Kiss the Fae (Vicious Faeries #1) - Natalia Jaster Page 0,2
fat sack of coins, which’ll likely turn out to be phony, since the nearest bargainer in a three-mile radius isn’t known for being a sucker.
I’ll be taking my possession back, thank you very much. As I wedge the feather into the binding around my chest, a groan rumbles from the bed. The scruffy noise lets loose as if it’s been stuffed in a jar, collecting dust all this time.
I can tell a few things about men based on how they fuck. For a start, this poacher’s got no swagger. He’s rash, all brawn and temper, considering the love bite he gave me. Not to mention what his movements did to the headboard and the vicelike grip he kept on my hips. He holds tight, which means he likes control, which mean he’ll get testy if I try to rush an exit. In case this really is a fluke, I’ve gotta butter him up, sweet talk him out of here.
My whip is looped around one of the footboard finials. I pluck the weapon and sling it over my arm like an accessory, then grasp the footboard and lean forward to expose my cleavage. “Finally,” I purr. “Have a deep one, handsome?”
The git sits up, the wide goblet of his head balancing on the thin stem of his neck as he aims a lopsided grin at my chest. “Well, aren’t you a sight.”
“Sorry it took you so long to wake up. I’ve got bad news, hon. Seems you’re trespassing.”
“Want me gone already?”
“I’m a busy girl.” I sway the whip and tease, “Better get moving, or I’ll have to string you up.”
“That sounds like a naughty threat. With this kind of bawdy talk, maybe I’d like seconds.”
Fables curse him. “The first romp was for fun, which means it was free. Seconds don’t come cheaply.”
I don’t sell myself, so I’m not serious and make sure my smile is coy. Keeping it simple is keeping it believable. Longer explanations bury people in a pile of dung.
He laughs and drags himself to his feet, fixing to collect his things. That’s when the front door downstairs opens and closes with a perceptible click. My back stiffens as two sets of feet hike toward the room and pause on the threshold’s opposite side.
The first voice quacks, “Lark!”
The second voice flows like sweet water. “Lark?”
“Please tell us you’re alone.”
“But if you’re not, it’s all right.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Go on back downstairs. I’ll be there in a minute.”
On the outside, I’m casual. On the inside, I’m stressing about the feather this trade poacher still thinks he nabbed.
There’s a beat of silence, followed by retreating footfalls—measured footfalls.
Son of a bitch. Sometimes, I wish they didn’t know me so well. They’d caught the traction in my words, which means this is gonna get complicated unless I wheedle this poacher out of here.
“Who the hell was that?” the man asks.
“Time to get going, handsome,” I simper. “Make it snappy.”
“What? No good-bye kiss? A hostess shows her lovers courtesy, unless you haven’t been taught manners.”
Well, fine then. I grin. “My sister’s in the room pointing a bolt at you.”
Beside the attic window—where she’d crawled through after mounting the side of the cottage—a spindly, petite figure plants her foot on the iron sill, her fingers poised on a crossbow. Spruce green hair frames Juniper’s spunky face, the straight layers pinched into a low, side ponytail that falls over her shoulder. Her cotton blouse is tucked primly into a pocket skirt, the short sleeves revealing a gold leaf bracelet that winds around her arm.
“Hello, there,” Juniper says while aiming the crossbow.
“The other sister just walked in with a spear,” I finish without needing to look.
“Pleasure,” Cove greets, having doubled back and swept through the attic door.
Her watery blue hair ripples into a loose but intricately twirled bun at the nape, a few errant waves trickling from the back. A muslin dress drapes around her tall frame, the graceful neckline dipping modestly down the back to reveal a gold chain and a waterdrop pendant. She’d look the part of a dainty damsel, if it weren’t for the spear angled subtly between her fingers.
What can I say? Caution runs in the family.
My latest mistake assesses our trio. His brain must be experiencing a growth spurt, because he blinks. Thing is, my sisters and I don’t share bloodlines, but we’re the same age, and we’ve got another trait in common that strangers tend to gawk at. Our irises match the rare shades of our hair. Pale gray to