The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

his mouth lifted in mirth made her gut clench. The whispered promise of mischief whenever they spoke made her knees tremble. And most of all, the way his fists clenched when they argued made her want to grab onto him and never let go.

He didn’t know who she was, what she was. There could never be anything between them when secrets filled the space with fire and brimstone.

“Never going to happen,” she muttered and shook her head. “It’s too risky.”

It couldn’t go anywhere. She was a woman with more than one curse. All her pieces and parts had scattered to the wind until she hardly knew who she was. How was she supposed to bring another person into her life?

She was getting ahead of herself. He might not even be interested in her.

A blast of healing energy slammed into her shoulder, forcing her onto her knees at the edge of the muck. Blowing out a breath, she stared at the bubbles popping in front of her.

“Damnit, Lorcan,” she grumbled. “There’s no need to be so forceful about it.”

The Unseelie was probably annoying him so much he felt the need to heal by force. Damned cat always let emotions get the better of him, which was why his spells hurt like hell. Even the ones that weren’t supposed to hurt at all.

Aisling forced herself to stand and made it back to where they’d left their pack. She crumpled into a ball in the roots, eyes wanting to drift shut but mind racing. She was so tired, yet not a single part of her mind was ready to sleep.

She floated in a daze until they caught up to her. Bran looked about as tired as she felt, and he quickly joined her in the roots and fell asleep immediately. She’d marvel at how easily his tall frame folded later. Instead, she glared at Lorcan with red rimmed eyes. “Was that necessary?”

“Very.” He flopped over her legs dramatically. “He’s insufferable.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Yes, but now it’s affecting me, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Aisling rolled her eyes and skated her hand over his coarse fur. He wasn’t like the other cats she’d pet. Lorcan’s fur pricked at her fingers, short spikes of fur digging into her palms.

He rolled so she could scratch his belly. “What happened in there anyway?”

“Hm?”

“In the hanging tree. What happened? Did you get the dead god’s blood?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “I did.”

He twisted to look up at her. “Why do you sound like that?”

She stared into the darkness, her tongue thick and slow in her mouth. “He knew.”

“Who knew? Knew what?” Lorcan dug his claws into her leg. “Aisling, talk to me. You’re scaring me. What happened?”

“The god. He knew every secret. He saw right through the magic hiding my face, and he knew exactly what I am.” She glanced down at him, lifting a hand to ghost over her pointed ears hidden by the curse her grandmother had laid. “He gave up his life again, willingly, without complaint because he knew I was a changeling.”

“Not all faeries hate changelings.”

“Changelings are a reminder that faeries aren’t perfect,” she replied. “And they will never like that reminder. Besides, it’s still not safe for me here. If there is one who can see through the curse, then how many others can? Wasn’t that the entire point of this affliction? To hide me from those who would cause me harm?”

“Stop it, Aisling. No one knows why your grandmother did what she did. No one knows who you are, even if they know what you are. There are too many layers in this secret for anyone to unravel without help.”

She breathed out a low sigh, anxiety settling in her stomach. “You’re right. No one could know.”

“No one will know. Ever.”

Lorcan curled into a ball at her side, and his breathing slowly evened out. She waited until she knew he was deeply asleep before she let her head thump back against the tree trunk.

Aisling envied him. He lied so easily, without thought to what he was saying or why it wasn’t true. They both knew she would never be able to keep this secret. The faeries were smart folk. They’d see right through her twisted words because she hadn’t ever had to work her tongue around a lie.

How was she going to walk among these people even for a short time and not blurt out who she was?

Aisling curled around Lorcan and rested her head on the root. She would have to figure out something, and soon. Bran was too intelligent a man to not piece together the truth. He would figure it out, and then everything would come crashing down around her ears.

Lorcan snorted in his sleep and wrapped an arm over hers, his paw resting on her open hand and his whiskers tickling her cheek. At least she was safe. For now.

Mist swirled around her ankles, stroking her cheeks and playing with her hair. It was alive and wanted nothing more than for her to awaken.

Aisling lifted up onto her elbows, staring in shock at the strange magic stroking her calves. She recognized the touch and the way it floated through the air without a care in the world.

“Grandmother?” she whispered.

A part of her recognized this was a dream. Everything was too foggy, pale, and not quite lifelike.

Aisling rose from her nest in the roots. She peeled out of her body like the skin of a snake. Without color or solid shape, she was a reflection of herself but without fear or worry.

She spared a glance back at the two men sleeping by the tree.

They wouldn’t know she was gone. They could get their rest, and she could regret this in the morning. But family called, and she wasn’t one to deny her grandmother anything.

Aisling slipped into the mist. It would guide her where her soul needed to travel, easily transferring her between realms if necessary. Her grandmother used magic like she breathed, never questioning how her magic was possible