Page 47 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

He must have said something else.

He walked farther into the pond, until the water billowed under the hem of her chemise. It closed over her ankles, her knees, her hips. She moaned. His arms tightened around her. “You’re very pretty,” she whispered.

“That sounds like a complaint,” he replied, amused.

“Well, it’s distracting. Do you know how many patrons, and Librarians,” she added in a whisper, “hide behind the shelves to watch you when you’re in the Library?”

“Did you?” he asked, still cradling her.

She blinked. “That’s a rather forward question,” she mumbled. “You should leave me to drown,” she said with a small sigh as the cold water touched her all over, leaching the heat from her skin, her bones. “It might be nice. Restful, even.”

Her scalp prickled. The fire that licked at her, that scalded her flesh under her cuff, sputtered.

“Open your eyes,” Lachlan ordered quietly.

She blinked down at the steam rising from the surface of the pond. “Am I doing that?”

“Yes,” he said grimly.

She slid out of his arms and let the water cradle her completely. It frothed around her for a moment like a boiling kettle and then settled. Lachlan stayed close, lowering himself into the wet silver shadows. His hand ghosted over her hip. “Can you swim?”

She nodded, but he remained where he was, as if he didn’t believe her. She had spent hours in the sea until her fingertips wrinkled and the fire in her chest was smothered into a spark that she could mostly ignore. Cold water. Harsh winds. She was not made for gentle summer nights.

He reached out and tipped her chin up, searching her face. “You seem better.”

“Yes. This helps, thank you.” Her hair lifted around her like river grass. “I can’t always get to water from Hallow. The walk down to the piers is a bit crowded.” The fewer people who saw her like this, the better. Word always got back to Mrs. Pettigrew and the council. Nor did she want the undue attention of the board of directors of the University. That never ended well for anyone.

“You go to the sea?” Lachlan asked sharply.

“When I can.”

“It’s not safe, even in Hallow. If the kelpies and the mermaids don’t get you, the tides will. Tell me you don’t swim alone at night.”

She shrugged. When she was burning up, it never seemed to matter much. “I don’t think mermaids care for boiled beets.”

“Pippa.”

“You chose me as your Tithe, Professor Thorn. I don’t think you get to make judgments on my safety.” She froze before he could reply. “Something just licked my ankle.”

“That’s just Thistle.”

“Thistle? Do you really have Shellycoats here?”

“No, just a grindylow.”

Pippa gaped at him, sliding closer in case she needed to climb onto him and let him be eaten by the grindylow or rent apart by its sharp claws. It would serve him right, surely.

She eyed the distance to the bank.

“Think you’re fast enough to outswim a grindylow?” Lachlan asked, amused. They lived underwater, with green scales, needle teeth, and claws. And they liked to eat various body parts they came into contact with.

“I’m so glad my impending death by digestion is so amusing,” she said. “But I only have to be faster than you.”

He gave a small huff of a laugh and then looked shocked by the sound.

“I cannot believe you have a pet grindylow named Thistle.”

“I never said he was a pet. Mind your toes.”