Page 15 of Nix and Tell (The Arun Nixes #1)

15

Chlo

T he world feels different in the morning. The sky is bluer, birdsong more melodic, and the pastries from Finn’s bakery seem extra delicious.

The Riverside Shops are usually all closed on a Sunday morning, but I’d messaged Finn the previous day to ask about being able to pick up some fresh pastries, and she’d acquiesced with only the slightest bout of teasing.

I pack up a picnic basket, and try and hold onto patience, whilst Violet slumbers.

Slumbers makes it sound peaceful, but good grief the woman has a pair of lungs on her. Even so, I wouldn’t have swapped out sleeping next to her for anything. Having her warm body pressed against my own, turning me into the little spoon for the very first time, helped release any of the tension that I had left in my body. I’d slept soundly.

Not quite as soundly as her, apparently. When she finally raised her head, hair mussed beyond belief, I’d showered and dressed, and was absent-mindedly spinning some wool.

“Morning lovely! Isn’t it a gorgeous day?” She laughed when I raised an eyebrow at her perkiness. “Yes, I wake up this cheerful. Gods I slept like the deep. How did you sleep?”

“Pretty well. Get dressed; we’re going out for breakfast… brunch.”

“Ooooo… that’s exciting. What’s the plan?” My refusal to answer doesn’t dim her spirits in the slightest, and she dances out of bed and across the room in front of me, completely starkers. “Chlo… Chlo …”

My self-control only works for so long. If I thought her breasts bounced in her gothic skater dresses, that’s nothing to how much they bounce about as I watch her pirouette freely across the room.

“Chlo Chlo Chlo! Tell meeeeeeeeee .”

“You are brattier than any Domme has right to be.”

“Don’t you know that Dommes are just brats with power?” She pauses to lean down towards me, and I swear I could die happy right now, smothered by her breasts. “I could order you…”

“You could, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise, and we both know that you’ll much prefer it to a be surprise in the long run.”

That makes her think for a moment. “In that case, I shall allow you to keep the surprise to yourself whilst I shower.”

“How magnanimous of you.” She stalks imperiously to the bathroom, and just as the door closes behind her, I hear her mutter “damn service subs”. There’s laughter in her voice though, and I know she’s not actually annoyed with me.

Besides, I want to surprise her. This is more than just sex or a good kink scene—so much so that I fought a goddess-drawn compulsion.

I want to take her down the river on a boat, though not here. There are too many fae eyes in Wyvern Bridge, specifically fae eyes that are far too fond of a capsized boat for me to trust my mortal on the river near them.

It’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to give in to the lure of the river, and I suppose in some ways Trisantona is getting what she wanted after all.

It’s still quiet when we leave the shop, and walk out of the village, only stopping at Spellbound for Vi o brew up some tea. “I like seeing your scales,” she says. “It’s like a secret between you and me.” I’ve never considered my scales as anything more than something to hide, but the way that her eyes linger on them, like a caress, has me wanting show them off for her some more.

We follow the river walkway away from the village for about twenty minutes, until we come to where a rowboat is moored on the bank.

Violet looks a little wary. “Hazel said something about not going to a river with a river nix…”

“You’re under the protection of Trisantona now; I’m not sure I could drown you even if I wanted to. Which I very much do not want to, for clarity. No drowning here. And we’re far away enough from the village that we should be able to avoid any unwanted attention.”

I don’t say that there are some specific fae that I don’t want to start paying attention to Violet, but there’s a reason why Kit is completely estranged from her family. Running the funeral directors has worked brilliantly to help them cover up any not-so-accidental deaths.

She nods slowly, and allows me to help her into the boat carefully. I settle the picnic basket in the hull, and roll up my sleeves. Rowing in a gym can’t compete with rowing against the currant of a river, and when we push off, I feel Trisantona’s power reach out, as if trying to draw us back towards her.

“Stop it,” I mutter. “I’m introducing her to the Arun, but we’re keeping it lowkey.”

That must have appeased her, because she loosens her hold, and off we go. With most nixes, it’s the river that reaches out towards them, but for me it’s the plants. Tendrils and fronds reach up as the boat passes on through, never quite catching us. When one particularly stubborn starwort plant refuses to let go, I pause my rowing to stroke it.

That might have been a mistake.

As soon as they sense me, they’re all reaching out for me, trying to wind themselves round my fingers and up my arms.

“Who needs tattoos when you have plants?” Violet’s voice trembles slightly, and I realise that she’s unsure about how safe this is.

“They just miss me, is all,” I explain. “I’ve always been a plant magic kind of fae; makes me a real oddity in the nix community.”

Eventually I disentangle myself and we make our way to a key, where I’m able to pull up to the shore, and we can disembark.

It’s quiet out here, warm for March, as if Belenus is smiling down on us himself. It’s the perfect place for a picnic; farming land that’s gone fallow for a season, with a clear area for me to place our picnic blanket. I pull out cushions—nothing but comfort for my Domme—and set out brunch for us both.

“I can see why you didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” says Violet. She’s leaning up against me, sipping a Bellini, crumbs from a croissant all around her mouth and top. I kiss them away, and then let my lips linger.

“It is very pretty here,” I agree. “My parents used to bring me down here when I was a kid, before the gods were back. We’d picnic and pretend that we weren’t weirdly different for reasons that none of us could quite comprehend.”

“You didn’t know you were fae?”

“Being fae didn’t mean anything when there was no magic in the world; we just had a weird allergy to metal, and short tempers. It’s not that I’m grumpy in general, I’m just quick to anger, and keeping conversations short means I’m less likely to lose my temper over something ridiculous.”

“What happens when you lose your temper?” asks Violet carefully. Her eyes shutter, as if remembering something that should have been left far in the past.

“Not a huge amount. I know better than to lose it around other people, although that does mean that I’m more self-critical than my mum likes. A healthy obsession usually helps dissipate the intensity of it all—most of us are obsessed with the river and swimming. For me it was clothing. Natural fibres resonate, and dampen the frustrations.”

There’s relief in her eyes. “I see. That makes sense.”

“Are you alright?” I’m blunt because I’m not sure how else to phrase it, and because I don’t want her to misunderstand my meaning. “Me talking about losing my temper… it felt like you were withdrawing for a moment.”

Her smile is strained. “I had an ex who had a bit of a temper. Nothing physical, just sharp words aimed to wound. I don’t like being reminded of that relationship much.”