Page 97 of As Above, So Below

A tug in my chest pulls me toward the innate painter, and I freeze, confused. Glancing around, nothing appears out of place and the male on the stage isn’t looking in my direction. Fire springs from his fingers, revealing the shape of the ward he’d created: a stag. It bounds around the small stage before leaping behind the painter onto the street.

Stopping before a brown-haired fae female, she stares in wonder at the creation, the male beside her wearing a broad smile. It’s the hooded figure behind them staring directly at me that causes my breath to hitch in my chest.

Ryc.

A smirk plays at his lips before he slips to his right, around the couple with the stag, and begins his approach. My ridiculous, foolish little heart begins to race as I openly stare at him.

I cannot lose sight of what I need.

I cannot let him distract me.

If I’m going to offer him a contract, I need to figure him out.

“I see you like your gift well enough,” he says, his voice low as he slides in beside me, the crowd forcing us to stand inches apart. He stands facing me, my shoulder near grazing his chest, his face turned toward the painter.

All I can focus on is thetensionconsuming the little space between us.

Gods this is going to be a fucking mess.

I’m a fucking mess.

If I somehow manage to pull this offwithouttaking him to my bed, it will be a testament to my ability to dissociate.

Lifting my face to stare up at him, I clamp down on my resolve and say, “Openly admit to staring at my thighs again and you’ll find your gift returned to you. Buried in your throat.”

He laughs, a lighthearted genuinely amused sound. “Not the thank you I expected, but I’ll take it.”

I scoff a laugh. “Tell me stalker, what brings you to me today?”

Ryc chuckles, nodding toward the painter. “I was here long before you, little witch. Lilith is around here somewhere.” He glances about, giving a half-hearted shrug.

I search the crowd for a head of crimson hair or a forest green hood and find nothing.

“So, I ask you the same. What brings you to me?” The teasing in his voice is clear.

Fighting against my now thundering heart, I give a dry laugh. “You flatter yourself, fae. I’m here with a couple of friends.” I peer over my shoulder, finding Eve and Cora standing near the back of the crowd.

Cora watches the painter with glee. Eve watches me with pursed lips and furrowed brows. Ryc follows my gaze.

“I know your one friend. The one with the scowl,” he says quietly with a smirk. “Our paths have crossed before.”

“I am her Lilith.” I muse and he nods slowly, understanding the comparison.

His face swings to me as he offers me an arm. “Walk with me?”

With surprisingly little hesitation, I take the invitation as I attempt to slow the whirling thoughts in my head. My innate coils around itself but remains strangely calm.

He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, the size of his rendering mine tiny. Silver embroidered ivy curls around the cuff of his sleeve—a detail he always seems to wear. I’m all too aware of the feel of him touching me as he leads me through the crowd, away from the innate painter. He falls in beside me once the crowd thins, and before long we settle into a leisurely pace along the street.

The world seems to rush past us.

People bustling along, haggling for goods. There’s laughter and music, and the scent of various baked goods and herbs. And again, it becomes too easy to forget about everything, everything aside from him. It’s as if we’ve walked these streets hundreds of times before, a strange sense of comfort and familiarity working itself up my spine.

It teases me with a peaceful future I’ll never have.

Not as long as Netharis hunts me.

“What do you want, Ryc?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “I need to understand why you insist on seeking me out.”