TWENTY-SEVEN
SAGE
I lean on the counter in the bathroom, pleading with my panicked insides to calm down.
What is wrong with me? I can’t understand why I was so shaken by Kieran again. And this time was so much worse. When he whispered to me, I heard a familiar voice. I wanted to do what he said, and I wanted to hear him say my name. It was horrible and wrong, and the things my mind pictured . . .
I reach up and touch the thin scar on my neck, reminding myself what he did to me, how much I hate him. Because I do; I hate him with the power of a thousand suns. Even more than I hated him this morning. He makes me feel vulnerable and weak. He takes away my will.
And even more frightening, I know he can see it. He’s doing it on purpose.
I wonder if it’s some twisted form of revenge for what my sister did, killing his brother.
I’m still gripping the small black velvet bag in my hand, the medallion on the torque digging into my palm. A torque that belonged to my sister. My sister who’s in goddess hell because she killed millions.
But strangely, relief filled me when it fell from the bag into my palm. And in spite of what my sister was, I want to be wearing it right this second, as if it’s actually mine—as if it’s something I lost, thrilled to have found it again. It’s a bad feeling. I shouldn’t be glad at anything Kieran does.
I look up and study my reflection in the mirror. The painted crescent moon on my brow has dried to a crimson brown.
I have Faelan’s blood on my forehead. Someone else’s blood is on my skin. And I just let him put it on me.
The sensation of it still buzzes in my temples. The smell of him in my head like new life. Like warm grass and rich earth. Strong and comforting.
I breathe in the scent and let it fill me, pushing all thoughts of Kieran from my mind.
I’m loving the smell of someone’s blood. I’m buying into the madness.
But I don’t know what else to do.
Just breathe, Sage. Bide your time.
Behind me there’s a plush, circular red velvet couch sitting in the middle of the ornate bathroom; I consider curling up on it to take a nap since there’s no window to climb out of. Maybe they’ll forget about me.
There’s a knock on the door. “You all right?” Faelan says from outside.
“Yeah,” I call out. Then I whimper to myself, “No.” I don’t want to go back out there. All those faces, the looks, the attention. I don’t know how to process it all. It’s wrong, it’s all wrong.
How can Faelan and Marius expect me to mingle with these people tonight and act normal? It’s a walking nightmare.
The one thing I found out that was actually interesting is that I have a brother. I have no idea what to think about him—he looks like a weird Scottish farmer—and I’m not sure what to call him, but according to Faelan he’s a sibling. Family.
I used to wish for a real family. I wished a million times that my dad would rescue me when my mom—or the woman who I thought was my mom—was on one of her benders. I’d wonder why he never came and found me, why he left me with her. Was it to punish me? Had I done something wrong? I wanted a real family so badly it stung in my lungs. All the kids would draw their moms and dads and sisters and brothers with sunshine in the sky and a tree in the yard, and I’d just ache and draw dragons or fairies.
The irony.
And now I meet my family. And I want to scream.
I wonder how Faelan felt when those smug brothers of his set their wooden box of diamonds at my feet, not even sparing him a glance. His tension was obvious. I couldn’t just let them act like he wasn’t there. It rankled me, like those jocks in high school who think they’re God’s gift to womankind. And that Astrid chick wasn’t doing her gender any favors, fawning over that Duncan guy. If Astrid was really in a relationship with Faelan a long time ago, like Aelia said, why’s she drooling all over his stuck-up brother right in front of him?
I’ve officially decided I don’t like her. If there’s some kind of Astrid-Aelia smackdown in the future, I’m Team Aelia all the way.
“Sage, you can’t hide forever,” Faelan’s muffled voice says.
“Why not?”
The door swings open a crack. His head peeks in. “You’ll have tongues wagging if we stay missing too long.”
“So what?” I groan, plopping down onto the circular couch.
“They’ll think we’re”—his voice lowers—“busy.”
I’m up and out of the bathroom in seconds.
We don’t go back out on the balcony. Instead we go downstairs and out into the courtyard, through the crowd. I’m not sure how people do this all the time, small talk. It’s freaking exhausting. So many faces, sharp gazes cutting through me like a knife. No one looks at me with openness or even curiosity; it’s all cunning and manipulation. I recognize it immediately, the all-too-familiar search for a weakness.
In the foster homes, a lot of the adults or older kids would look at me that way: What can I get out of you? What can you give to me?
I was a means to an end, a monthly check, a possible hit, a potential lay. Never just Sage.
And here I am again, a thing.
Faelan stays close, not engaging any of the people who approach. He just hovers right behind me, ever present.
