Air. Creed Morrison’s affinity was air.
The articles she’d read all explained that fae-blood were typically associated with one element. Those of purer fae lines had a second. True fae had two or sometimes three. Nothing explained why she had four, and she’d never met another fae-blood she could ask.
Here, though, was one in her home.
The music covered Daidí’s words as he told her, “I want you to talk to him. If he doesn’t give you his contact information, I’ll have Shayla get it for you. You need to know more of your people. That’s why I brought him here.”
Lily glanced from her father to Creed and back again.
“Happy birthday, Lilywhite,” Daidí said.
The real present wasn’t the party, or the jewelry, or even the concert. Her father had delivered Creed Morrison to her like a gift. All he needed was a bow.
three
LILY
After Creed’s second song, Shayla arrived at the table, and Daidí stepped away, signaling to the guests that they could begin their procession of offerings. Nothing in the gifts they carried could be quite as shocking as the gift her father gave her. She watched Creed as he continued to sing to her, wishing that she could be so bold as to end the party for everyone but the two of them. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Instead, she smiled politely at the head of the Gaviria family and his sons as they all bowed their heads to her.
The Gaviria cartel was Daidí’s strongest ally, and as such, they were always first in line to offer felicitations. Their cartel was not a new organization like so many today. They had a history stretching back before the early 2000s, before the war, before the guerrilla attacks by the Queen of Blood and Rage’s terrorists, back when this continent was called North America.
“Feliz cumplea?os, Lilywhite,” Se?or Gaviria greeted as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the air just above the skin.
“Gracias.” She smiled and repaid it in kind by saying, “It’s no wonder your sons attract so many beautiful women with you as an influence.”
“Gracias.” He sighed, keeping her hand in his. “Pero”—he shrugged and looked at Erik, his eldest son and her closest friend—“Erik necesita una buena esposa.”
Erik met her eyes during his father’s oft-repeated comment, but he said nothing. Like Lily, Erik was being raised with the necessary skills to take over the family business. Unlike her, there was no doubt that he would do so.
Studiously not glancing at Erik, Lily said, “I’m sure all of your sons will find good wives.”
“Espero que sí.” Se?or Gaviria half sighed the words.
Dutifully, Erik held out a beautifully wrapped jeweler’s box. It was too big to hold something dangerous like a ring, but whether it was a necklace or bracelet, it was clearly meant to be a reminder that he was wealthy and had impeccable taste. She didn’t need those reminders. She’d known for years that their fathers had hopes of a marriage. Erik was four years older than her, and while they’d kissed a few times, they both knew that Erik would require a wife meeker than Lily could ever be.
“Exquisite as always,” Erik said with a bit too much familiarity for a casual friend. He lifted her hand to his lips, echoing his father’s words and actions.
“Too kind as always,” she replied lightly.
“We will dance,” Erik said, not asking as most boys would. His assertiveness was part of his appeal, but it was the sort of appeal that only worked because he had no actual authority over her.
“I always enjoy dancing with mi amigo de confianza.” She switched to Se?or Gaviria’s preferred language and hoped that his father heard the word friend clearly enough.
Erik didn’t have her heart—any more than she held his—but tonight, she needed a safe, human touch. She needed her friend to be nearer to her because of what he wasn’t. Being in his arms for a dance would help remind her of who she was—and what she was pretending not to be.
She laid her hand on Erik’s arm. “Soon. We will dance soon.”
Se?or Gaviria beamed approvingly; his youngest two sons said nothing. They were not expected to do more tonight than be seen showing their respects. The Gavirias moved on so Lily could talk to the rest of her well-wishers and approval-seekers. She liked most of them well enough, but after the seventh polite exchange, Lily was already feeling the strain of politic answers that bordered a bit too closely on lies.
When Creed switched to a calmer song, “Belladonna Dreams,” she felt her skin tighten and knew he was watching her. There was something about Creed Morrison; he was temptation incarnate. She glanced his way, and in that moment, she couldn’t see anyone but him. The world vanished.
Then Shayla’s voice interrupted her longing: “Lorenz Calvacante. His son, Vincenzo, and his daughters, Maria and Angela.”
And Lily returned to her dutiful acceptance of gifts and birthday greetings.
Vincenzo bowed his head. “When the presentation is done, I would be honored to lead you in a dance.”
She nodded. All of their generation had been forced by their families to learn the very formal dances of the past. The waltz (Viennese and English), the tango, the foxtrot . . . Someone had unearthed a series of old television shows from just after the turn of the century, and a weird craze for formal dancing had begun. Most of them were horrible at it; only Erik took to dance gracefully.
The Calvacantes left, and Lily’s gaze drifted back to Creed yet again as she tried to decide whether or not it was better that they couldn’t speak privately.
“In the desert, I bartered my soul,” he sang as she glanced his way. “In the darkness . . . please keep me from surrendering to these belladonna dreams.”
It was a song he’d written far before tonight, one that rode charts on every continent, but as he sang, he stared only at her, and Lily couldn’t help the foolish feeling that his words were just for her. It was impossible, but in that instant, she believed he was begging her to save him.
This was part of why the fae-blood were imprisoned. History taught that the fae were manipulative and cruel. Reality proved that they could manipulate people with their affinities and their innate beauty.
Although Creed Morrison wasn’t using his gifts to hurt people, he obviously could twist emotions with his voice—or maybe Lily was more susceptible to him. Either way, she felt the magic of a fae affinity in his voice, and it made her struggle not to respond. The question was whether that response was to go to him or to lash out at him with her own affinities. Neither would be wise.
By the time Lily had finished the gifts, Erik was waiting. Gently, he pulled her out of her chair. No one was on the dance floor yet. Her feet made next to no sound as she followed him.
“Tango?” he asked.
The music Creed was playing was all wrong, but they could make it work.
“Don’t expose my thigh,” she warned.
“I thought this was a weapon-free event.”