Page 56

I lay back on the blanket, tipping my face to the stars. Wolfe settled down beside me, the cold ground seeping through the blanket and into my spine but I hardly felt it now.

“Tinker Bell was a fairy from a book called Peter Pan. Fairies grew their strength by having people believe in them—that they existed. You’re Tinker Bell.”

“I think I’m being insulted,” he said carefully, “but I’m not sure.”

I laughed, heart ballooning in my chest. “Not an insult, just a comparison.”

“I’ve noticed—” He paused. God, was he nervous?

“Noticed what?” I turned to look at him.

One arm was tucked behind his head, the other rested gently over his stomach. His shirt was still open, giving me an unobstructed view of his collarbones and throat.

“Nothing.”

I sighed, rolling to face him fully. I stacked my hands under my head.

“I’ve been thinking,” I began. I licked my lips and summoned my courage. “After unloading all my fears in the pub the other day, I think we should just be honest with each other. Say whatever it is we want.” It was his turn to look at me now. His expression was guarded, careful. “This is a strange situation and I wonder every day if I’m dreaming, but… What do we have to lose from being honest with each other?”

“You’ll go home next month,” he said more to himself than to me. “I’ll remain here.”

“I’ll never tell your secrets.”

“And no one could ever hear me tell yours,” he added sadly. “Honesty?”

I nodded. “Worth a try, right? Maybe it could help us both?”

He mulled my words over for a few minutes. “When you say my name,” he murmured, words agonizingly soft, “I feel it here.” He pressed a hand to his ribs. “Like you’re…tugging me to you. Commanding me.”

“What?” I asked in horror. “Why didn’t you say so? I’m so—I’m so sorry.”

“You misunderstand me, Avery.” He blinked up at me, eyes as dark as the night sky. “I wish to be commanded. I wish to be tugged and tethered to you. You say my name, grá, and I am as real as I’ve ever been.”

Words caught in my throat. “Really?”

He dipped his chin. “Try.”

I pressed up onto my elbow, hovering over him. He watched me unwaveringly, trust and something I couldn’t name resting in his eyes.

“Royan.” His name was a slow curl of my tongue, an expression of longing and tenderness that took my breath away.

Maybe it was the starlight or my sleep-addled mind, but I saw it. A golden thread tied around his ribs like a lasso. At the sound of his name, it flared, sparking and swirling. He exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

“Again,” he breathed.

“Royan.”

It flared again, brighter than metal in a forge or the rising sun. I watched in awe as the wind ruffled his hair, as his shirt caught the motion.

I held out my hand for his, eyes wide with disbelief.

He held my gaze when he pressed his palm to mine.

I felt…I felt him.

The rough scrape of his palm, the calluses that lined the base of each finger. The heat of his skin. The scent of him. It felt like stepping through a fog and out the other side—like I’d never breathed fresh air until right now.

He curled his fingers over mine, studying me like I was some sort of miracle.