CHAPTER FIVE

My weird-ass day just keeps getting weirder. The green man talks to the unicorn… and the unicorn answers. I can’t understand either of them, but it’s clearly a conversation.

On top of that, the man pulls out a piece of leather, runs his hands over it, and the material shifts and moves until it turns into pants!

He’s got seriously nice hands too, big, with long fingers. The way he pets the leather has me thinking about how they’d feel petting me, and I squirm a little, my body wanting to move. An older man like him would know what he’s doing, unlike my last attempt at dating, where the guy went at it with all the finesse of a jackhammer for thirty seconds and thought he was god’s gift.

Those green fingers keep stroking, and the leather seals together without needing any kind of stitches. The new pants go on, and I feel a weird sense of relief and disappointment. Relief that he’s fixed what my magic did to him without his permission. If his scowls are anything to go by, he’s none too pleased I made his clothes disappear. But can he really be that upset? I mean, his cock sure didn’t hate when I eyed it like it was a dulce de leche filled churro. Which leads to my disappointment. Because if his hands are nice, his cock’s a masterpiece. Ay! I’ve never seen one so big or perfectly formed.

And then there are the piercings…

The unicorn talks as the man walks over to the stone and presses his palms to it. I’m not sure why. Then he stares at me and says something, scowling with disappointment.

“Cono, I’m sorry!” I hold my hands up.

His expression doesn’t ease as he strides toward me, his chest on full display. Ay! It’s gorgeous too, with lots of wonderful muscle definition. Everything about him is refined into perfect lines. It’s as if gray monster man was someone’s clumsy first attempt to make life, and after decades of practice, they got really good at it and created a masterpiece—the green man.

“I could use you to study for an anatomy exam.” My eyes move from one muscle to the next. “Pectoralis major, trapezius, deltoid—”

I hadn’t noticed the bruising on his biceps before because of his green skin, but it’s swollen and turning purple. Now that I know what to look for, I spot a few more bruises on his sides. He might have stabbed the big gray monster, but he clearly got hit a few times, too.

“Oh, no. You’re hurt!” I reach out, my hand fluttering over the biggest injury. What can I do for it? If we’re really in Faerie just like the old stories—which seems more and more likely—there’s no ice or anti-inflammatories.

Heat warms my chest, and an electric tingle rushes through me the second I touch him.

He jerks away from me as if he felt the shock, too. But the bruise—no, make that all of the bruises—disappears!

“I healed you!” Joy fizzes through my veins, filling my chest with bubbles, which escape in a delighted laugh. This is what I’ve always wanted—this is what kept me going through the grind of college and med school—my dream of being a doctor, of helping people. “I can heal!”

He hurries back over to the stone pillar and waves the unicorn over. Placing one hand on the rock and the other over a slice on the unicorn’s neck, he speaks. When he lifts his hand, the cut’s still there.

I walk over. Up close, the unicorn is even bigger than I thought. But I know nothing about horses, so maybe it’s a normal size. I reach out slowly, giving it time to move away if it wants.

Instead, it takes a half step closer so that my palm rests on its black coat. Its golden eye watches me closely as I whisper, “I want to heal you.”

That pleasant zip of energy again as magic hums through me, feeling so right . I know it worked even before I pull my hand away to see nothing but sleek hide unmarred by even the tiniest scratch.

The unicorn gives a soft nicker and nuzzles the top of my head.

A pleased chuckle bubbles through me as I pat its neck. This is nice. I wonder if it would let me touch its horn? Am I supposed to have my V-card to do that? It’s so hard to know what’s true in the old stories and what’s not. Such as, all the talk of fae said they were gorgeous and had pointed ears, but none of it said they were green.

Then the green man’s right beside me, looming. Mierda! I’m used to being short, but this is ridiculous. He has to be seven feet tall, and all of it’s muscle. But unlike with those pendejos back in the alley, I don’t feel afraid. His voice is deep and growly as he points to that glorious chest and says, “Sturrm.”

“Storm?” Is that his name?

A crease furrows his brow, and he jabs a finger into his pectoral muscle. “Sturrm.”

“Sturrm,” I say. Then I point to myself. “Selena.”

His eyes dip to my cleavage—and I’ve got to admit I’ve got a lot to look at—then snap back up to mine. He scowls even harder when he realized I caught him looking, and I grin.

“Selena,” he says, getting it perfect the first time. No, scratch that. More than perfect. He makes my name sound like song.

I point to the unicorn next, and Sturrm makes a guttural noise at the same time that the unicorn says something in a whicker. They sound nothing alike but are both trying to tell me what should be the same name. I feel more confused than ever.

“Selena.” I gesture to first me and then the green man. “Sturrm.” Then I point to the unicorn and raise my eyebrows in a question.

When they repeat the conflicting sounds, I shake my head. “It doesn’t sound as if you’re speaking the same language. So how can you understand each other?” Then I snap my fingers. “I bet it’s magic! But why isn’t it working for me? I want some of this magic.” Otherwise, I’m screwed. My father was the best, but he didn’t speak Spanish, so I didn’t grow up in a bilingual household, and languages don’t come easily to me.

