Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 121339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121339 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Half of them burst out laughing as the stormbacks walked out of the barn, their heads bobbing with each step. Stratow glanced over the gathered fae, snorting through his nostrils as he passed.
They detest the flatlands, Tarian told her, the thought something like a faint murmur. They also get annoyed this close to the fringe. They have a keen sense of the purity of magic and are having a hard time tolerating how out of balance things have become.
Purity? she asked.
He turned to her, his large hand coming around to brace along the curve of her hip. He splayed his fingers, gently squeezing in something akin to possession, as though he couldn’t help himself.
Warmth emanated from his presence and touch, sizzling along her body. She was thankful his gaze was directed behind her, affording her the space to breathe in his delicious proximity, bathe in his sensual heat, and bask in the buzz between them that licked along her nerve endings. It had to be her ability to heighten his magic, though it felt so horribly divine.
He looked down at her, his eyelids hooded. I have to pour magic into the crystal chalice to activate its—your properties. It’s complicated and taxing, and trust me, I’m not doing it right now. This buzz isn’t magic. It’s chemistry, little dove. Our chemistry.
Call it whatever you want, but the gods created it.
Maybe. His gaze traveled over her face. Or maybe you’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t help my attraction to you. And vice versa.
She crinkled her nose at him, but she couldn’t deny that she agreed about his incredible appearance, from his breathtakingly handsome face, to his spectacular physique, to his confidence and swagger. She liked what she saw and loved watching him move. Still, she’d seen handsome men before, and she’d never felt this way. She’d never been mesmerized by their touch and delighted by their witty banter. She’d never felt this desperation—this ache—for someone. If it wasn’t magic, she was utterly fucked, because their story couldn’t end any other way besides tragically.
His chuckle was a ripple of black satin. Suit yourself. Regardless, I’m not trying to distract you in that way right now, though it is working admirably. Despite what Stratow said, stormbacks are prickly creatures. They don’t like being talked about unless they can hear what is said. They find it incredibly rude not to have their say, and rudeness is never tolerated. He might decide not to do me this huge favor, and that would add days to our journey. Days we can’t waste.
I assume they are far enough away not to hear my broadcasted comments.
His smile was faint. Yes. And so we’re going to pretend to drink in each other’s proximity while we wait for them to be ready. And maybe we’re going to…
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. An explosion of pleasure lit up her world. She clutched him, her eyes drifting closed, her mouth opening. His tongue darted in, swiping through, filling her with his taste. Her fingers tightened, but she forced them open again, leaning away. Considered slapping him. More than considered slapping herself.
He smiled deviously. Go ahead. If the former, let’s see if you can land it. If the latter…that’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure the others would get a kick out of it, too.
She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.
Purity of magic meaning…the rightness of it, I guess, he said, staying close but allowing some space. Fae magic isn’t like human magic. It is not isolated to the person who wields it. We derive our magic from Faerie itself. Magic here is circular. We are all part of it—we feed from it, and it from us. So if the wylds get twisted, for example—corrupted—or the Obsidian royals or various creatures get twisted, that feeds back into Faerie. It disrupts the magical system and creates a ripple effect. If a fae or creature gets too bad, like that darkrend, it cannot be redeemed. It must be destroyed so that Faerie—the magic of Faerie—can heal itself and everything can return to perfect harmony. Balance. The dawn brings the light so that it may shine. The light must give way to dusk so that the dark may have its reign. And so on. Dark and light, with dawn and dusk to balance them out. If things are too light or too dark, it pulls everything out of balance. The magic tries to compensate, and twisted magic is fed into the minds of all who draw upon it. It twists the very fabric of Faerie. Does that make sense?
The Celestial colors… Sunrise and sunset, the colors so remarkably similar but reversed in order of appearance.
He nodded.
So the stormbacks can feel the imbalance?
Yes. Even when it is subtle. They are gravely worried about Faerie, which is probably why they are lowering themselves to acting as transport. They’re doing their part. I think the wylds helping you was the same. The heart of Faerie wants to right itself, but it needs help. Our help, as I explained. He ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw. Look over my shoulder and see if the stormbacks are nearly ready. They detest being rushed.