Neela

Neela

I arrived early at the forest glade the next morning and settled onto a bush with Doug on my lap, Herb watching from the trees, and a stern expression on my face.

I didn’t know what to expect from Ronan’s mood today, and I didn’t want to show him any vulnerability. Thank fuck he hadn’t seen me crying on the park bench in the human village—that would have been one intimacy too far.

Ronan strode into the clearing with a regal air, his white T-shirt making his face look extra tan, and we looked at each other for long moments before he spoke. “Good morning, Neela.”

“So formal, princeling,” I retorted. “What happened to calling me tomcat?”

He scanned the glade until he saw where Herb was stationed, then crossed to the other side. “I thought you didn’t like that nickname.”

I shrugged. “If the shoe fits….”

The truth was, tomcat was a more suitable name for me than he could ever know. He still thought it was an insult to a princess, but it was actually a practical description of a trashbag thief.

He approached from my left, keeping a wide berth around Herb, and handed me a ripe, juicy mango.

I looked him a question.

“You said you liked mangoes,” he explained with a sheepish grin.

I didn’t like mangoes; I bloody loved them. I tasted one when a farmer visited the orphanage and brought several trays for us all to share. It was the best mouthful of anything I’d ever eaten.

“You can’t bribe me with tropical fruits, princeling. This doesn’t make up for the ankle. Or the demon. Or the kiss.”

He blanched at that last one, a rare outward display of emotion, so it must’ve gotten to him. Good. I wasn’t above needling him for all the shit he’d done to me, even if he brought me delicious fruits.

Gabrelle swanned into the clearing wearing a floating dusty-rose dress that lovingly kissed her breasts and hips. She really was the most spectacular creature on the face of the planet, and her resting bitch face was even better than Liz’s. Perhaps in another universe, I could have been her friend, although she was far colder and icier than Liz, and I suspected she didn’t have friends so much as toys.

She and Ronan exchanged words I couldn’t hear, and both laughed. Their friendship seemed genuine…maybe I was a little bit wrong about her. Just a squidge.

Leif bounded in as a giant silver wolf and licked Gabrelle and Ronan, who patted him good-naturedly, then stalked toward me. With his tongue lolling.

“Don’t you fucking dare, wolf.” I picked up Doug and held her out like a protective shield, but she just stared at Leif and yawned, then wriggled her little paws to protest being woken.

Leif looked between my green tufty friend and me, then he ran his long wet tongue along Doug’s grassy fur, and the treacherous snuffle tuff wriggled happily.

“Stupid mutt,” I murmured. “And naughty Doug. You’re supposed to hate him as much as I do.”

Leif transformed into his fae form right in front of me, with his big dick swinging at my eye level, then he bent down and licked my face with his soft fae tongue. “You don’t hate me,” he whispered, then danced out of the way before I could slap his slimy ass.

Leif was the least hateful of the lot, and it was probably true that I didn’t detest him, but I still didn’t like him. He sprawled on the jasmine mattress in full glory, only pulling on his gray sweatpants when Gabrelle chucked them at him and Ronan snarled.

“Fine, fine,” he grizzled, wriggling into the pants.

Dion was last to arrive and marched into the glade carrying a large sack. His hair and eyes were caramel, and I noticed a distinct burnt sugar smell when he appeared.

He glowed like a pregnant woman. “Best day of the year,” he declared. “Food day.”

Ronan tried to explain that Dion would demonstrate his inner power and cook us a meal, but I cut him off as soon as I got the gist. “I don’t need your explanation.”

Ronan scowled at the ivy-covered ground, and I could tell he wanted to say more, but he had the good sense to keep his trap shut.

Dion babbled on about fresh produce, something to do with his great-great-great grandmother’s recipe, and how the most important ingredient was the chef’s magical intent.

I only half listened while I thought about that creature that had chased me through the winding cobblestone streets of the Sensory Quarter. Had he been a Shadow Walker? He was certainly fae or something just as fast, but I had no idea how quick Shadow Walkers were. I needed to learn more about them, but I didn’t want to give Ronan the satisfaction of asking him. Maybe Liz would know.

If that creature was a Shadow Walker, why didn’t it attack? It had every opportunity to kill me or turn me into a walking zombie husk or whatever they did.

Perhaps Shadow Walkers couldn’t consume humans? That thought lit a bubble of joy inside me—possibly, my humanity could be an advantage, not the constant disadvantage it had been so far.

Dion laid out his meals with an enthusiastic “Ta-da!”

He’d crafted one especially for each of us. Mine was white goo served in a bowl. It smelled like the feeling you have when you open a tub of freshly bought ice cream and lick the lid. Heavenly.

