To Stir a Fae's Passion

by Nadine Mutas

  “Seventeen years? I didn’t know hawks could live that long.”

  “That, and longer. Fates willing, she’ll be my friend for years to come yet.” She blinked, and a sudden darkness swept over her face. She peered at him from underneath her lashes, then quickly looked away. A muttered word in her language prompted Kîna to push off her arm and take off with powerful flaps of her wings.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said quietly while he watched the graceful flight of the raptor.

  “If you are nice, I’ll ask her to hunt for you.” She started walking again. “Something tells me you won’t be satisfied with a rabbit for lunch.”

  Oh, he could be more than nice to her. If only she let him… “I’m forever at your service, milady.”

  She paused, turned to him. “Don’t ever say that to a fae unless you plan to enslave yourself. Be very careful how you speak. Fae take a lot of things literally, and many will hold you to an oath like that.”

  He let out a breath, nodded. “Point taken.”

  They started back on their trek, the hawk circling high above them, and thirty minutes later they reached a cottage set at the edge of a small lake.

  “Let me do the talking,” Isa told him as they approached the front door, which featured intricate metal ornaments.

  Before she even raised her hand to knock, the door swung open, revealing a tall, slender fae male with skin the color of pewter. He was half-bald, the other side of his head covered with long hair of gleaming silver. Numerous metal piercings adorned his nose, eyebrows, lips, and pointed ears.

  His golden eyes flicked from Isa to Basil, studying him for a few seconds before he focused on Isa again and said something in Fae. She responded, waved at Basil, said some more, and part of her answer must have caught the fae’s attention, because a calculating spark lit his eyes, and he beckoned for them both to enter.

  The main room was packed with objects of every size and origin, so many, and so wildly assorted, it reminded Basil of the Room of Hidden Things in Harry Potter. The opposite wall was barely visible behind the piles and towers of valuables and collectibles.

  “I understand you wish to find something rare and special,” the fae said in English, his voice a deep bass with a metallic echo. The piercings in his lips moved as he smiled. “I happen to have a soft spot for such things.”

  “Not a thing,” Isa said. “A person.”

  The fae raised his silver brows. “And who would that be?”

  “A changeling, brought into Faerie many years ago. A witch baby, to be precise. Her exchange may well have been hidden.”

  Narrowing his eyes, the fae murmured, “A witch… That is indeed rare. We do not usually dare anger them thus.”

  “Have you heard anything about a witch living among us? About a witch baby brought here? The swap would have happened more than two decades ago.”

  “Hmm.” The fae stroked his chin, tapped his lips. “I think…I might have heard…” He made a frustrated sound. “Alas, my mind is not what it used to be. If only something could…jog my memory.” He tilted his head, smiled at Isa.

  She sighed. “Name your price, Hathôm.”

  “I want the dagger strapped to this one’s lower back.” He indicated Basil with a nod. “The one with the blade of palladium.”

  Basil raised his brows. “Your element is metal, I take it?”

  “Quite obviously so.” The fae smiled and waved at his silver hair, gold eyes, and the abundance of piercings on his face.

  “That dagger is worth a lot of money,” Basil said.

  “As is the information stored in here.” The fae tapped his head.

  Basil gnashed his teeth and fisted and opened his hand before drawing the dagger out of its sheath. He offered the blade to the fae, hilt first. “I promise you this dagger in exchange for all the information you have about the witch changeling.”

  Hathôm inclined his head. “Deal.”

  The dagger moved in Basil’s hand, and he let go, watched as it floated toward the fae. Hathôm gently grasped the hilt, caressed the polished silver of its palladium blade. A pang pierced Basil’s heart. That dagger had been a gift for his eighteenth birthday. From Hazel. Though he could handle steel blades, he’d always preferred weapons made from other metals. Knowing what he did now about his true ancestry, it made sense—iron weakened fae.

  And another thing occurred to him…Hazel must have known, too, that he’d have issues with iron and, to a lesser degree, with steel. So the dagger made of palladium—a metal related to platinum, but much lighter and thus making it a perfect weapon to carry strapped to his body at all times—had been, in fact, not just an expensive gift, but a thoughtful one as well.

  “The information,” Isa interrupted Basil’s conflicted pondering.

  Hathôm snapped out of his admiration of the valuable blade. “Yes. Of course. I heard about a witch changeling, many years ago, from a trusted source. He said he saw her, a girl with raven hair and the aura of a witch, hidden away by a fae couple. He chanced upon them, and barely made it away without the girl’s keepers blasting him with magic. They seemed so belligerent he didn’t want to pursue the matter further, and he only confided in me after…” A grin jingled the piercings on his mouth. “…an evening of indulging in the best of my royal wine.”

  “Did he say where he saw her?”

  Hathôm shook his head. “But I will give you his name and address, for the value of this blade.”

  “Agreed,” Basil said.

  “He is called Rinnar of Stone, and he lives in Lam’il.”

  Isa inclined her head to Hathôm. “Your intel is worth the dagger.”

