The lost coven, p.20
The Lost Coven, page 20
part #1 of The Lost Cove Darklings Series
When Felicity looked up, Tristen was lingering by the fencepost next to the pasture gate, talking to Luca, a Laltog from her Algebra class—which she was now passing, thank you very much. She had told Nan about her make-out session with Tristen, about all the confusion surrounding their feelings for one another. She’d left out the part about Tristen’s fangs in her neck and the resulting euphoria and general hotness, but Nan didn’t need to know everything, right? Her grandmother had been unbelievably non-judgy but warned her to be careful. Kyla was unpredictable and jealous—and determined to be queen, though she couldn’t care less about Tristen.
“I think His Highness is waiting on you,” Raven giggled. “We’ll see you back at the house.”
Raven slid her arm through Nan’s and walked through the wet grass. Luca, Felicity noticed, had conveniently disappeared, also. Nearly choking on her heart, Felicity moved toward Tristen on legs that felt heavy and awkward, like she’d just stepped onto dry land after being on a boat for a year. The leathery bat wings thrashing in her chest didn’t match the lazy clumsiness of her legs, and her entire body felt foreign to her.
Get it together, Dumbass.
She took a deep breath, her belly warming as she stopped beside him.
“Hi,” she said, a little too loudly.
Nope. Not awkward at all.
Tristen didn’t speak for several seconds, but the corner of his mouth lifted, as if he were fighting off the urge to laugh. Then, he held out his arm.
“It would be my honor to escort the Mage of Lost Cove safely back to her cottage.”
Laughing at the necessary formality, Felicity took his arm.
“Why, thank you, Your Highness. Believe me, the honor is all mine.”
She drew out the words like dripping honey, hoping the meaning behind them was clear. He raised his brows and cocked his head to the side, flashing a wicked grin.
Tristen was well over six feet tall, so he towered over Felicity, who was five foot four if she was lucky. But she never felt like she was in his shadow. His dark hair was soaked, like hers, and fell in inky strands across the sharp lines of his beautiful face. All the Fae were beautiful, Felicity had learned, and the Darklings were definitely not excluded from that. But where the Seelie Fae were ethereal and luminous, like she had always imagined the angels to look, the Unseelies and Darklings were alluring in a dangerous, foreboding way—like the way a snake or predatory bird could be beautiful and deadly at the same time. Whenever Tristen was near her, it was all Felicity could do to keep her toes from curling. Ever since she’d crawled across a table like a total slutbag to kiss him two weeks ago, he’d been under her skin, and there was no way she could shake him, even if she wanted to.
Remembering they weren’t alone, Felicity snapped out of her lustful thoughts, tearing her eyes away from him. Laltogs and humans lingered near the fields, discussing the fire and the impending fate of the eight-year-old holy terrors who had set it. Laltogs had super sensitive hearing and would be listening to every word exchanged between the Mage and their Prince until they had created several yards of distance, so Felicity and Tristen could never say what they truly meant among the hordes. But there, in the darkness, Tristen placed his other hand over Felicity’s, tracing circles over her skin without detection. His secret touch was somehow even more electric in its forbiddence than if his hands were somewhere more intriguing. Not that Felicity had ever been touched anywhere intriguing before. It was truly a shame.
As Mage, her sole focus was supposed to be on the community and the magic it took to keep Lost Cove hidden and safe through the maintenance of wards and glamours—as well as the curses that would befall anyone who tried to breach the barrier. Unlike the humans, Felicity didn’t have to pay tithes in blood, which could weaken her magic. Also unlike the humans, she wasn’t free to date anyone, let alone the Laltog Prince who had been betrothed to Princess Kyla, the daughter of the fallen Darkling King Erroll. Felicity could admit, it was kind of skeezy to be sneaking around with Tristen whenever the opportunity presented itself, but in her defense, Kyla was a total bitch in a psychotic, murdery sort of way, and the crazy girl couldn’t stand Tristen anyway. All she cared about was power. So even if Tristen hadn’t fanged Felicity in the library two weeks ago, she would give zero fucks about whether Kyla liked her or not.
The Mage’s cottage was behind the sinister Goth castle where the Laltogs lived, so, in this case, it made sense for Tristen to “escort” her home. And Felicity would take any amount of time she could to be near him, no matter how brief. They typically avoided each other at school and community events. They pretended to be passing acquaintances, polite but not overly friendly. Though there had been a significant amount of gazing. From across classrooms at school. From across the dining table at Evening Feast. From across fields and lawns in town. Every time he looked at her, her foolish little heart got all fluttery, as if a horde of moths were trapped in its chambers.