I nod and keep a fake smile on my face until I think my cheeks might crack. It’s mostly a lot of those underlings, the demigods and demigoddesses remaining on the edges, as if they’re allowing their peasants to take a gander at the newcomer before swooping back in. I can’t always tell what each person is when they approach me with a humble greeting before scuttling off into the crowd again. Some have wings or overly large eyes, so I’m fairly sure they’re pixies, but the selkies and the pixies begin to look very similar as the night wears on. The only way I can tell if it’s a shade talking to me is if they grin wide enough for me to see their small fangs. The alfar are impossible to be sure of. Though I do see a couple of taller, more elegant figures with features similar to Astrid’s: delicate nose, almond-shaped eyes, prominent cheekbones.
Thankfully, there’s not a wraith in sight. Something tells me they wouldn’t be hanging around this highbrow place. The two I saw seemed more like henchmen than partiers.
After about an hour of exhausting smiles and nods, I’m more than relieved when Aelia and her vapid coven approach me with cocktails in their hands.
“Wow, you did phenomenal,” Aelia says, breathless. “Word is, you’re total hot real estate, girl. Seriously. Awesome job.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I say.
She grabs Faelan’s arm, her eyes alight. “Holy Danu, Faelan, you have them talking, brazenly coming out with her onto the balcony. They all think you’re vying for rank again.” She seems to be enjoying this whole thing a lot.
Faelan frowns at her, not a fan.
“It’s my fault,” I say. “I didn’t want people thinking he was my slave or something.”
Aelia gives us a giddy look. “Well, it’s juicy. The girls and I are going to do one more circle around the room, and this time you’re coming, Sage.” When I open my mouth to protest, she adds quickly, “You’ll be perfectly safe now that the protector bond is set, so no excuses. Faelan will be right here.”
I glance at Faelan, hoping for help, but he betrays me, agreeing with her. “Go ahead, I’ll be watching.”
I glare at him and say, “No, thanks. I’ll just stick with Faelan.”
“No arguing, this is a thing,” Aelia says, kissing my cheek. “I’ll be back in ten after a quick makeup refresher.” Then she and her coven are lost in the gathering crowd.
“Thanks a lot,” I say. “Way to save me.”
“May as well just go along for tonight,” Faelan says. “Maybe you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Wow, some warrior you are. Can’t even stand up to a tiny teen girl.”
“Aelia?” he asks. “That wee thing is terrifying.”
“I bet you don’t call her wee to her face.”
“Gods, no.”
Not as many heads turn toward me as we wander through the crowd. I seem to blend in better without a large Faelan shadow. Instead, I follow Aelia and her coven as they filter through the bodies, listening to the snatches of gossip I hear buzzing around us.
There’s a pale young woman talking about how she’s having trouble with her garden, asking for advice from what looks like a pixie. A guy is getting scolded by an older man for not disposing of his “meal” properly—and I don’t think he’s talking about a plate of spaghetti. Two females are whispering about how mind-blowing some guy named Finbar is in bed—
Whoa, wait, isn’t that Faelan’s brother?
I pause, loitering near a tree. Totally not snooping. I’m just taking a break.
Aelia and the other girls keep walking, not realizing that I’ve stopped. I let them go, sticking to the shadows.
“You know he’s bargaining for a Bond,” one of the gossiping females says. She’s a pixie; her wings have a slight blue tint to them in the light. “Hopefully they won’t tame him, whoever they are.”
The other female shakes her head like she’s disappointed. “I was a little surprised he didn’t choose Astrid when he had a chance. She was all over him just after they took her in as a ward. I assumed he was grooming her.”
“Word is he tasted from that vine but wasn’t willing to take his brother’s leftovers on permanently.” The first girl raises her brow conspiratorially.
The other girl scoffs. “Apparently the second son doesn’t have that problem.”
“Well, Prince Duncan is notoriously gullible.”
“Obviously.”
And they both giggle as they wander away.
Wow, sounds like Faelan dodged a bullet.
I lean on the tree, deciding not to go back into the crowd. It’s nice here, just out of the way. People walk by now and then, engrossed in their conversations, but no one seems to notice me. Leaves rustle with the light breeze blowing through the courtyard. The air is a little chilly, but not cold. I fold my arms across my chest, rubbing my upper arms as I look over the crowd and watch the flirting, the glares, the games.
And then I spot Faelan on the other side of the courtyard. I let myself look at him, admiring his tall figure, his shoulders perfectly shaped in that black sweater. I try not to think about how it felt to grip them, his hands holding me close, the taste of his minty-green energy in my skin. Why does he have to be so freaking good-looking? Why couldn’t my first real kiss have been a skinny nerd instead of him? How am I ever going to follow that up?