  Basil took note how she didn’t thank the fae and yet managed to convey her appreciation for a bargain kept. Ah, the subtleties of fae protocol…

  Hathôm bowed his head to her. “We part in goodwill, Isa of Stone.”

  “We part in goodwill, Hathôm of Metal.”

  When the door closed behind them and they’d walked out of earshot of the cottage, Basil turned to her, raised one eyebrow. “Isa of Stone?”

  “That is my full name.”

  “A fae’s last name is their element?”

  “Correct.”

  “Then I would be—”

  “Basil of Earth,” Isa said with a smile. “Yes.”

  “I like it.” His excitement fizzled out quickly, however, as his thoughts turned darker. “I wonder what my real mother would have named me. Or maybe she did, but it was never passed on.”

  Isa studied him, her expression inscrutable. “Do you feel Hazel wasn’t real? As a mother?”

  Well, hell. She’d picked up on the nuance in his tone, the underlying bitterness. He sighed. “She took care of me, yes. But how much of that was true affection on her part? What if she acted mostly out of obligation? What if, deep down, she resented me for being the wrong child? How many times did she wish the fae who swapped me for her daughter would return and take me back, so she could have her real child again? My father—adoptive father—was an ass to me most of the time, and now I can’t even be sure my mom—” He broke off.

  Isa was silent for a few seconds. “You love her, though. Hazel. You wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t care about her.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  “Which must mean she treated you well. You’ve believed her to be loving all this time, no?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Then you are luckier than you realize. I would have killed to have someone love me like that when I was a child, someone with a heart so big that they’re still able to show me love even after losing their baby.”

  His breath caught painfully in his chest. He stopped, looked fully at her. “Who raised you?”

  She kept walking, face turned away from him. “I did.”

  It fucking broke his heart.

  He swallowed, caught up with her again. “You were alone? For how long?”

  She shrugged. “My parents died when I was five. I barel
y remember them. I’ve gotten by on my own ever since.”

  “Wait—what? Five? You’ve survived alone since you were five years old?”

  “I didn’t have any other family. No one else wanted me. Those who did show an interest in me…well, I quickly learned their motives were less than loving. So I avoided adult fae and learned to hunt.”

  Vicious rage heated his blood. “Did they—” He clamped his mouth shut, shook his head. “I shouldn’t ask.”

  A side glance from those sparkling gray eyes. “A few tried. They paid for it.”

  “With their lives, I hope?”

  Her smirk was positively wicked. “With their testicles.”

  “Can fae grow back body parts?”

  Her smile widened until she showed teeth. “No.”

  “Good.” Grim satisfaction wound itself around his heart, even though a part of him itched to track down those fae and do some more major damage.

  Isa uttered a choked sound, and stopped abruptly. With her hand fisted over her chest, the knuckles flashing white, she wheezed, her face ashen.

  His heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

  Muscles twitched in her face, and her neck corded, sweat coating her paled skin. With a cry, she fell to her knees, balling her other hand to a fist, too, biting into it.

  “Isa!” He crouched next to her, his mouth gone dry as desert sand.

  “S-seizure,” she hissed, panting. “Ugh!”

  She doubled over, and he caught her before she hit the dirt.

  “I’ve got you.” He pulled her close, but she slapped at him.

  “No. I’ll be…all right.”

  Veins stood out starkly on her skin, which had lost its usual warm tone, taken on a sick pallor. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked furiously while breathing fast and shallow, keeping her chin up.

  “I don’t…need…” She bared her gritted teeth while she panted through what had to be an excruciating wave of pain.

  “Yes, you do.” He drew her closer, careful not to hold her so tight that it hurt her more. “And you’ll let me.” He leaned down, spoke in her ear. “Allowing someone to care for you is not weakness, Isa. You don’t have to suffer alone. I’m here, I’ve got you, and I’ll help you through this. Let me.”

  With a shuddering breath, and a broken sound in the back of her throat, she closed her eyes, grabbed his shirt, and buried her face against his shoulder. Basil exhaled roughly, stroked her back, and murmured words of encouragement and healing.

  He held her through a storm of convulsions, through muffled screams that pierced his soul, through tides of agony so violent, so palpable, he could taste them with every breath. He channeled his despair about his helplessness into unflinching emotional support, into the steady strength of his embrace, poured every ounce of his desire to see her free from pain into the words he whispered in her ear.

  When the last of Isa’s seizure subsided, leaving her trembling in his arms, her skin sweat-slick and cold to the touch, he rested his forehead on top of her head, and fought to keep his limbs from trembling along with hers.

  Her breath hitched, and she pushed against his chest. He released her, and she came to her feet, staggered to a tree, which she grabbed for purchase.

  Eyes downcast, she took a deep breath and said, “Thank you. Your help pays for the favor you owed me for my assistance in guiding you through Faerie and searching for Rose.” She inclined her head and turned away.

  “What the—” Basil huffed, stood up. “Not everything has to be measured in favors, Isa. I gave my help freely.”

  “Are you saying you’d rather be beholden to me still?” She peered at him, her warm brown tan returning slowly.

