’s not wise to want for more. That’s how revolutions are started.”

He was content with the lives they led. Thieving from humans, picking up Fae when they could. Arlo Blackwood didn’t aspire for more, and he expected the same from the rest of them.

She always felt like opting to follow him often meant she was spitting on the graves of her family and their beliefs. But their beliefs had never been her beliefs, just like Arlo’s beliefs weren’t her own either.

She didn’t know what to believe in anymore. So she killed to survive and helped Fae when she could, and then she came here to the little house built atop a tree to stare at a sky she could barely see.

Brood, her familiar said, a hint of teasing in her mental voice.

Bryson scoffed, swallowing the sound when the wind brought the crunch of footsteps towards her ears. She paused, listening to the noise and recognizing the owner of them right away.

I am going to hunt. Her familiar spread and flapped her wings, pushing a gust of wind against Bryson before she took off to the sky with a cry.

There was a curse as Malika climbed the rickety steps nailed to the tree, struggling to get to the top. That indicated that she was probably tipsy off the Fae wine the goblins brewed.

When she finally reached the top, she all but sprawled out next to Bryson.

“You breathe too loudly,” Bryson said, sitting up.

“You bitch,” she heaved. “If you’re going to be mean, I’ll take this wine back.”

Malika knew very well that Bryson didn’t really partake in drink, at least not so much that she would lose her footing and fall out of the damn tree. If she didn’t drink or dance, it was out of self-preservation. That, and she didn’t want to look like a fool.

“Here, just one glass won’t hurt.” Malika shoved it into her hands, and Bryson had to grasp it with her fingers, though the liquid sloshed over the rim and stuck to her skin. “Lighten up.” She clinked her glass against Bryson’s and her voice softened. “We did good today.”

There seemed to be centuries worth of sadness packed into those words. It was only because of that that Bryson brought the cup to her lips and took a sip.

Silence enveloped them. Bryson could say with certainty that Malika was her best friend in the world. They were open and honest with each other, yet there was still an air of mystery surrounding the other Fae that always made Bryson curious. She never asked, though, and Malika never offered the story of her past. It was like their lives had begun when they met in that camp. Anything that had happened before didn’t exist.

Though Bryson didn’t doubt that there was an incredibly sad story to be told. Malika had mentioned a sister once. A single time. It had been in passing, almost as if she’d forgotten their sacred understanding not to mention the past. Malika hadn’t brought it up since then.

They sat in companionable silence, staring out into the dim night that contrasted against even darker shapes. Nighttime made it that much harder to see, but it was a peaceful moment between them regardless, both of them sipping their Fae wine. The fruity drink fizzled against Bryson’s tongue, and she felt the effects immediately.

“Your boyfriend is looking for you, you know.”

Bryson’s brows kicked up in amusement. “I’m sure he is.”

It wasn’t like her hiding place was some big secret. If he was looking, he should know exactly where she would be. Just like she knew exactly where he would be; deep in cup after cup of Fae wine, heavy in celebration with the others.

At least until he finally found his footing enough to wander to where she lay to see if she was okay.

As if on cue, footsteps sounded in the distance, heading in their direction.

“Well...” Malika took a loud swallow of her wine. “Looks like he finally found you.” There was a smile in her voice that Bryson didn’t dare turn to meet.

From the ground, feet stepped up the little ladder until Everett finally reached the top. His heart was pounding, his every breath laced with exhaustion and the scent of wine. His dark hair was wind-kissed, his white smile wide.

“And I’m out.” There was the clinking of glasses as Malika gathered her things. Meanwhile, Bryson could only squint in Ev’s direction. “Have fun... You probably can’t see this, Bryce, it being so dark and all, but I’m winking at you.”

Bryson let out a laugh. If there was one thing she loved about Malika, it was that right there. The fact that she never put such a weight on her poor vision. Because it wasn’t as big a deal as others made it to be. At the end of the day, it was something she would always have to live with, and it was irritating when others felt sorry for her.

Like Arlo and all the new Fae they saved.

As soon as Malika touched the ground, she jogged away, leaving Bryson and Ev alone together. Once they were, he took a seat at her side. She felt the warmth of his body seep into hers, and his scent enveloped her. Daffodils and wine. There were also touches of earth and smoke, hinting at his general activities of dancing near the fire.

His fingers moved, grazing the hand that held tightly to her goblet before he pulled it from her grasp. She heard him swallow the rest of the contents, knowing she wasn’t going to finish it anyway, before he tossed the cup to the side. She heard it roll across the wood then stop just before it slid off the tree.

