away.
He was frighteningly still. "What do you mean?"
She knew better than to provoke a faery, especially a faery king, but she barreled on, "You'd be surprised at what I know about you. And you know what? None of it impresses me. Not one little bit."
He laughed then—joyous and free, like the anger that'd flared in his eyes hadn't existed. "Then I shall try harder."
She shivered in foreboding, in sudden longing, in some uncomfortable mixture of the two. It was worse than the simple compulsion she'd felt to reach out toward him: it was the same disquieting tangle of feelings she'd felt at Comix when he'd first spoken to her.
Leslie whistled softly. "Give him a little something, Ash."
"Drop it, Les." Aislinn fisted her hands in her lap under the table.
"PMS." Rianne nodded. Then she tapped Keenan's hand and added, "Just ignore her, sweetie. We'll help you wear her down."
"Oh, I'm counting on that, Rianne," Keenan murmured. He was glowing—like a bright light radiated from inside his skin—as he spoke.
Aislinn could taste rose-heavy air, could feel the too-tempting warmth from him.
Her friends stared at him as if he were the most amazing thing they'd ever glimpsed. I am so screwed.
Aislinn stayed silent until it was time to go to afternoon classes, her fingernails digging small half circles— like slivers of the sun —into her palms. She concentrated on the pain of those suns, only partially visible in her skin, and wondered if she had any chance at all of escaping from Keenan's attention.
By the end of the day, Keenan's proximity had grown intolerable to Aislinn. A strange warmth seemed to permeate the air when he stood close to her, and after a few moments, it was near painful to resist touching him. Her mind told her to, but her eyes wanted to drift shut; her hands wanted to reach out.
I need space.
She'd learned to deal with seeing the fey. It was awful, but she did it. She could do this, too.
He's just another faery.
She concentrated, repeating the rules and warnings in her mind like a prayer, a litany to keep her focused. Don't stare, don't speak, don't run, don't touch. She took several calming breaths. Don't react. Don't attract their attention. Don't ever let them know you can see them. The familiarity of the words helped her push back the edge of desire, but it wasn't enough to make it anywhere near comfortable to be around him.
So when they walked in to Lit class and one of the cheerleaders offered him an empty seat—a seat gloriously far away from hers—Aislinn gave the cheerleader a big smile. "I could kiss you for that. Thank you."
Keenan flinched at the phrase.
The cheerleader stared back at Aislinn, not sure if it was a joke or not.
"Seriously. Thank you." Aislinn turned away from the less-than-pleased Keenan and slid into her seat, grateful to have a respite—however brief it was.
A few minutes later Sister Mary Louise came in and passed out a stack of papers. "I thought we'd take a Shakespeare break today."
Appreciative murmurs greeted her, quickly followed by groans when people saw the poetry on the handouts. Ignoring the grumbling, Sister Mary Louise scrawled a title on the whiteboard: "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Someone in the back muttered, "Poetry and French, oh joy."
Sister Mary Louise laughed. "Who wants to read about the 'Beautiful Woman Without Pity'?"
Utterly unself-conscious, Keenan stood and read the tragic tale of a knight fatally entranced by a faery. It wasn't the words that had every girl in the room sighing: it was his voice. Even without a glamour , he sounded sinfully good.
When he was done reading, Sister Mary Louise seemed as stunned as the rest of them. "Beautiful," she murmured. Then she pulled her gaze away to drift over the room, pausing on the typically vocal students. "Well? What can you tell me?"
"I've got nothing," Leslie murmured from across the aisle.
Sister Mary Louise caught Aislinn's eye expectantly.
So after yet another steadying
He was frighteningly still. "What do you mean?"
She knew better than to provoke a faery, especially a faery king, but she barreled on, "You'd be surprised at what I know about you. And you know what? None of it impresses me. Not one little bit."
He laughed then—joyous and free, like the anger that'd flared in his eyes hadn't existed. "Then I shall try harder."
She shivered in foreboding, in sudden longing, in some uncomfortable mixture of the two. It was worse than the simple compulsion she'd felt to reach out toward him: it was the same disquieting tangle of feelings she'd felt at Comix when he'd first spoken to her.
Leslie whistled softly. "Give him a little something, Ash."
"Drop it, Les." Aislinn fisted her hands in her lap under the table.
"PMS." Rianne nodded. Then she tapped Keenan's hand and added, "Just ignore her, sweetie. We'll help you wear her down."
"Oh, I'm counting on that, Rianne," Keenan murmured. He was glowing—like a bright light radiated from inside his skin—as he spoke.
Aislinn could taste rose-heavy air, could feel the too-tempting warmth from him.
Her friends stared at him as if he were the most amazing thing they'd ever glimpsed. I am so screwed.
Aislinn stayed silent until it was time to go to afternoon classes, her fingernails digging small half circles— like slivers of the sun —into her palms. She concentrated on the pain of those suns, only partially visible in her skin, and wondered if she had any chance at all of escaping from Keenan's attention.
By the end of the day, Keenan's proximity had grown intolerable to Aislinn. A strange warmth seemed to permeate the air when he stood close to her, and after a few moments, it was near painful to resist touching him. Her mind told her to, but her eyes wanted to drift shut; her hands wanted to reach out.
I need space.
She'd learned to deal with seeing the fey. It was awful, but she did it. She could do this, too.
He's just another faery.
She concentrated, repeating the rules and warnings in her mind like a prayer, a litany to keep her focused. Don't stare, don't speak, don't run, don't touch. She took several calming breaths. Don't react. Don't attract their attention. Don't ever let them know you can see them. The familiarity of the words helped her push back the edge of desire, but it wasn't enough to make it anywhere near comfortable to be around him.
So when they walked in to Lit class and one of the cheerleaders offered him an empty seat—a seat gloriously far away from hers—Aislinn gave the cheerleader a big smile. "I could kiss you for that. Thank you."
Keenan flinched at the phrase.
The cheerleader stared back at Aislinn, not sure if it was a joke or not.
"Seriously. Thank you." Aislinn turned away from the less-than-pleased Keenan and slid into her seat, grateful to have a respite—however brief it was.
A few minutes later Sister Mary Louise came in and passed out a stack of papers. "I thought we'd take a Shakespeare break today."
Appreciative murmurs greeted her, quickly followed by groans when people saw the poetry on the handouts. Ignoring the grumbling, Sister Mary Louise scrawled a title on the whiteboard: "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." Someone in the back muttered, "Poetry and French, oh joy."
Sister Mary Louise laughed. "Who wants to read about the 'Beautiful Woman Without Pity'?"
Utterly unself-conscious, Keenan stood and read the tragic tale of a knight fatally entranced by a faery. It wasn't the words that had every girl in the room sighing: it was his voice. Even without a glamour , he sounded sinfully good.
When he was done reading, Sister Mary Louise seemed as stunned as the rest of them. "Beautiful," she murmured. Then she pulled her gaze away to drift over the room, pausing on the typically vocal students. "Well? What can you tell me?"
"I've got nothing," Leslie murmured from across the aisle.
Sister Mary Louise caught Aislinn's eye expectantly.
So after yet another steadying
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