Page 2 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

LYRION

T hat kiss was... not normal. And I don’t mean in the poetic sense. I mean literally .

Her breath is still shaky, her cheeks flushed, and her brown eyes are wide as she stares up at me.

I step back a fraction. Just enough to get my bearings, to stop myself from doing it again. Because I want to. I want to seal my mouth over hers, press her up against the wall, and devour her entirely.

Something is definitely wrong. I never lose control.

Not like this.

Ever.

Fierce possessiveness surges through me as I gaze at her lips, swollen from our kiss. My entire body is flushed with warmth as my pulse pounds in my ears.

Vaelar help me, I’m already leaning toward her, my hand half-raised as if to touch her again before I force myself to pull back.

“That,” I rasp, swallowing hard, “wasn’t normal.”

No, that was madness—primal instinct taking over. Years of training, of self-discipline, of control all gone the moment her eyes locked with mine.

My head is still spinning, and not from the headache. That’s faded to the background, replaced by a strange humming warmth beneath my skin that pulses harder every time I look at her mouth.

Which is rather lovely, I must admit.

Stars above, why did I do that? Blinking hard, I pull back, dragging a hand over my face, willing my thoughts to organize themselves.

Something is wrong. I’m not some impulsive Goblin. I am an Elf. A scholar. A noble. And I do not kiss shop girls. Especially human ones.

Even if she is undeniably beautiful, with her long golden hair coming loose from its ribbon, her honey-brown eyes, her delicate features, the softly-rounded shells of her human ears, and her worn, flour-dusted apron tied tight around her waist.

She is much shorter than an Elven female. The top of her head doesn’t quite reach my chin.

I noticed her the first time I came into this ridiculous little café two months ago, shortly after I arrived here in Oakvale.

She spilled an entire tray of tea and turned bright red while mopping it up.

She apologized so many times I feared she might have been hexed.

But when I gently probed with my magic, I found no dark spells or enchantments attached to her, thank the gods.

After that, I dismissed her, of course. Humans are beneath my kind. They tend to be rather emotional, a bit unrefined instead of elegantly poised, and they are often quite loud.

She stands before me, blinking up at me like I just kissed her senseless.

Which, to be fair, I did.

I drag a hand down my face. What in the world did she put in that tea?

“Tell me,” I say, sharper than I mean to. “Exactly what you brewed.”

“I—I don’t know. I mean, I—I followed the recipe… I think.”

“You think ?” I ask incredulously.

She bites her bottom lip, and I stare at her mouth, completely transfixed.

Stars, I want to kiss her again.

“I might have, um… misread one or two of the labels.” She winces. “The swirly one with the double dots and the fancy loop. Or maybe it was the one with the triple curl. But I thought it smelled right.”

My lips part as I stare at her in shock.

“I’m still learning.” She wrings her hands in her skirt. “That’s why I tried to turn you away. I’m not actually trained. Not properly anyway.”

“You’re not—” I cut myself off with a curse in Elvish.

She flinches, and I immediately hate myself for it.

This isn’t her fault. Not entirely. I should’ve waited until morning. I should’ve walked away when she said the café was closed.

I exhale slowly, trying to gather my thoughts and not stare at her lips again like some lovesick fool. But even now, even knowing something’s not right, I still feel it. This intense need to pull her close and taste her again.

As my gaze travels over her form, a low purr builds in my chest and my magic hums beneath my heated skin.

This is a spell of some sort . A rather strong one. Something woven with ingredients that shouldn’t be mixed without intention. Perhaps it’s lust magic, or maybe an old bonding potion—something rarely used anymore.

Whatever it is, it feels good. Too good.

We must break this enchantment before I do something else I’ll regret. “We need to undo this. Immediately. Now, show me the recipe you used.”

She nods, eyes wide. “Yes. I—I’ll get the book.”

She’s already turning, scampering toward the kitchen. I follow, scrubbing a hand down my face, trying to fight off the residual heat in my blood.

What in the seven hells did she mix into that potion? Whatever it is, I’m having difficulty concentrating because all I want to do is seal my mouth over hers and kiss her again.

When we step into the kitchen, Isobel rushes toward the dozens of shelves along the back wall. “I think I may have accidentally grabbed—”

Her words cut off as she stumbles over her own feet in a tangle of skirts with a startled squeak, her arms pinwheeling wildly in an attempt to regain balance.

I move, but not fast enough as her hand grasps the edge of the closest shelf. Time slows, and horror fills me as the rows of shelves come crashing down.

Glass jars tumble like tiny, glittering stars, shattering with a symphony of sharp, crystalline sounds.

Lids pop free, spinning away like discarded coins, clattering across the wooden floor.

An explosion of herbs fills the air—crushed lavender mixing with powdered rosehips, chamomile spilling into a heap of crushed peppermint leaves.

The pungent cloud billows upward, filling the room with the overwhelming scents of a hundred botanical ingredients suddenly freed from their containers.

Smoke rises in the corner of the room as the potion book burns, lit by a candle that toppled over in the chaos. Grabbing a nearby pitcher, I douse it with water, but it’s too late. The pages are little more than ash at this point.

We both freeze, staring in stunned silence at the destruction spread across the floor.