  He sighed, linked his hands behind his head. “No, but that’s not the point. It’s just… Why does it have to be about paying a price? Why not just accept it as kindness?”

  She dusted herself off, righted her clothes. “Because asking yourself ‘what will this cost me’ is the smartest way to stay alive.”

  “And the fastest way to a life spent alone.”

  She flinched as if he’d slapped her.

  Shit. Basil rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did. And it’s just as well. I appreciate frank words more than polite lies.”

  He sighed. “All I’m saying is, there’s another way to look at life. Kindness doesn’t have to be bought. It shouldn’t be.”

  “You and I,” she said quietly, “have lived very different lives, then.”

  His heart splintered a little at the resignation in her tone. He let out a breath that hurt his lungs, and asked, “What is it you’re suffering from?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your seizures. What causes them?”

  She shrugged, turned her head away. “Nothing important.”

  “Nu-uh.” He stepped in her line of sight again. “You already gave me that spiel. I want to know the truth. How bad is it?”

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s curable.”

  “And you haven’t cured it yet because…?” He raised his brows.

  A muscle feathered along her jaw, and she shook her head a little. “You saved my life. I need to repay my debt first.”

  “What? No. We are not traipsing around Faerie with you being attacked by seizures when there’s a way to heal you. We’ll get your cure, and then we’ll go on.”

  Her throat worked as she swallowed. She finally met his eyes, and the glint in hers made him cringe. “And what about Rose? Did you not say she’s likely in danger? You’ll just abandon her to her fate?”

  He cursed and gripped the nape of his neck. His stomach was knotted tight, his muscles twitchy with irritation. “You’re right. We need to find her first.”

  “Besides,” Isa said, “blood debts such as this must be paid before anything else. Even if it weren’t for Rose, I would have to wait until after I save your life to cure my condition.”

  “That’s messed up.” He shook his head. “Your health is more important than repaying a favor.”

  Her chin trembled before she pressed her mouth into a grim line. “Magic doesn’t care.”

  She walked on ahead of him, and he couldn’t shake the impression that she’d really meant to say…

  No one cares.

  “And this one here,” Basil said, pointing at a faint scar on his chin, “I got when Lily decked me after I filled her toothpaste tube with wasabi.” He chuckled and ducked to evade a fairy flitting past as he and Isa maneuvered down the busy main street of Lam’il. “It took me several hours to prepare the tube so she wouldn’t notice it’d been tampered with. So worth it just to hear her screech when she brushed her teeth.”

  Isa couldn’t help grinning. “She was right to hit you for that.”

  “Yep. But she took revenge beyond that. When I got dressed the next morning, this horrible itch started in my pants.” He slanted a look at her. “She’d dusted my underwear with magical itching powder. I had to shower ten times—ten—to get it to stop.”

  Isa covered her mouth with her hand, a choked chuckle escaping her. “It’s a miracle you two didn’t kill each other growing up.”

  “Nah.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It was all in good fun. For all the pranks we pulled, we always had each other’s back. We shared all our secrets, talked about everything. I had best friends all throughout school, but Lily and I were even closer. Being twins, we—” His sunny expression darkened, like the shadow of clouds blotting out the light. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, so much about that.”

  “What?”

  “It was all a lie, too, wasn’t it? We’re not twins. I always thought…” He shook his head. “It just hurts.”

  “Why?”

  He faced her, his brows pulling together. “What do you mean, why?”

  “Does it change your relationship, knowing you’re not of the same blood?”

  “Well…”

  “When you think about it,”
Isa ventured, “the bond you two formed is all the more remarkable for not being sparked by a twin relation. You grew up to be so close, not because you shared the same womb, or a blood link, or some sort of psychic twin connection. No, it is because the two of you forged it, all on your own. Because you truly care and trust and love each other as family. And that doesn’t change now, does it? If your bond did not form because of a blood relation, then the realization that you are adopted cannot weaken it. Lily will always be your sister.”

  “Damn, you’re good at this.”

  “At what?”

  A smile that threatened to turn her knees to rubber. “Calling me out on my bullshit.”

  She shrugged and averted her eyes, her neck and face flushing. “I call things as I see them, and I don’t mince words.”

  “I like that in a woman.” The warm appreciation of his gaze on her made her skin prickle. “Usually Lily’s the one to talk sense into me, but I gotta say, I much prefer having you set me straight.”

  She chanced a glance at him—which was a mistake. The playful wink he sent her zinged right into her bloodstream, causing all sorts of unwelcome tingles.

  Along with the surge of desire came a pang of yearning so intense she nearly missed a step—yearning not just for the kind of affection Basil offered, but for the bonds he shared with others. He had loved ones in his life, family and friends, a network of support he could fall back on. Something she never had. His anecdotes and tales painted a picture of people willing to fight for him, to die for him, even if it had to be spelled out for him amid his current doubts.

  No one would ever have sacrificed anything for Isa.

  …the fastest way to a life spent alone…

  Basil’s blunt statement echoed in her mind, touched on all the sore spots in her soul, speaking truth to the stubborn illusion she held on to, too afraid to let go.