Page 13 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

His grin shifted. It was still a smile, still friendly, but there was steel behind it. “No. I have just as much right to be here as you.”

“You have no right—”

“I have a permit.” He reached behind him, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his backpack. With a snap of his wrist, he unfurled it. “I submitted my request months ago. I logged the route I intended to take, the coordinates I’d be conducting my research at, the types of samples I intended to collect. The Bureau of Land Management approved my request.” He stretched out his arm, inviting Mara to take the cursed document.

She turned up her nose in disdain. “There are other hills you can investigate. This one is mine.”

His eyebrows went up. “Not according to the BLM.”

“I do not care what the human government says,” she bit out. “My rights are deeper.”

He withdrew the piece of paper, folded it, held it in both hands before him. He kept staring at her, but something in his eyes had changed. Finally, he heaved another deep breath. “The human government?” he said in a low voice. “Not the United States government, not the Tribal Authority, but human?”

She would not deign to answer that. “Go away.”

His grin vanished; his jaw set. “Where’s your permit?”

“I need no permit.”

“Well,” he said brightly. “As the person with a permit, speaking to the person without a permit, I am not going to go away. The human government gave me this permit. Last I checked, that was the government in charge of this hill, not whatever LARP fantasy you have going. And I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me.” He started to walk around her.

She stepped into his path. He was far too close now, looming over her like a giant, but he stopped short, not touching her. This close, she could smell him, sweat and sunblock and deodorant, see how his sunburn was fading back to paleness. “You can’t,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked with desperation.

But it stopped him. He gazed down at her, face unreadable. “Why can’t I?” He turned his gaze up the hill. “There’s a clear path here. I can get right where I need to go. You’ll barely notice me.” His broad jaw had less stubble than the last time she’d seen him. He must have shaved, though it hadn’t lasted long. There was already a pale frost growing, as pale as his hair. Would it feel as sandpapery as his voice?

She hastily took a step backward, sweeping her arm out forbiddingly. “There is nothing here for you. Climb another hill.”

He looked back at her. His smile was back. “It has to be this one. This is the hill where the flowers are.”

“There are flowers everywhere.” But she knew what he meant. She knew he’d seen it, the garden of her soul.

“Not like these.” He looked up the hill again. “And I need to find out why.”

She turned her face up to him again, feeling her heart breaking. “I can tell you why,” she whispered. “You do not need to research or sample or investigate. I can tell you, and then you can go.”

He turned back to her, regarding her steadily for several seconds, then heaved a sigh. “Tell me.”

She swallowed. He had not moved closer this time, but he filled her senses. “You are too tall,” she murmured.

He quirked a half smile. “Too tall to tell me things?” He sighed again and went down to his knees, planting his hands on his thighs and gazing up at her. “Is this better?”

It was and it wasn’t, but she couldn’t define why seeing him on his knees before her was making her own knees shake. She straightened her spine deliberately. “These flowers are different because they are my flowers. I made them different.”

“How? Do you give them special fertilizer, inject dye…?”

She couldn’t keep her lip from curling. “Of course not.”

He cocked his head to the side, regarding her. “Then how?”

Grief stabbed at her stomach. But this intruder had not earned that knowledge. “It cannot be explained. Not to you.”

He slapped his armored thighs. The sound made her shudder. “Then I still need to investigate. Whatever it is you do, there has to be a scientific explanation for it. The American Journal of Botany isn’t going to take the woman with the pretty green eyes told me so as an abstract. And I don’t have time to find another research subject. It took me forever to get this trip approved.”

He was as stubborn as her flowers had become. Mara drew herself up again, folding her arms. “No. You cannot.”

“And I say I can.” He rolled to his feet, shifting as he did to stand several feet away. “Look, I can see you’re upset. But there’s a lot riding on this for me. So I’d appreciate it if you’d—”

“No!” Mara’s rage welled forth like a sandstorm, and she channeled it into the sand, calling forth a ripple of earth that made him stumble back toward his bridge. “You may not touch my flowers!”