A Little Night Muse(41)

                She flinched and tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go.

                “Who are you?” His tone allowed no prevarication just as his                     grip permitted no escape. “What kind of person gets burned by iron?”

                “No kind of person.” Her voice sounded hollow to her ears. “I                     am phae.”

                She said the last word with the flowing tones of her kind, and                     from the widening of his eyes, she knew he understood, on some atavistic level:                     She was other.

                But he did not release her hands. Of course he didn’t. He had                     put a horseshoe through an imp’s eye. He would not be frightened off by a musetta.

                She let out a long, slow breath. “You humans call us                     fairies.”

                He lifted one eyebrow. “You aren’t pink. And where are your                     sparkly wings?”

                She grimaced. “Did you ever read the original fairy tales? They                     run red with blood. Pink is the watered-down version.” She tugged at his grasp                     again. He resisted another moment then let her go. She paced a short distance                     away. “Some phae are winged, but I am musetta.”

                “Musetta.” He wrapped his lips                     around the word in a way that made her shiver in memory of his lips on other                     parts of her. “What does that mean?”

                “Your stories call us muses, inspiration to artists, poets and                     the like.”

                His gaze sharpened. “That’s why you were interested in the belt                     buckles.”

                “I wondered if you had iron,” she admitted.

                “Because you knew that imp might come?”

                She hesitated, just a moment too long.

                His gaze sharpened another strop. “What is going on, Adelyn?”                     He drew out the syllables of her name just a touch, as if he questioned it.

                The suspicion stung, although of course she had lied about                     everything else.

                But how could she explain without putting him in danger? The                     Queen had strict policies against initiating humans into phae mysteries. At least humans who weren’t trapped in the phaedrealii and her bed. Turning the accusation                     around, she challenged, “If I had said, ‘I’m a fairy princess in need of                     rescue,’ would you have believed me?”