“Don’t,” he warned, moving behind a tissue box. “I’ve felled larger beasts than you unarmed. Do not pick me up.”
She paused, her hand out where he had been standing. His eyes were dark and his stance, guarded. Gossamer wings, barely more than two shimmers, opened and closed as he watched her from his spot on the desk.
“I’m sorry, you’re just so…” He stared up at her, waiting. So small, but as stern as any human adult. She couldn’t help feeling criticized, and she stepped back. At least he didn’t seem mad that she’d snuck into this cottage. “Little. Can you really hurt people?”
“You may find out if you wish,” he answered. Patiently, he hovered to stand on the tissue box. “None survive who can explain the wrath of fae.”
“But my Nana always said fae were wise and kind, loving to help humans in need.” She crouched on a stool a few feet away, but she could make him out by his faint blue glow.
“Some of us, yes.” He walked along the box, gliding down to a locked jewelry box on the far end of the desk. Instead of necklaces and earrings, a variety of small weapons hung inside. “I am not among them.”
[Copyrighted © August 7 2015, J.M. Blute]