Page 42 of Finding Her (Lore of the Fields #1)

“Alright, first you should learn something simple and tasteful,” I stated, eyes scanning the assortment of tools, garnish, and liquids before us. “Grab the pink. It’s called Roseus.” I pointed to a thick orange liquid. “And that, it’s called Starmise.”

Faeryn was a vision in her knee-length, misty blue linen dress.

The straps over her shoulders tied into bows, taking up the space where her hair would normally fall.

In preparation for our activities, she had wrapped her tresses into a loose knot on the back of her head, with a strand or two escaping the hold to frame her face.

She tiptoed barefoot, back and forth across the length of the counter to follow my instructions and familiarize herself with the layout.

“Now you want approximately two-thirds Starmise on the bottom, and one-third Roseus on top.” Her pours were confident, a quality that would do her well when attempting to blend in.

“Perfect. Now, a sprinkle of Vivina spice on top.” I handed her a small ceramic jar.

“And garnish with a petal.” I nodded my head to the dish of petals in front of her.

“Did I do it?” She held the pretty drink in her palm, rotating the glass and inspecting it with inquisitive eyes.

I was sure I couldn’t have done better myself, but greedily took a confirmatory taste of her work regardless. “You’re a natural.” I grinned approvingly and licked the sweet and salty taste from my lips.

She gave it a sniff before testing it herself, likely reacting to the memory of her first Drooler. This drink smelled like working outside on a spring day, not a mechanic’s waste bin. A second sip accompanied by a smile confirmed that she enjoyed the beverage.

“Pleased?”

“It’s delicious.” She took a confident gulp.

“It’s Rouge Inamorata. Rouge for short. If you’d like to know why, just look at your reflection.

” I directed her to the mirror around the corner of the hallway.

The drink was popular among individuals who enjoyed cosmetics; it provided a deep pink tint to the lips of those drinking it.

That’s why I’d been so careful to lick my lips clean from its traces; I didn’t find pink to be my color.

“How does that happen?” I watched a sliver of her admiring herself from where I stood. Feeling rather left out, I made my way to her side.

“It’s magic.” I rested both hands on her shoulders and stared ahead at her reflection.

“ It’s magic ” was Trebianna slang for “ nobody tells us anything so I guess we’ll be blaming the divine ”.

Usually the saying was used with snark, implying magic couldn’t be the answer.

Although my bitterness for our society’s power imbalance remained, I had absolutely come to believe in magic since meeting Faeryn.

These days, I found myself using the phrase with more affection than malice.

My heart stopped for a moment as I took in the way her smaller frame stood under mine, my hands holding her sloped shoulders possessively. I focused on committing the visual to memory, knowing it wouldn’t last much longer.

“It has relatively low alcohol content, making it perfect for a calm night out. It’s also a popular date drink.” Lipstick may smudge, but this hue would remain undisturbed for the half-life of the beverage.

Before I had the opportunity to let her go, which I would’ve done eventually , her hand took mine and began to drag me back to the kitchen. We had a long lineup to get through, and she was clearly determined to cram as much education as possible into her head before the night was over.

I struggled to stay focused as she repeatedly asked me for the next task.

My attention was consumed by the curve of her cheek, the dip of her waist, and the way her body swayed rhythmically to each location I directed it to.

She enjoys following instructions . What else could I ask her to do for me?

It would be so easy to curl over her, use my own hands to guide hers right where I wanted them.

There were so many places I wanted her curious fingers to touch for me. The alcohol must be getting to my head.

The kitchen had fallen into disarray over the course of the evening.

Ingredients and empty glasses from long-since-ingested cocktails cluttered the counter.

The view was more “ mad scientist ” than “ pub ”, and I wondered what I did on the clock to avoid things falling into this degree of chaos.

I supposed I usually didn’t indulge myself while working.

“Alright,” my voice slurred unexpectedly. “There’s only one drink left to make and it’s the most damaging one. A teaspoon will get you tipsy.” Had I passed tipsy already? Had she ?

“What’s this one’s name?” She used her elbow to support her weight on the counter, confirming my suspicions. Despite the clear deviation in motor control, her relaxed eyes were attentive.

