He makes a face like the entire state is distasteful.
“You could always leave,” I suggest.
I look both ways. It would take me about three minutes to run back to the parking lot, but what then? He’d catch me.
“I would catch you,” he says.
“Reading thoughts?”
“Guessing.”
My teeth chatter.
“See?” he says. “You despise it here as well. I have done my research. You are a southern girl, correct? Charleston. Mint juleps. Lazy, hot days on the veranda. Now you are stuck here eating bagels with all those people.”
“I choose to be here.”
He lifts an eyebrow. It’s a slow, calculated lift. His voice matches it. “I do not believe that. You are here because you have to be. Just as I am.”
I meet his eyes. They are deep and almost mesmerizing. Did I say deep before? Yeah, right. That’s not it. They have a pull to them, like currents, like Velcro or something, totally captivating, like when you see a convertible flipped over on the highway and there are body bags and you don’t want to look but you look because you can’t look, because you can’t not look, because you are just riveted and . . .
Stop. Just stop.
“Are you going to let me go back?” I ask and nod my head toward the ambulances and the station.
“Of course. I am not the kind of pixie who makes people lose their way or traps them.”
“Mm-hmm. Right. No calling people’s names out in the woods?”
“That is archaic. Did they really do that?” His voice loses its mesmerizing quality and creeps into curiosity. He seems so young compared to my dad, too young to be a king.
I start walking. The snow invades my sneakers. My feet are already soaked, frozen, cold. He walks just behind me. His breath hits my hair because he is so close. If I stopped fast he’d slam into me.
“No kidnapping either, right?” I say. “Because I am not into being kidnapped.”
“No kidnapping.” He lifts his hand. He still looks amused. “Pixie honor.”
I snort. “Pixie honor. Right. I’ve been kidnapped before, you know. I know all about pixie honor.”
He grabs me by the shoulder and whirls me around, suddenly, alarmingly fierce. I flinch. His mouth moves hard and fast with his words. “I know you have not had good experiences with us, princess, but your father was weak. His people were barely controlled. That is not how we are meant to rule.”
“Really?” I yank myself away. “Sorry. I’ve found you all aren’t the most trustworthy.”
He eyes me. His voice deepens and almost sounds concerned. “You are turning blue. It was faint when I first saw you and I was not sure, but it is much deeper now.”
The wind suddenly blows. I sway again, almost crumple. “I’m so dizzy.”
His arms are around me. “I shall carry you back.”
“No,” I protest, but he doesn’t listen. He lifts me up into his arms. “I said no.”
“You are not going to make it.” He pulls me against him as if I weigh nothing.
The world rocks back and forth, uncontrolled, unplanned. “What’s—”
“Happening to you?” he finishes. “I am not positive. But I think you’re reacting to me. My presence sets off your pixie blood, calls it up. There are not that many halves like you, Zara. It is just not allowed, and there are none who are descended from a king. There is not a lot of precedence for what is occurring.”
“I didn’t turn blue when I was near my father.” I flinch.
“That is because he is your father. It would be like—um—being attracted to him, that way.” He says this awkwardly with none of his earlier assurance. “I think something in my blood calls out to yours. We attract each other.”
I shake my head. “I’m not attracted to you. I love Nick.”
“Nick,” he mutters. “The wolf’s name is Nick.”
“Do not hurt him.” I groan from the movement. “I will kill you if you hurt him.”
He stops walking for a moment. “I shall only do what I have to do, Zara.” He’s silent for a moment. I let him think. Then he says, “What is important right now is you, your skin. Your eyes are unfocused.”
“Am I turning?” I whisper. “Am I turning into one of you?”
He strides through the woods, turning sideways when the trees are too close. He is graceful and strong. “No. I do not believe so. You have to be kissed. And you still smell very human and nice. I am not certain, though. I shall try to find out.”
My mind flashes to when Ian tried to kiss me. He’d kidnapped me, tried to turn me, so he could defeat my father, take his power.
“You won’t kiss me,” I say, pounding on his chest for emphasis. “You promise. Promise you won’t kiss me.”
His mouth goes up to that same smile, half mischief, no teeth, crinkling his face into something almost happy, something not so sad. “I cannot promise that, but I promise that I will not kiss you unless you want me to.”
“That will never happen,” I say, pointing at him. “And no hurting Nick.”
“Right.” He laughs and I turn my head away, looking at my hands. My hands are almost totally blue. They spread across the dark wool material of his jacket. They clench into balls and shake.
That’s the last thing I see: my blue skin, shaking.
I wake up in Issie’s car. He’s opened the back door, laid me down on the rear seat. My hand touches one of Issie’s old French tests, folded over, muddy, like it’s been stepped on and discarded.
The pixie guy shudders. He’s standing just outside the door. He puts his hand gently on my arm. “Do not attempt to get up yet. You fainted. I believe I am a little much for you to handle in your present human state.” He winks like a total jerk, like some kind of pixie player. “I was not about to bring you inside, because I am not in the mood for a bloodbath. You should go in a minute when you are not quite so azure.”
He reaches out and touches my face, just one fingertip against my cheek. I shiver.
“I hate cars too. We all do,” he says.
“That’s not why I shivered,” I insist, sitting up, swinging my legs out and trying not to shake. “I suppose I should thank you for bringing me here and not turning me or eating me or anything.”