Touch (Touched by the Fae 3)

Makes sense. As the all-powerful ruler of Faerie, there couldn’t be much that frightened Melisandre. Having her long, lost husband return from the dead after more than two centuries? Yeah. That’ll do it.

I’ve accepted that, when it comes to seeing through glamour, I wasn’t born with my mom’s talent. It took me way too long to recognize that Oberon was more than some homeless bum haunting my street corner, and only after years could I see that Rys wasn’t as perfect as he appeared to be.

In front of us all, she seems to change. Her skin pales, though that might be from the surprise of seeing Oberon again. But then her eyes go from yellow to grey, her long curls from blonde to black, and her perfect, perfect face to something just not quite.

She’s not the on

ly one who changes. One second, the homeless man I thought I knew is standing there. Grimy jeans, a dirty flannel, matted hair. In between one blink and the next, someone else has taken his place.

This man is tall. Limber. Lean. His back is straight; no bowing down, tucking his head into his chin, arching his body to hide his true shape. His skin is a beautiful deep bronze, tanner than any other Light Fae I’ve ever seen. His hair is shorter than most, but the color is so rich, so gold, that I almost wonder if it’s from a box. It’s too gorgeous to be natural.

Like the other Light Fae in the room, he’s dressed in pristine white. He looks immaculate, yet powerful, and I’m so fucking glad he showed up.

I also find it nearly impossible to believe this is the homeless man I used to give singles and fives to. One peek at his brilliant green eyes, though, and I know it’s him.

Plus, he’s still holding tightly to Nine’s sword. So there’s that, too.

His eyes find mine. “Afternoon, Riley.”

What is he playing at? “Um. Hi.”

“Your mom’s that sweet lady named Callie, right? Human.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“And your father? One of mine. Aislinn.”

“That’s right.”

“A halfling. Born in the Iron, but the shadows consider you one of theirs. So does Faerie. That’s interesting.”

If he says so.

“Ninetroir,” Oberon says, greeting Nine. “A Cursed One.”

“I am.”

The imposing Light Fae turns toward me again. “He’s your mate. You’ve chosen a Dark Fae to be your mate. Yes?”

...when Dark mates Shadow, the Reign of the Damned must come to an end…

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

A smile teases at the corner of my lip. He’s fae. The king of the Fae.

And I think I finally figured out what he’s doing.

“That’s absolutely right.”

Oberon strides forward, putting his body between me and Melisandre. I notice there’s still enough space for him to swing, though, and I can see the fear rushing across the former Fae Queen’s face when she realizes it.

“Seems to me that the Shadow Prophecy has been foretold and come to pass. Halfling. Shadows. Dark mate. Now it’s time to end the impostor’s reign.” He hefts up the sword. “I’ve been waiting two hundred years for this.”

There’s only one thing left for Melisandre to do. Folding her fingers together, she pleads, “Oberon, please. I loved you.”

“Yes. Well, I thought I loved you once, too.” The bright light of the pristine room glances off the edge of the silver sword as Oberon swings it effortlessly. The cut is quick. It’s clean. One strike and Melisandre’s head goes one way, her body the other.