Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(23)

“Okay, but just to be clear. That. Woman. Is. Blue. That should not be possible.”

“She’s a sprite. Would you come on?”

Charity pushed him away so she could stand on her own. Ignoring the wobbles from numb legs, she tried, and failed, not to stare at the petite blue woman wearing a bikini top made of leaves.

The woman’s luminous green eyes darted up, connecting with Charity’s. A wrinkle wormed into her brow before her narrow face cocked to the right. They continued to stare at each other as the sprite passed, the sprite looking as confused and bewildered as Charity felt.

“Is a human in this world as weird as…what I’m seeing?” Charity asked quietly.

“You’re not human.” Devon gripped her upper arm, as though her words had suddenly reminded him of his purpose, which had, in turn, spoiled his mood. “You got in here, so you have magic in your blood. I have no idea what you are, but the smell and feel of you is different than anything I’ve ever encountered. You better stop playing me for a fool.”





Chapter Eleven





Her temper flared. “Here’s something that’s not a secret: you’re a dick.”

“Nice.”

“I’m in the Twilight Zone, and you make this about you?” She pulled up her hands, analyzing the tingling sensation. For some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, she yearned to hold a sword. A sword! What good was a sword in the age of guns, drones, and missiles?

As she blinked at her digits, the throb in her middle turned into a manic pounding. The sensation ran up and down her body and back in fantastic vibrations, singing in her blood. It welled in her chest, fizzing and sputtering. Some of it branched out, traveling through her shoulder and connecting with Devon’s touch on her arm.

Confusion stealing over her, she let her gaze travel up his round bicep, over his tattooed shoulder, and to his intelligent brown eyes, beautifully speckled with green and gold flecks. Their gazes locked. The humming between them, while completely foreign, felt absolutely divine. He flexed and his muscles popped, the effect somehow heightening the vibration between them, throwing her into a weird trance.

Slowly, she put her tingling palm on his pec. The singing in her blood intensified. The prickling increased, stopping her breath.

“Magic,” Devon whispered, clearly feeling it too. “You have a lot of it. It’s…flirting with mine. Somehow.” He tilted his head to the side, analyzing. “You’re not normal.”

“Oh, well, thank you for your expert analysis.”

“It’s also not the time to cop a feel.” His lips tweaked into a lopsided grin, as if he weren’t used to smiling.

“It’s always time to cop a feel,” she replied absently, pulling back her hand. She stared at her palm as she took a step away from him. Although she missed the feel of him, the warmth in her chest remained, supplying electricity. It was starting to get annoying.

“Why don’t you invite our guest back inside?”

The guy with the dual-colored eyes stood in the doorway of the castle. His pose said he was trying for patience, but the intense energy crouched within him, straining at his skin, said he could just as easily spring and kill them all.

“You were a wolf,” she said dumbly, backing away. Might as well get it all out there. Insanity was more fun when you shared it. “I saw your eyes. You were a… You attacked a strange creature. I don’t understand any of this.”

“We won’t harm you.” The man held up his hands. “You are in no danger here. Maybe we should start from the beginning, and then someone can give you a tour of the Realm. Please.” The man gestured her inside.

“He saved your life,” Devon said. Then, as if he were a male stripper, he ripped off his sweats with one powerful tug, revealing a pair of fire-engine-red boxer briefs. Bending down, he began fastening his sweats around Charity’s bare legs to cover her up. It was a sweet gesture ruined by his attitude problem. “If he’d wanted to kill you, you’d be dead ten times over.”

Devon’s challenging tone, though certainly justified if he were telling her the truth, fanned the fire in her gut. Her fingers curled into fists, unbidden.

Once he finished his task, Devon straightened. “So are you coming or what?” He lightly touched her arm again. Electricity crackled between them.

“I’m coming,” she said through clenched teeth, clinging to calm with everything she had. Another tear leaked out. She batted it away.

A few minutes later, she found herself seated at a worn table in the biggest kitchen she’d ever seen. Devon, who’d disappeared and then reappeared in another pair of sweats and a shirt—the castle clearly had a large supply—sat beside her, and the man with the dual-colored eyes, who had to be Roger, sat opposite her. He clasped his hands in front of him. “Let’s start with what happened at the party, shall we?”

“Give the girl a minute to get her bearings.” A plump woman with curly brown hair turned from the counter. She set a steaming cup of brownish liquid in front of Charity and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m Beazie, dear.” The middle-aged woman smiled. “I run the domestic affairs here in the castle. That includes the kitchens and sleeping quarters. So if you need anything—anything at all—you come see me and I’ll sort you out. All righty?”