Page 2 of The Fae’s Treasure

I didn’t see Saz for days, which could be months or years, I suppose, depending on which realm you’re in. I never did bother with closing the barriers. It seemed so permanent, and I figured even immortals can have lovers’ tiffs.

But as time passed, I started wondering if Bonwit was actually right after all. Maybe Saz was only after me for my soul, and she wasn’t the sweet exception to the succubi rule.

Fortunately, I was busy, with a thousand things to prepare. Even though I have nothing to do with humans, I know our realm touches theirs, and our efforts impact them. I might not have met humans personally, but I don’t want the poor little things to starve. Bonwit says I speak of them like puppies, helpless little backward things.

He’s probably right.

But if he’s right about that, then maybe he’s right about Saz...

Thoughts torment me, and I have to hurry about my business to keep myself occupied. Preparing the storms for the autumnal equinox is one of my pet projects—that and ensuring the rains sweep to where they’re supposed to land.

Snacking on the last of my morning tea and biscuits as I scatter gentle showers, I look up when Bonwit enters, a troubled look on his face. “Saz is at the gates.”

“Is she? About time,” I mutter, absently shoving the remains of my biscuit in the pocket of my cloak. The showers can stay and do what they like. I need to fix things with my she-devil. I’m hoping her urges have gotten the better of her.

It looks like I’m right, too, for as soon as I let her in, she pounces on me with a hungry growl, forked tongue caressing mine, talons raking along the tender membranes of my wings, tail possessively around my leg, and bountiful breasts in a black dress pressed to my chest. “It’s been too long,” she breathes between heavy, panting kisses.

“A week at least,” I agree, pulling her inside, tumbling with her to the nearest flat surface, a mossy divan made of basalt.

“Longer in my realm,” she purrs, then has my trousers yanked down and her mouth wrapped around me at once, hot and demanding.

It feels like heaven.

And she’s a creature of the opposite realm. My wings twitch in warning, even though this is always how Saz and I carry on, creatures of chemistry and passion, immortals with long lives and purposes that grow stale or unbecoming.

“If you give me what I want, we can do this every night,” Saz whispers.

“If you give me what I want, we can do this every night,” I counter. “I just want you. Just as we are.

The sudden stench of sulfur makes me cough, and Saz flings herself off the divan, rising and pacing, scarlet irises aflame. “Do you realize how powerful I’ll be this year in the mortal realm?”

“What? No. Saz, I’m not one of those clever fae who like to waste time with little human puppets.”

“Well, I am. Because I need to feed from them, since someone won’t ensure my food source is secured,” she hisses, glaring accusingly at me.

“I feed you plenty. You don’t need my soul to get full; we’ve proven that time and again,” I soothe, reaching my hand out to her.

“With a fae soul, I’ll still have my powers, but I won’t need other souls. And I won’t have a master to answer to.”

Fire flashes in her eyes, and her head lifts proudly.

I understand her desire to be free, but I also know there are other ways of getting what she wants. “You’ve told me before that demons and fae live in the human realm now, and they needn’t go back to their old ways, their old masters. You’ve already stopped—” I pause.

Saz told me she stopped feeding from humans eons ago, which is the main reason why I ever considered her delightfully indecent proposals.

But she just mentioned that she continues to need them as a food source.

“Saz, you’re not slipping?” I ask, face grave.

The cackle that rips from her graceful throat sets my teeth on edge, and my blood turns to ice water. “What have you done? Have you been harming humans this whole time? Have you started again in some bid to force me to share my soul?”

“Why? Would you actually care? Would you offer me some, even a piece of it?” she asks, her slender fingers flexing as if she can weave my soul straight out of me.

“Some of what?” I whisper, backing away, even though I know.

“Your soul, Dairmuid. Your pretty immortal soul.”

“No. Never.” I cross my arms, done playing games. “Saz, this has to stop. I’ll never strike a bargain with you on this matter—and frankly, I don’t want to strike anything else with you, either.” I back away from her beautiful, tantalizing form, afraid of the raw temptation she always creates in me.