His features shift like he spotted someone, a fierce look filling his face as he glares at a woman walking toward him. She comes into view, stopping at his side. I can only see the back of her head, but I know right away who it is with that long golden braid curling over her shoulder.
Astrid.
My gut sinks, watching them connect. Even though he’s looking at her like she murdered his dog, I know it takes a lot of history to make that kind of animosity grow between two people.
He says something sharp to her and then turns to walk away, but she touches his arm, stopping him.
His features soften as his eyes fall on her again, and my nerves spark. Don’t give in, Faelan!
He listens to her for a few seconds, and I can’t believe it, but he nods. What could he possibly be agreeing to with that woman? Could he really be dumb enough to buy anything she says?
“Predictable,” I mutter.
“What is?” comes a smooth voice behind me.
I gasp and jerk back as I turn. Kieran is cast in shadow, close enough to touch me. He moves into the light, attempting to see who I was looking at. “Spying, are we?”
I try to swallow but my throat is a desert. The torchlight flickers over his face, softening his features. It casts gold into his hair and makes his silver eyes almost glow.
“Your protector seems preoccupied,” he says. His gaze moves to me. “He’s left you unattended.”
I press my back into the tree. I don’t trust myself to open my mouth to speak. I might scream at him.
“Don’t be afraid, little doe. What happened last night won’t repeat itself.” He steps closer, saying in a low voice, “I truly am sorry to have frightened you. Perhaps I should have approached things differently.”
“You killed me,” I manage to say.
He searches my face and then glances down to my hand. “I see you’re still holding my tribute. Would you let me put it on for you?”
My insides quiver. I shake my head.
He reaches out and gently slides his finger across my knuckle. “It can give you peace. Won’t you trust me, just a little?”
“Never,” I say, but the word seems to float away, meaning nothing, so I add, “Leave me alone.”
“But I can’t. I’m yours and you are mine. There’s no running from that.” He leans closer, nudging my fingers open. “I think you feel it too. I sense your need. I have it inside me as well.” He pulls the velvet sack from my grip. “And yet I know you despise me. So let me help you.”
I just shake my head. “You want revenge,” I say. “My sister killed your brother, and you want to drive me crazy for it.”
He studies my face, conflict in his features. He doesn’t deny it.
“You killed me,” I choke out again, mostly to remind myself.
“No. I set you free,” he whispers. And he pulls the necklace from the sack, holding the bronze medallion in front of my face. “Let me do it again.”
I stare at him, seeing care and determination but no threat. Why don’t I see the threat I know is there? Why won’t he tell me what he wants?
He places the necklace on my chest and reaches around slowly, gently setting the clasp into place. His fingers brush my nape, sending a rush of cold through me. But strangely it’s not an unpleasant feeling. It tingles in my lungs and throat. Then he steps back, giving me space.
And in an instant, my fear and my helplessness all shift to rage in my gut. As he pulls away, I get the urge to lunge at him, kick him in the balls, claw his face. Warmth fills my chest, and I stop cringing away, standing firm. In total control again.
“Next time you touch me without permission,” I growl, “I break your fingers.”
A new grin lifts his lips as he moves back a little more, like he’s admiring me. “Well, well, there she is. Stunning. I hoped it would be this way with you. As soon as I felt you blossom in the night three months ago, I was sure of our connection.”
I blink, confused. “What are you talking about? I have absolutely no connection to you.” But my mind betrays me as his familiar gaze stares back at me, the memory of those silver eyes looking down on me still vivid. Once again, I see the need, the hunger, as our bodies moved together, as I melted into him, into the clover underneath me, wanting it all to last forever . . .
Heat pulses in my skin, my heart thumping like mad against my ribs.
He smirks, motioning to my body. “Of course, if you say so.”
I look down and—
Flames slink over my arms, the same as earlier today with Faelan. Warm and comforting. And empowering.
“It’s lovely,” he says, moving into the shadows a little, the glow of my fire blinding me. “It’s exactly as I hoped it would be. And it wants me burned to a crisp.” A smile lights his eyes, making them glow in the dark. “I knew you had the sun inside you.”
The flames pulse lower, fading into my skin as my fear and confusion rise.
He turns to focus on the crowd like he heard something. “Your protector approaches,” he says. “Looking very disagreeable. That’s my cue to leave.” Before I realize what he’s doing, he reaches out, brushing a finger over the scar he gave me. “We’ll continue this later.” And then he’s gone, leaving black smoke curling in the air in front of me.