He nodded quickly and walked ahead of me, his breath hitching as he continued to cry silently, which confused me even more. But I didn’t let myself get distracted by him again.
“Sit down.” I shoved him towards the armchair, waiting until he hesitantly sat before grabbing as much as I could while glancing at him every other second.
My books. My huge white fur throw. The bag of coins that I knew was stashed in the big trunk in the corner, even though I couldn’t remember where I’d gotten them. I took the satchel that I’d commandeered for good measure, figuring I might need it.
“Kitchen,” I said in a hard voice, waiting with my dagger clutched in my fist as the fae slowly rose from the armchair and padded barefoot through the doorway. “Get over by the table and don’t move.”
He did as I said, silently watching me as I quickly grabbed my notebook, my pen, a velvet bag that I knew had seeds in it, my candle and original dagger, which I tucked into the empty sheath at my hip before stuffing everything else in my bag. The pewter cauldron weighed it down heavily when I slipped it in, but I wasn’t leaving without it. It was mine. I wasn’t going to let this random unseelie fae just use all my shit because he’d decided to squat in my old cottage.
“Why the fuck are you wearing my shorts?” I grated once my bag was full.
I didn’t know why I wasn’t just leaving. I stared at the fae hard, and a faint flush stained his cheeks when he glanced down, making my chest ache for a bewildering moment.
“I—I—” His face was stricken when he looked at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you here? This place was empty for a century before the Carlin put me here.”
What the fuck was I doing? Why wasn’t I just leaving while this fae was docile and letting me do what I wanted? He had four blades with him, so he surely had to be at least somewhat dangerous. He wouldn’t have four if he didn’t know how to use them. Not that he had any of them on him now, but he was probably fast. He looked fast. And strong, his body rangy and lightly muscled.
When another bewildering rush of intense longing and arousal streaked through me, I gritted my teeth in anger and tightened my grip on my dagger. “Answer me.”
“I—I just… wanted to sleep here,” he told me, his voice tight with misery.
My eyes flicked down his frame again. Was he homeless? I hadn’t heard of any homeless Folk while I’d been here. And he looked clean and well-fed, not like he was starving and sleeping out in the cold.
“I haven’t touched any of your things,” he said hoarsely. “I promise.”
Another promise. It just made me more mistrustful, despite my strange reactions to him. Still gripping my dagger, I shrugged my shoulder to shift the bag handles up higher as the weight of my stuff dragged the bag down. The action tugged on the neckline of my shirt, and I tensed up when the fae’s black eyes darted down to my throat.
He let out a shuddering breath.
“You—you’re still wearing it.” Fragile hope bloomed in his voice, and his eyes were glistening again when he raised them to meet mine. “Do you recognise me at all?”
What? I frowned hard at him, still furious at myself for not justfucking leaving.Why was I standing here talking to him? Was it just because this had beenmycottage, and I’d formed some weird attachment to it even though I hadn’t been here out of choice? Even though I’d just sat in here alone, day after day?
“No, I don’t,” I snapped. “I don’t recognise you. Why? Who are you?”
“Lonan,” he whispered and went to take a step forward, but stopped when I tensed up.
“I don’t kn—” My throat closed up, and I felt the familiar rush of panic that still happened every time.
Why was my body reacting like I was about to tell a lie? Ididn’tknow this fae. I’d never seen him before.
“You do know me, Ash.” His voice hitched as he started crying again. “P-please. Please remember me.”
Confusion was making me tense and angry. I took a step towards the door, still holding my dagger out.
“I’m leaving. I won’t be back, so feel free to keep squatting here if you really want.” I glanced down at the shorts again, refusing to get distracted by his body. “You’re welcome to the shorts,” I added with a sneer, trying to hide the panicked confusion making my stomach jittery.
I backed out of the kitchen, watching him closely to make sure he didn’t move. Why was my chest aching at the sight of him crying? Why did my eyes keep dropping to his mouth and that acorn necklace at his throat?
Once I was in the living room, I turned to run for the front door. But then I heard his low, husky voice behind me, thick with tears and misery.
“No, p-please—wait.”
For some reason that I couldn’t explain, I did.