Page 15 of The Unseelie Wish

“You told me.” Bayodan chuckled as he walked over to sit on the sofa next to his mate. “But I suppose I do not count.”

Alex shrugged. “Well, thanks for keeping it under wraps, either way. The last thing I wanted was to be turned into the main course.”

“It was easy enough to tell there was a human amongst us. I doubt we were the only ones who saw through the ruse.” Bayodan sipped his tea. “But far be it from any of us to interfere with a fellow courtesan’s game. The Duke of Bones can be…unpredictable.”

“And covetous.” Cruinn huffed. “He’ll share his toys, but not the new and shiny ones.”

“I’m not a toy. At this point, I should get a t-shirt with that printed on it.” Fuck, the fae were exhausting. She took another sip of her coffee. She was ready to crawl into bed and take a nap. She was the kind of person who could chug three cups and still be able to fall asleep without a problem.

“We are what we are.” Bayodan sounded like he had said that a thousand times before. “May I ask a bold question, Alex?”

“I may not answer it. But sure.” She had a feeling she knew what he was going to ask.

Bayodan set down his teacup with a quiet tink. “Do you love the duke?”

Yep, there it was. “He threatened to torture me making a wish that would end two worlds and start a war. And he wants to steal my soul.” She glared at Bayodan. “What does it matter how I feel?”

“It matters,” Cruinn interjected. “It could change everything.”

She didn’t want to put up with this. She wanted to get away from the fae for the seven days. She’d picked Bayodan and Cruinn out of a moment of desperation, not because she really wanted to hear their opinion. “I’m going to lie down. I’m tired.”

“You just drank coffee,” Bayodan observed.

“Try me.” Placing her cup of coffee down, she scooped Pumpkin up in her arms. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. Without another word, she headed to her room, leaving the two fae whatever-the-fuck-they-were unattended. Whatever. Worst thing they’d do was break the TV that belonged to a dead man or screw up the Wi-Fi.

Shutting the door behind her, she put Pumpkin on the bed. The cat yawned, stretched, and curled into a ball. She knew she could talk to him, or at least understand what he was saying—but it seemed the animal had nothing to say. She was more than fine with that.

Changing into pajamas, she closed the blinds and crawled under the covers.

What was she supposed to do?

It didn’t matter how she felt about Izael. It didn’t factor into the conversation in the slightest. She had to make it ten days now without deciding on a wish, or else everything was going to go to hell.

Shutting her eyes and snuggling into the pillows, she tried not to think about how she could still smell some of Izael’s cologne on the sheets.

Option one—she made a wish that wasn’t about breaking the treaty, and Izael wound up with her soul. Valroy discovered her weird magic powers, and then the Unseelie King would try to find a way to use her to ruin everything, anyway.

Option two—she made a wish that was about breaking the treaty, for whatever reason. Either because she gave up and just did what they wanted, or because Izael “convinced” her to. Then, the Unseelie King would likely find out about her musical gifts and use her as a human bazooka in the war. Her soul would then belong to Izael, yadda, yadda, and so on.

Option three—she made it through ten days without coming up with a wish that wasn’t a lie. She’d “win” the game, wind up with more money than God, and never see Izael again.

Option three should have been the best outcome. It meant she would win. She would get to keep her soul, two worlds would be left in peace, and everything would come out hunky dory.

So…why did she really hate the idea of option three? Why did it stick a needle in her chest? The last thing she wanted was to break the treaty and watch Valroy start his two wars. And she had zero interest in giving up her soul to Izael. She liked it right where it was, thank-you-very-much.

But the idea of never seeing him again?

That hurt.

All right, fine, I care about him. She could admit that. He was handsome, charming, and the sex was amazing. He made her laugh, when he wasn’t making her scream in terror because he was going full-eldritch-horror and eating somebody whole.

She had smiled more with him in the past week and change than she had in years. With him, she felt…like she had purpose. Meaning. Like somebody cared. That she was somebody and something. Not just a failed singer working at a coffee shop.

Did she love him?

Was that what this was?

Honestly, she didn’t know. And she didn’t know what she wanted. Did she want to love him? Did she want to not?