Sturrm steps closer and says something new, his voice a deep growl that shivers through me. His hands span my waist, almost big enough to wrap all the way around. With a fascinating ripple of shoulder and chest muscles, he lifts me onto the unicorn’s back.

I give a surprised exhale and sway, never having ridden before. I reach for the only thing I can see to grab—the unicorn’s mane. The long black hair is silky and fine.

Then Sturrm’s up behind me, his thighs resting against the outside of mine. One of those huge hands spreads across my stomach and steadies me.

The unicorn takes off at a fast walk, and I begin to tip over, only for Sturrm to pull me back into the solid wall of his chest.

My entire body lights up, tingling with an awareness of him. It’s more than arousal. It almost feels like when I use my healing magic. Is it my healing magic? Is it kind of… constantly diagnosing him or something?

No. I shake my head. That doesn’t feel right.

Whatever it is, it’s a heady, buzzy sensation that makes me want to be closer.

We enter the forest, the ground softened with dried pine needles and deep-green moss. Ferns clump around the bases of the trees, and little umbrella plants with wide, circular leaves topping narrow stems spread across an open patch that gets sun. Bright-yellow birds swoop overhead, singing sweet songs, and a soft breeze carries the fresh scent of pine.

It’s about as different from Miami as you can get, and I love it.

Sturrm growls something, and the unicorn speeds up.

The forest around us blurs, and instead of it feeling as if we move through the world, it’s more like the unicorn runs in place and the world spins under its feet. It’s a dizzying, wonderful feeling, and I let out an excited cry.

The unicorn makes an amused sound and turns its head enough to look at me with one eye, the golden orb sparkling with mischief.

I pat its neck. “I like you.”

Another amused snort before it starts to run even faster.

I sway, bustled from side to side, then let myself relax back into Sturrm, his firm grip keeping me steady. His bare arm brushes mine in a constant reminder that if I removed his clothes once, I can do so again .

My lips curl.

We ride and ride, the landscape swirling past. After several hours, Sturrm says a short, sharp phrase, and the unicorn answers with a snort and slows. With a tingle of magic, the forest snaps back into focus around us.

“Dios mio, that’s amazing!” We’ve clearly moved much farther than we should have. The unicorn travels quickly across the land, Sturrm shapes leather, and I can heal. Magic is amazing!

We circle around a thick clump of pines, and the trees ahead aren’t like any I’ve ever seen, with blue leaves and silver-white trunks. Sunlight beams down, turning the leaves overhead as bright as a summer sky. I reach up and let my hand brush across the closest ones, laughing as they tickle my palm.

I crane my neck to see if Sturrm is as delighted as me, and the movement makes me sway.

His hand tightens on my stomach as he scowls and growls something.

“Okay, okay.” I turn to face the front. “I’ll hold still.”

He pulls me back until I’m pressed firmly against him from butt to shoulder, and that heady awareness of him sparkles in my blood again.

Carajo, it’s been too long since I scratched that itch. The combination of med school and my volunteer work took all of my time. If I let my grades slip, I lose my scholarship, and there’s no way I can afford to go to school without it. I’ve already got more student loans than I’d like—Miami’s not a cheap city—and ever since Mami remarried and moved to Texas, there’s no family to stay with to save on rent.

But I’ve left all those worries behind. I hold up the hand that healed Sturrm and grin. Here, I’m already a healer. I don’t need med school, endless studying, or the debt that comes with it.

Which means, if I want to have a little fun, Sturrm sure looks like he could wreck a girl.

The unicorn breaks out of the last of the blue trees and into a meadow. I squint for a few moments, eyes adapting to the brighter light. Sun sparkles over tall, lush green grass dotted with flowers and thick clusters of bushes covered in dark-purple blackberries.

As the unicorn comes to a halt, a cloud of butterflies explodes from a nearby patch of white, lacy flowers in a flutter of wings.

“Dios mio,” I breathe.

They’re not butterflies—they’re little people!—tiny pink people with white hair that stands straight up like the troll dolls from the animated movies. Their clothes are made of leaves, and their wings range from pink to purple to blue, all shining with iridescence in the sun.

Sturrm slides to the ground and lifts me down.

As soon as my feet touch the ground, I hurry forward until the pixies or sprites or whatever they’re called surround me.

High voices cry out, full of joy. Several of them land on my shoulders and head, and I feel multiple little tugs on my ponytail. Others pat the tops of my ears and yell, the high sound piercing from up close. Are they wondering why they’re not pointed like Sturrm’s?

One tiny woman flies over to hover directly in front of my face. She asks me a question.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, causing more shrieks from those clinging to me. “I don’t understand you.”

She makes exaggerated motions toward the berry bushes, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I missed breakfast.

I glance over at Sturrm, but he’s digging inside the pack hanging from the saddle with his back to me. I’ll surprise him by bringing him back some berries, show him I’m willing to help out.

With a nod, I follow her over to the bushes. The little faeries hanging from me take off and fly ahead, and soon the entire bunch of them flutter in a swirl over the berries, magic sparkling off their wings in a fall of glitter as magic tingles through the air.

The little butterfly woman brings me a berry, and I bite into it right as Sturrm yells angrily behind me.