It tasted just as delicious. It was nectar sweet but not cloying, and I wanted more. I took a second bite, then a third.

“Tell me this is good for me,” I moaned.

Dion nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, it’s all nutritious and healthy. You could eat as much as you wanted and would only fuel your body.”

I wanted to eat it until I died, and maybe I would. It was so good I kept shoving it into my mouth.

At one point, I became distantly aware of the others looking at me, but I remained intent on the food.

It really was magical. I could taste it in the air now, like its essence had floated out of the bowl and transmuted its surroundings. I stood up, vaguely aware of Doug squeaking in protest as she fell to the ivy-strewn floor. I gulped the air in massive bites, tasting the creamy sweetness, but it wasn’t enough.

Not dense enough, tangible enough, I needed more. I picked up a rock and licked it. Yes, it tasted just as sensational as the dessert. I bit into the rock, maybe breaking a tooth, maybe not, I didn’t care, I just wanted more of that flavor.

The world around me was losing focus, but I couldn’t bring myself to pay attention. There were sounds of fae talking, even some shouting and pushing, but I didn’t mind. They could do whatever they wanted.

That nice chef had told me I could eat this until I died, so that’s what I would do. I bit harder into my stone and managed to pry off a tiny piece, which I ground between my teeth, moaning in pleasure.

The noise around me was deafening. Ronan shoved Dion, snarling something about “Mine,” pushing him to the ground—maybe he wanted more food. Perhaps he didn’t get the same meal I did and he was jealous.

But I couldn’t share. I needed it all for myself. I gobbled down as much stone as I could. When I tried to bite another mouthful, somebody ripped the rock from my hands and threw it away. I turned and snarled.

Ronan. He took away my special meal.

He was trying to talk to me, but I could only pound my fist at his stupidly hard chest and demand my dessert back.

He swept me into his arms and sprinted through the bushes, refusing to return my meal. I always knew he was my enemy, but now I had proof. I tugged his white T-shirt with my teeth and tore a large, delicious hole in it. It was just as tasty as the stones. I scraped my teeth along the skin of his chest, coating my tongue in his taste, letting his blood pool in my mouth before swallowing it.

Then we were at the Rose Palace. Home. Something nagged in the back of my head about the word home, and I remembered I shouldn’t think of the palace as home because it wouldn’t be for long.

But now, it was welcoming and familiar, and the growling hunger in my belly reduced.

Ronan and Liz were talking around me and through me, and I hoped Liz was telling Ronan what a meany-pants he was and to give me my food back, but I couldn’t be sure. He took me to my bedroom, laid me on my four-poster bed, and gave me something to drink.

It didn’t taste good, didn’t taste like my special meal, and I wanted to spit it out, but Ronan held my nose until I swallowed.

I opened my eyes. My mouth was bleeding and raw, and I felt with my tongue that several teeth were missing. My lips and throat were cut from the stones I’d eaten, and my fingernails ached from where I’d raked Ronan’s flesh. My belly was filled with lead—no, rocks.

I was in my bed, and Ronan was too. But he was sitting, I was lying, and we both had our clothes on.

His coal-black eyes were darker than ever. “Feeling better?” He placed a hand on my forehead, and I didn’t shirk it away.

Fucking Dion. It wasn’t difficult to piece together what happened. Dion had cooked me a special fae meal that sent me into a frenzy. It was so different from Gabrelle’s spell, where my mind had been clear but my body had obeyed her commands instead of mine.

This time, my mind had been infected. Way scarier.

“I ate you,” I mumbled, looking at the wound on his chest that dripped red blood down his white T-shirt.

He smiled lightly. “I forgive you.”

“I’m never eating again,” I croaked, every word ripped from my torn and bloody throat.

Ronan ran his hand through my hair, and I didn’t have the energy to stop him. “Don’t speak. Liz is fetching a Healer. You really should have one on staff, you know.”

I would have laughed if my throat wasn’t on fire. On staff. Who did he think I was?

Oh yeah, he thought I was one of them.

I pieced together some more. The shouting, the shoving, Ronan standing over Dion. He must have stood up for me after Dion enchanted me. He took my side over one of his precious heirs. I hadn’t asked for his help—I never would. But I’d needed it.

I would have kept eating until I died. I was sure of that.

Words of thanks gathered on my tongue but didn’t leave it. I couldn’t thank the fae who’d done such terrible things to me.

As I fell asleep, I spotted the mango Ronan had gifted me on my bedside table. I would never accept food from the fae again, so I must remember to throw that out.