“Poison Noire.” I pulled the tiny vial out of my pocket, having been too cautious to leave it out. The inky consistency stuck to the sides as I twirled it around. “ I will be making this one tonight. A slip of the wrist and you can kill someone. If anyone orders it, please request supervision .”

“Sounds dangerous.” She playfully wiggled her eyebrows and bit her lip at me.

I considered how it would feel to bite her lip in turn, my mouth salivating in a moment of imaginative weakness. I felt an enthusiastic throb inside my trousers.

“Don’t leave me hanging.” Her lax voice was songlike.

Obediently, I pulled a short square glass to the edge of the counter, tilted the vial, and let a single drop fall to the bottom. It seemed to grow as it coated the base without losing opacity. Faeryn moved closer to my side, watching with interest while resting her head on my arm.

Focus . I grabbed a bottle of clear liquor, now half empty from all the drinks we’d concocted already, and poured some into the glass.

Immediately, the blackness swallowed it, removing all transparency and causing the surface to sizzle.

The garnish of powdered sweetener on top would do nothing to mask the taste, but it provided an aesthetic speckling of white not unlike the snowflakes in the night sky.

I would try this one first. Despite my confidence that I hadn’t overdone it, better safe than sorry.

“It’s correct,” I croaked, thudding my fist against my chest to encourage the burn to trickle the rest of the way down my esophagus.

“Does it taste bad?” She took a whiff, probably confused by the absence of odor. Much like the ideal poison, this substance was undetectable through scent until it was too late.

“Awful,” I laughed through a hoarse cough. “Please take only a sip. The effects take a moment to kick in.”

Her eyes locked with mine as she tilted the glass to her faded, rosy lips.

She choked for a moment, then swallowed smoothly without breaking her gaze from mine.

Her tongue dabbed at her lips. I couldn’t tell if it was purposely seductive, but my interests were thoroughly piqued.

I lifted my eyebrows in appreciation, holding out a glass of water to chase the unpleasant concoction.

My cock began to lengthen against my thigh.

“Thank you.” Her lids closed as she took several heavy gulps, a clumsy stream dripping down her chin and onto her breast. She had no clue what she was doing to me.

Or maybe she did, as I detected her honeysuckle sweetness thickening in the air.

That, or I was intoxicated and imagining what I wanted—that she was as hopelessly infatuated with me as I was with her.

“You did great tonight,” I praised with a rumble in my chest, my legs betraying me as they stepped closer. I had to crane my neck downward to fixate on the sparkling emeralds of her stare.

“I had so much fun!” she cheered with arms above her head, her feet stumbled forward in my direction, threatening to topple her over.

I caught Faeryn’s waist with both hands, steadying her into an upright position. There was barely air separating us, her scent was all-consuming. “You’re quite the lightweight, aren’t you?” I teased.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” She flung her arms around my neck and leaned into me. “Thanks for catching me,” she murmured into my chest. I was grateful that her full breasts forced some separation between our lower halves, worried my body’s excitement would be unwelcome if detected.

“I promise I’ll always be there to catch you.

” I meant those words with every ounce of my being.

Had I been sober, I’m sure that their transparency would have terrified me.

Regardless, it was true. It didn’t matter what happened, I would claw my way to the end of the world to make sure that my precious Little Fae always had a safe place to fall.

“Always?” she repeated softly, a finger wedging itself between the gaps in my shirt buttons.

“Forever.” I was dying to confess my unwavering devotion. My energy, my time, my attention, my possessions, my body, my soul—it was all hers. I would sign the contract in blood right now, if that’s what she wanted.

“That’s quite the offer,” she hummed, rubbing her face into my chest. The friction felt incredible. My groin began to ache with need as it strained against the fabric holding it down.

“I’m committed to giving you anything you want from life. Tell me what you desire and it’s yours.” Promises spilled from my lips as my defenses lowered. I would give her the world or die trying, and I needed her to know that.

She tilted her chin up to return my gaze, her honey-sweet breath wafting over me.

I became acutely aware that the aroma in the air was undeniably beyond her typical essence.

It was delicious, begging me to consume her.

My tender Little Fae was wet and wanting, and it was up to me to decide what to do next.

Surely all of the urges filling my being were ill-advised.