Spin the Shadows (Dark and Wicked Fae #1) - Cate Corvin Page 0,11

the white paper bag a dirty glare. “Apples,” I muttered, and without watching where I was going on my way back to my bike, I ran right into what I thought was a wall.

It wasn’t a wall. I found myself at eye level with a broad chest and shoulders.

“Is this how you normally interact with people?” a deep voice inquired. “Running into them, walking on their toes?”

I looked up into the garnet eyes of the Gentry Fae I’d stepped on yesterday.

It was so much worse than I thought.

He was beautiful, of course. All Gentry were beautiful, their features chiseled and sharp as glass, eyes so clear and deep you felt like you could fall right into them and never stop.

Dark tattoos of poisonous plants wound their way up his arms, and the red t-shirt was this close to giving out under the strain of his muscle mass. His caramel hair hung loose, drifting over his shoulders in a wavy mass.

But the worst thing was that he gave off a distinct aura. It was usually easy to pick out the Seelie Gentry: they gave off the aura of sunlight and green plants.

He was definitely Unseelie. This close, his aura had the distinct impression of moonlight and thorns. The Unseelie were far more unpredictable, and usually didn’t venture far from Sobek Street. The upperside of Avilion was too sunny for them.

“Um… no.” I inwardly winced at the stupidity of it. Great job, Briallen. You’re really demonstrating the sparkling wit of the Lesser Fae.

He smiled, showing sharp incisors. “Heard you hate apples, so I got us everything else.” The Unseelie Gentry held up a white bakery box, sending a whiff of rhubarb, blueberry, and brown sugar my way.

Usually, I would’ve run as fast as I could in the opposite direction, but my stomach was growling. And he was very, very pretty.

We sat on a low stone wall outside Web and Peaseblossom, and he balanced the box on his knees. He was wearing worn jeans, ripped holes at the knees, and heavy ass-kicking boots, a distinct difference from the usual denizens of Mothwing Falls, a haven for artists, bakers, and the humans who called themselves ‘hipsters’, whatever that meant.

“How did you know I hate apples?” I put a solid foot of distance between us, sitting with my legs crossed primly. It was hard to look prim in the Fairy Ferry uniform, but damn if I wasn’t going to aim high.

“Asked the girl in there.” He scooped out a blueberry tart and held it out to me on a napkin. “Briallen Appletree, is it?”

I nodded, taking the tart. The sugar crystals caught the morning sun and sparkled up at me. Sylvaine had probably spilled my entire life story to him. “What’s your name? It’s only fair if you know mine.”

The Gentry took a rhubarb scone from the box and popped it in his mouth whole. I realized I was staring and looked away, a faint blush rising to my cheeks.

It wasn’t fair that the Gentry could still look so beautiful even with an entire scone crammed in their face.

He chewed and swallowed. “Call me Gwyn. You look happier this morning.”

Gwyn. I tested out the name in my mind. I’d never heard of any Gwyns before, but then, that meant nothing. Robin had clearly demonstrated that to me yesterday. You didn’t need to know their names for them to be dangerous.

I picked at the tart and tore away a flaky piece, then the words just fell out of me. “My boyfriend broke up with me yesterday by making out with his new girlfriend in front of me. It was a really crap morning.”

I shoved the bit of tart in my mouth before I could say anything else, my blush mounting higher. A Gentry Fae wasn’t going to care about my problems, or my feelings, or anything else about me, really.

“His loss.” Gwyn picked up a tart and bit into it.

I snorted and took another bite of mine. “You don’t know me. Maybe I was a really terrible girlfriend.”

“Probably an awful one. Who wants to date a dryad who hates apples?” He glanced at me sidelong, dark lashes shielding his garnet eyes. “Good thing I like those dryads who prefer bananas.”

I choked on my tart, and he thumped my back.

“Okay there, Briallen Bananatree?” he asked, a crooked grin lighting up his face.

My eyes were watering. “I’m good. How do you know I don’t hate bananas, too?”

“Well, we could put it to the test.” He reached in the