Page 36 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

“Do you know how you breathe, or how you sense pain?” In a burst of emotion, she’d taken his hand. “Do you think how to react to a touch, how to shiver or to—”

He’d snatched his hand away. “I get your point.”

And there, Mara had been caught in her own trap, trembling, her thoughts muddy with desire and more. Her own body responding to his in ways beyond explanation.

She did not like him at all.

And yet, last night, she’d shown him her wings.

It had been all innocent, on his part. She’d been assisting him back to his campground—he could limp, but still needed support, so she’d been intent on supporting his warm, musky body. Intent on not thinking too hard about the warmth or the muskiness or the pressure of his side against her.

Out of nowhere, he’d started to laugh and halted in his tracks.

She had halted as well, still tucked under his arm. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just remembering.”

He’d been looking off to the side, and she’d turned to trace his gaze. It was the outskirts of her garden, but nothing much different than the place they’d just left. “What is there to remember?”

“This is where we first met.” His voice had been low. “You were sleeping right there, and I thought…” He’d cleared his throat. “Well. Never mind what I thought.”

Mara had remembered then, all in a flash. Sun sparkling through water and shining in his eyes, the careful expression on his face. The bulk of his body, so close to her, when she’d thought she was safe.

But she’d been safe then, too. She hadn’t known it, but now she did. He had faced her down, challenged her, but not once had he threatened her with harm.

“I remember,” she’d said shortly.

“I thought I’d hallucinated you.” The arm over her shoulder had withdrawn, and she’d felt the warmth of his hand as he ghosted it over her back. “Though I guess at least some of it was a mirage. I swear you looked like you had wings.”

She should have let him continue to believe that it had been an illusion, but instead, she’d replied, “I do.”

He’d scoffed, but his hand had landed on her back. Gentle, as if he expected her to run away again. “No wings here.”

Mara could have argued with him, but instead she’d taken a step away, turned, and set her wings free. The rush of air over their surface had been cool and refreshing. She’d had them tucked away too long, since the day he’d seen them, since she’d flared them at Ethan in rage. She was not certain why.

“Holy—” His eyes had gone wide, and he’d started to lose his balance, hopping on his good foot.

She’d sent a wave of sand to support him, lowering him to the ground, where he’d sat and stared at her.

“Those are wings.”

“Yes.”

“They’re…beautiful.”

The look in his eyes had made her shiver. She’d wanted to ask him to say more, but something had twinged at the thought. “Yes,” she’d replied instead, turning in a slow circle. Showing off, just a little. It was heady, being admired so frankly.

“Wow.” He’d gulped loudly. “Can you fly?”

“If I wish to.” She’d vibrated them slightly—not enough to take flight. They’d felt tight from their confinement in faerie. “The earth in me does not like me to go far, nor the wood, but they do function. In desperate need, I could fly above the treetops, but I prefer to glide. It can be convenient, when I wish to be swift.”

His eyes had been burning into her, and she was nearly overcome by the urge to invite him to touch them. They were soft and velvety, she knew, soft and strong, and Ethan’s hands would be rough and warm on their sensitive membranes and she wanted—

She’d swirled them away again. “The sun is setting.” She’d considered holding her hand out to help Ethan up, but let the sand shove him to his feet instead. She did not yet like him enough for that.

Though she had taken her place at his side to help him walk the rest of the way to his tent, where she’d efficiently ensured he was ready for the night, and then released her wings to fly up to her bower at the hill’s crest.

Just because she could.