This was it. With a deep breath, April stepped from behind the tree and stood by the side of the road, waving her arms.
He didn’t slow, but sped right by her, and she choked on the fumes and dust. Not how she’d imagined this momentous occasion. She’d been so positive he wouldn’t pass by a damsel in distress.
And then she heard the sound of brakes squealing, loud as a dozen screeching owls. The motorcycle stopped a few yards ahead. Chulah lifted off his helmet and swung one leg over the bike until he stood in the street, facing her.
Hot cinnamon eyes raked her from head to toe. April gulped, her throat suddenly dry. Did she look weird? Was something off in her manifestation? The Fae court had explained that her appearance and clothing would reflect her individual nature, yet be acceptable and appropriate for the human world. And nothing like her last earthly appearance.
So why was he staring at her so intently? The Council had assured her that this current manifestation was unrecognizable from her unapproved earthly sojourn at age sixteen. If he remembered their first meeting, her mission was over before it started.
Shaking off the apprehension, she walked forward and extended her hand. “Hi. My name’s April. Thanks for stopping.”
His gaze shifted to her outreached hand, but he made no move to extend a return greeting. April dropped her hand by her side and cleared her throat. “Would you mind giving me a lift to town?”
“What the hell is a woman doing alone out here?” he asked incredulously.
“I, um, went for a walk in the woods and got lost.”
“Got lost,” he repeated, brows drawn together. “Where do you live?”
“I have an apartment above my shop on Main Street. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Pixie Land.”
He shook his head, as if in a daze.
“I’m not surprised. We just opened last week.” The Fae had been hard at work setting up that shop and all her living arrangements. She stuck out a hand again. “My name’s April Meadows.”
“April, huh?” he asked, eyes narrowed and assessing.
A surge of warmth flowed through her body when he said her name. The name she’d made up by taking the time of year she loved best and combining it with her favorite place. Perhaps he needed proof that she was who she said she was. She remembered the forged paperwork and patted the slender purse across her shoulder. Good. Everything should be in order. She opened the purse and riffled through it. “Here,” she said triumphantly. “Want to look at my driver’s license? Well, it’s not really a driver’s license. I don’t drive. Occasional migraines prevent that. They just come out of nowhere and incapacitate me.”
His expression of pained incredulity hadn’t changed.
“Anyway, it’s a picture identification card if you want to see it.”
“I don’t want to see your ID.”
“Oh, okay, then.” April dropped it back in her purse. “About that ride?”
“Don’t you know how dangerous it is to walk alone in the woods—especially in the late afternoon? It’ll be dark in an hour or so. What if I hadn’t come along?”
“But you did.” As she knew he would.
Chulah crossed his arms. “I could be a psychopath, for all you know. A serial killer who preys on young, lost women.”
April laughed. “You could never be like that.”
“And how would you know?”
She tapped her sandals on the red clay dirt. Thinking. “I can just tell. You’re a nice man.”
“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “I bet Ted Bundy’s victims thought he was nice when they first met.”
She blinked. “Ted Bundy?”
“Seriously? He’s probably the most notorious serial killer ever.” Chulah shook his head. “You must have been living in a dark hole all your life.”
A fairy mound instead of a dark hole, but he was close. April nodded at once, eager to correct her mistake. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Ted. Of course.”
Chulah gave her a hard, calculating kind of stare, as if debating the wisdom of letting her hop on his bike.
An idea struck. “Are you afraid I might be a killer?”
She should have thought of that before. Quickly, she raised her arms, familiar with police procedures after the fairy council’s crash course on human behavior and customs. They’d spent an entire day on what to do should one become embroiled in the legal system or a person suspected of a crime. “You can pat me down if you want to check for weapons.”
Chulah snorted or laughed; April wasn’t exactly sure which. The sound was rusty, as if infrequently employed, and his lips twitched.
She walked closer, arms still raised, until their bodies were in arm’s length of each other. “Really. It’s okay to search. I’m completely unarmed.”
Not entirely true. She had an inner, secret weapon of casting fairy enchantments, but she’d resolved to employ it only in emergencies. April winced, recalling her disastrous attempt at enchanting Chulah all those years ago. Quickly, she thrust aside thoughts of the past. It was a new day, and she had to focus on the matter at hand.
Enchantments. Chulah had no way of detecting such magic from a pat-down. She frowned, remembering the fairy’s cross crystal in the purse. Would he count a stone as a primitive weapon?
He gave an exaggerated sigh and strode back to his bike.
April’s mouth dropped open. She’d been so sure he’d give her a ride. “Are you leaving me?”
He unbuckled a side bag from the bike and pulled out a spare helmet. “For crying out loud, just wear this and hop on. I don’t know how you’re going to manage in that skirt, though.”
Not the most gracious invitation, but it would have to do. April eyed the helmet with distaste. How could anyone stand to have their head wrapped in such a tight bubble? “Do I have to wear it?”
“Nobody rides this bike without a helmet. It’s the law. Besides, only an idiot would ride without one.”
There went her fantasy of the wind blowing his long black hair in her face, covering her like a blanketing caress. And actually, she’d seen him riding around his yard without a helmet, but it might not be prudent to mention that fact. A female member of the Council had taken her aside and explained about the male ego thing. Which was much the same in the fairy realm, so point taken.
She didn’t want Chulah to think she was an idiot, so she stuffed the torture device on her head.
It was stifling. Her hot breath steamed the windshield thingy. Chulah lifted the helmet’s flap and she sucked air.
“I’m ready,” she announced bravely. She was used to flying, the wind fanning her face and hair, free and wild. Had dreamed of a motorcycle ride as a new kind of flying, human style.
His hands were suddenly at her throat and she gasped, taking an involuntary step back.
“Relax. I’m just tightening the straps.”
“Oh.” She glanced down, mesmerized by the sight of his olive-skinned fingers so close to her pale neck. Fantasies that had nothing to do with motorcycle riding filled her mind, and she shut her eyes. His hands were warm and competent, and a little shiver of pleasure rippled through her as they accidentally brushed against the vulnerable hollow of her throat.
“There. You’re good.”
Did she imagine his voice had a huskier edge, an undertone