Tonight was the first time in two weeks Felicity had been able to touch him, to stand this close to him, and her traitorous hormones really needed to pump the brakes before she made a total dumbass of herself. Once they were out of sight of the other Laltogs, Tristen moved his arm, lacing his fingers through Felicity’s, his thumb continuing their circles over her hand.
“You made it rain,” Tristen whispered. “I can’t believe you made it rain.”
“Honestly? Neither can I.” Felicity unleashed a shocked giggle. “I mean, I knew I was awesome, but I had no idea I was that awesome.”
“I did,” Tristen whispered, leaning so close, she could feel his breath in her ear.
She shuddered as goosebumps puckered over her skin. She slowly released a measured breath, hoping Tristen couldn’t hear the way his words had jump started her heart like a car battery. But he probably could. He totally could. And the way he made her feel was like a high that she never wanted to end.
Too soon, though, they had reached the cottage, both front windows glowing with light. With a wicked grin, Tristen pulled her into the shadows of the porch, scanning the area with his superhuman vision to make sure they were alone. Once he was satisfied, his shoulders relaxed, and he gazed down at her. Felicity could barely breathe, and if he kept looking at her like that without touching her, she was going to need a paper bag. Finally, he turned her towards him, bringing his hand to her hair, twisting a rain-soaked strand around his finger.
“Don’t forget,” he whispered. “You remember, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Felicity whispered. “I remember.”
Smiling, the point of a sharp fang caught the moonlight, as he leaned toward her. Her pulse throbbed in her throat, reminding her of the burst of pleasure she had felt when he drank from her. Just as she hoped he would, Tristen leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.
Felicity’s hormones kicked into overdrive, but when she reached up to wind her arms around him and deepen their kiss, there was only air.
He was gone.
Tristen had faded before either of them could lose themselves—which was exactly what Felicity had been planning to do, rules and laws happily forgotten.
“I hate it when he does that,” she whispered, her heart still pounding.
Though the Seelie could fade just as the Laltogs could, it was a skill Nan couldn’t teach her. And none of the Laltogs were signing up to teach the enemy how to get away from them faster. But Felicity definitely wanted to learn how. To drive Tristen wild and then leave him a sudden puddle of lust and raw nerves. Plus, it would be useful if she ever found herself in danger.
Taking a deep breath to steady her pulse and tame the warmth that rushed through her body, she stepped back onto the porch and opened the door. The lights were still on, but Nan and Raven had gone to bed.
Groaning, Felicity locked the door and walked into the bathroom to get out of her wet clothes and take a shower. Then, she looked in the mirror.
She cringed back in horror. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
That explained why Tristen kept smirking.
She looked like someone’s unfortunate, post-bender mugshot. Her hair was wet from the rain and her face was covered in the grimy soot left behind by smoke and ash from the fire. She had gone to bed the night before without bothering to wash her face, so the day’s mascara had bled from her lashes, creating darker rivulets amid the grease. Even the pointed tips of her ears were smudged with grime, and she couldn’t imagine what had compelled Tristen to brush his lips against hers.
But the memory of it thrilled her.
As she stood in the hot shower, allowing the soap and water to rinse away the night’s work, she recalled his parting words: “Don’t forget.”
He was reminding her of a promise he made to her two days after she came to Lost Cove. When she had learned that because she was the Mage, her life could never be her own. But Tristen had managed to give her hope.
Every time you see me avoiding your gaze, I’m thinking of how soft your lips are. And when I dart in the other direction to avoid your path, I’m reliving our kiss. And when we pass by each other and my hand grazes yours, I can still taste you on my tongue.
She had repeated the words over and over like a prayer, held onto them, and committed them to memory to give her something to hope for. She could only pray that kind of hope didn’t play her false. As she crawled beneath the covers, rolling herself up like a burrito, she replayed each kiss they had shared, from their morning in the library to the more chaste version in the shadows beside the door. Finally, with her fingertips pressed to her lips, Felicity drifted to sleep.
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About the Author
Born and raised in the mountains of East Tennessee, Bekah Harris has been writing since she could hold a pencil. The beauty of her home in the Appalachian Mountains, along with the legends, myths, and folklore of that area, is what inspires the unique plots and settings captured in her young adult fiction. In addition to her love of all things fictional, in addition to writing books, Bekah also teaches high school English and does freelance editing. When not working, Bekah can be found relaxing at home with her husband, son, and two cats.
Bekah Harris, The Lost Coven