There was a beat of silence. “Are you okay, Bryce?” he asked, the concern in his voice genuine; it pressed to her chest.

She sighed, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Her friends knew how hard days like today were for her. She never had to explain why, and they didn’t have to ask. Even if they did, she wasn’t sure she could really give them a concrete answer. Her mind was a befuddled mess of emotions that were hard to sift through.

“I’m fine.” The words didn’t feel like the complete truth, though they didn’t feel like a lie either. She was fine, even with the burning sensation in her chest harrying down on her. Sometimes, she felt like all she had left in the world was rage and absolutely nothing to do with it.

Everett sighed. “You know Arlo won’t be leader forever.”

She knew that. Just because he was half-Fae didn’t mean he didn’t age. He did. It was the more dominant, human part of him. Half-Fae lived longer than the average human, but less than a full-blooded Fae. So Arlo was training Ev for his eventual takeover. Even though Ev was human himself, he and Arlo were close. Close enough that Arlo would give up the reins of all that he’d built.

This war had done that; brought unlikely allies together to fight for a similar cause. Similar tragedies tethered the lot of them together.

“You won’t have to humiliate yourself like that when I’m leader.” Ev’s arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. “You won’t have to parade yourself around the new Fae, you won’t have to show off your scarred eyes. Not if you don’t want to...”

My scarred eyes.

The shrapnel from the iron hadn’t only taken a good portion of her sight. The lesions caused once-brown pupils to discolor to a milky, white hue. It had also scarred the skin on her eyelids, thin spiderwebs that spread down to the tops of her cheekbones, cutting through freckles. They hadn’t fully healed. How could they when she’d been thrown into an iron camp soon after? Her wounds had never been treated properly there, and they’d left their permanent mark on her body.

Malika said her scarred stare was frightening.

“Wouldn’t want to scare the new ones,” she jested, digging her elbow into his side.

“You don’t frighten them.”

Her silence was pointed.

“I’m serious. If anything, they’re intimidated by the best parts of you.”

“Oh, yeah? And what would those be?” she asked coyly, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Ev wasn’t too attractive for a human. When they were close, she liked to look over his imperfect features, the nose that was just a bit too strong, lips that were too full. His dark hair swooped low against his shoulders, kissing tan skin, and yet there was comfort in the imperfect parts of him .

Bryson wasn’t with Ev for his looks, after all.

“Let’s see...” His fingers slid down the sleeve of her shirt, and she felt the warmth of him through the thin material. The slight touch made the wind around them churn a fraction and he released a chuckle that made her lips twitch. “There’s your skin.” His fingers stopped where the edge of her sleeve met her wrist. He encircled it, his touch light, seductive.

Her breath came out slowly. “What about my skin?”

He lifted her hand, bringing it to his mouth where he kissed the tips of her fingers one by one. They were calloused, but he didn’t seem to mind. His lips traced over them, sliding down to the back of her hand. He shoved her sleeve up to her elbow, trailing kisses all the way up her arm.

“It’s soft. Freckled.”

“Hmm...”

“I could kiss your freckles all day.” He kissed along her arm, stopping at the inside of her elbow and pulling away. For a moment, she lost his warmth until he grasped her by the hips and flipped her so she was straddling his lap.

She let out a breath of satisfaction when he pulled her down, grinding her center against the tightness of his own pants. Her hands clasped for his shoulders, tightening her grip as his hands traveled over her ass and the backs of her thighs.

His eyes flared and she was sure her own did too. She had to bite back her smile, the grip of satisfaction she got when he looked at her like that. Not like the others did. Not like something that had to be pitied. But like someone who was beautiful, even if she didn’t always feel it.

“Your ass, for sure.” He bent, his hair grazing hers as his lips clamped down on the side of her neck.

“Hmm...” A zing of pleasure swept through her body at the contact. “What else?”

He nipped her chin. “Your lips...”

“Oh, really—”

He interrupted her with a kiss. She lost herself in it, in him. His touch was a distraction from the chaos in her mind, if temporarily. But she would take it with the same fervor he gave. Their tongues tangled together in a fierce dance.

He was as quick in his undressing of her as he was with his seduction. It was always to the point and perfunctory, and her own hands grappled with his clothes just as quickly. A breeze sifted through the air, caressing Bryson’s hair as he lifted her body by the hips, digging his blunt nails into her thighs.

Their warm bodies met, and he entered her in one, fluid movement. She gasped as they joined, pressing close together. There was silence as he began to move, then grunted against her neck, swiping kisses in the darkness as they moved together with the night sky and the stars above them. And the breeze flittering. And a hawk crying.

And Bryson’s mind finally silencing.