Isobel sinks to her knees, her small form visibly shaking beneath the pale blue fabric of her dress. A soft, broken whimper slips from her lips as she presses her palms against her eyes and begins to sob.

These are not gentle, delicate tears, like an Elf might shed. These are loud, hiccupping, messy sobs—the kind only a human could manage.

I stand rooted to the spot. Panic crawls steadily up my spine, not because of the herbs, nor even the potion’s lingering enchantment that still pulses treacherously through my veins, but because I have no idea what to do with a crying human.

Elves don’t normally cry. We meditate, breathe deeply, internalize our emotions until they dissipate into neat, manageable compartments. But this? This outpouring of emotion spilling so openly from Isobel… this is completely beyond my experience.

She is most definitely not internalizing anything.

Swallowing hard, I cross the small distance between us. Carefully, I crouch beside her, hovering for a moment before awkwardly extending my hand to pat her shoulder. Twice. Gently.

“Um… There, there,” I say, trying to figure out the best way to diffuse this situation.

She doesn’t look up, just continues sobbing into her hands, shoulders shaking. Frustration twists in my gut. I should say something comforting, something eloquent.

Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind.

“It’s going to be alright,” I offer stiffly, hoping that does it.

“No, it’s not,” she wails. Her lovely face is stained with tears, her cheeks all blotchy. “I’ve ruined everything. When Tressa sees this… when she finds out what I’ve done, I’ll be finished. I can’t lose this job. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bewitch you.”

I blink in confusion. “Bewitch?”

Vaelar help me, she doesn’t even know the difference between a bewitching spell and a potion.

She emits another hiccupping sob, pressing her hands back to her flushed, tear-streaked face.

I stare helplessly down at her, the sounds of her distress creating an uncomfortable ache in my chest. Something foreign, prickly, and distinctly unpleasant.

It must be indigestion .

“There’s no need for tears,” I speak softly, trying to calm her. “I’ll tell Tressa it was my fault.”

Her head snaps up, confusion mixing with tentative hope. “You will?”

I nod.

“How?”

“I’ll… make something up.” I shrug. “It shouldn’t be that hard. Tressa is Fae and, like humans, they are easily suggestible.”

Her mouth drops open in offense.

“I didn’t mean that condescendingly,” I amend.

She arches a skeptical brow. “Yes, you did.”

I open my mouth, ready to deny it, then think better of it and shut it again. Well, fair enough.

She wipes clumsily at her cheeks with the back of one sleeve, determination flashing in her gaze. “I want to pay you back. I’ll do anything. Just name it.”

And then, just as I’m about to reassure her again, it hits me.

The pull. The pulse. The irresistible, overwhelming urge ignited by her disastrous potion roars back to life, scorching through my veins with unrelenting force. My thoughts scatter, the world narrowing instantly to the soft fullness of her lips, now slightly swollen from our passionate kiss.

My magic hums urgently toward her, yearning, hungry, and entirely inappropriate.

Her eyes widen sharply, and she takes a small step back.

“I—I mean… almost anything. But I’m not the sort of girl who would ever, you know, just give out favors just because you’re”—she gestures vaguely in my direction, her face turning an even deeper shade of crimson—“all sharp-cheeked handsomeness and… Elfy.”

Elfy?

I purse my lips, thoroughly insulted that she would even think I might suggest something so improper. “I wasn’t going to ask you for that .”

She squints suspiciously.

“Obviously, I wouldn’t,” I add, sniffing primly. “You’re human.”

“What does me being human have to do with anything?” she asks indignantly.

Moon’s mercy—why did I say that part out loud?

“You’re right.” I wince inwardly at how unnecessarily harsh and judgmental my words were. “My apologies.”

“No.” She shakes her head as tears well in her eyes. “I shouldn’t be snapping at you. This is all my fault. I’m the one who accidentally poisoned you with desire tea, apparently.”

I bite back an impatient sigh. It’s obvious Isobel understands very little of magic and potions. “It wasn’t desire tea.”

“Are you sure?”

If it was, we’d both be all over each other right now, unable to resist the pull of such a strong spell.

And when morning came, I’d have to take her to the nearest temple to speak our vows.

Which would likely result in the early death of both my parents from mortification that their son took a human as his bondmate . “I’m positive.”

As I gaze at her, a horrifying thought strikes me. Is it just her, or will this cursed potion make me want to kiss every person I lay eyes on? The idea of being seized by an uncontrollable urge to kiss random strangers fills me with a wave of revulsion so strong I almost groan aloud.

What an appalling possibility. I’d rather eat a dozen raw snails than kiss a Goblin.

“I have herbs at my cottage,” I say, gathering my composure. “If we’re to fix this, we’ll need to recreate the mixture. If you’ll please come with me, we’ll see if you recognize any of the herbs. Then you can repay me by helping identify the ingredients. Nothing else.”

She gives me a skeptical look. “You want me to come to your house?”

“To break the potion’s effects.”

“And if we don’t?” she asks a bit hesitantly. “What happens then?”

“Then I’ll likely be influenced for the next two weeks,” I admit grimly. “Possibly a month.”

Her expression crumples. “Oh stars.”

I sigh heavily. “Oh stars, indeed.”