Chapter Eleven: Kiss
Elion POV
She gives me her password. Freely.
That alone is a bit jarring. Trust from mortals, especially ones like her, is rare. But she hands me the phone without hesitation, and I accept it with a small hum of interest.
Surprise, surprise—her phone is glittery and pink. Just like everything else she owns. Her aesthetic is so loud, so insistently bright, that it borders on defiance. She's not subtle about it. It's a statement.
She sits cross-legged on the white tiles, her full focus on the fake nail she paints in slow, precise strokes. The polish sparkles under the room's lighting. Her hair is tied back in a messy ponytail, and she's wearing a tank top and pajama shorts that expose a ridiculous amount of leg.
She looks completely at ease, and yet— devastatingly beautiful.
I open her phone and text myself, storing my number. Humans really are delightful—what genius thought of instant messaging? In the Fae realm, we're still sending raven-bound scrolls like it's the 12th century. The urge to groan is strong.
I glance through her social media.
Notifications. Thousands of them.
Her last post is a photo. She's cooking dinner in her kitchen, everything pastel pink—the pot, the ladle, the apron. She's smiling in the picture, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
I scroll down. The comments are exactly what I expect, and somehow worse.
"Ugly bitch."
"Trash whore."
"How is she still alive?"
Some are funny in a dark way, I won't lie. But most of them? Just vile. Not clever. Not witty. Just cruel.
I frown, not because it offends me, but because—how does she endure this? She sees it. She must see it. She even liked one of the comments that told her to drop dead.
Is it a coping mechanism? A taunt?
"Are you done?" she says suddenly.
I blink. Her voice snaps me out of the rabbit hole of vitriol. She's standing now, stretching lazily. Her tank top rides up and her chest bounces slightly with the movement.
I am… not unaffected.
"Come help me," she adds.
And that's how I find myself seated across from her on the bedroom floor, trying not to ruin the nails she's spent so long decorating. The other hand is already under some strange drying machine.
"Don't mess up," she warns casually.
"No pressure then," I mutter.
I concentrate. For a fae born with an innate understanding of runes, curses, and complex glamours, applying acrylic nails is… shockingly difficult.
Finally, we finish, and she shifts her hand under the machine while inspecting the one I worked on. I brace myself.
She hums.
"Not bad."
I exhale in relief.
She raises her hand to admire it, stretching again. The motion causes her tank top to ride up higher, revealing a sliver of her stomach and the tiniest glimpse of pink lace.
I look away.
"Are you not afraid of being in a room alone with me?" I ask.
She raises a brow.
"Should I be afraid?"
I smile. "No." Checkmate she got me there.
She pauses. Then, almost casually, she says, "I've never been with a fae before."
I lean back against the bed and meet her gaze. "I could change that."
She checks her other hand to see if it's dry, then moves toward me.
"Hmmm... I'm thinking of just giving you a treat for a job well done."
She straddles my lap, and my hands settle instinctively at her waist. Her body is warm against mine.
"A treat? Are you treating me like a dog?" I ask, voice low.
"Do you hate it?" she murmurs, fingers tracing my throat.
"No," I whisper. "Not at all."
From this close, I see it—the gold flecks in her brown eyes, catching the room's light like embers. They're stunning. She's stunning.
And then she kisses me.
No hesitation. No teasing.
Her lips crash against mine, demanding and fierce. Her fingers grip my jaw, her body pressing flush to mine like she's branding me.
I groan, surprised, breathless.
It's not sweet. It's not slow. It's hungry.
I kiss her back, letting the desire roll through me like wildfire. Her hands tangle in my hair. My grip tightens around her waist. Our breathing grows ragged.
She nips at my lower lip. I retaliate by pressing her closer.
It's spiraling fast.
And then, just as quickly as it started, she breaks the kiss.
Pushes off me.
I blink, dazed, still catching my breath.
"Out," she says, adjusting her tank top.
"What?"
"You heard me. Out."
I laugh, breathless and stunned. "Seriously?"
"I need to sleep."
She stands, brushing her shorts down, strutting toward the door with that same devastating confidence.
I rise, still a little stunned.
"You kissed me, you know."
"I gave you a treat. Don't get greedy."
I grin. I don't think I'll be bored for a really long time.