Rihetha awoke to soft flower petals brushing against her face. That meant one thing, fairy wings. She was sure to tuck her own wings close to her body as she rolled over.

The floor struck her like a hammer. She opened her eyes to find herself, not only naked, but fully grown.

Until now, she was unable to come out of fairy form on her own unless suffering bouts of extreme anger.

Last night’s fight with Wyrn came back to her and she let out a sigh and stood. She hated to fight with him. He always lost. And the way he’d give up then turn unresponsive always wrecked her with so much guilt that she’d give in anyway.

Despite knowing that, she’d carry on. She wished she could say that their first fight ending with her throwing things was a rare event. That was not the case.

She chalked it up to a fairy’s fury, but if that were true, where was Wyrn’s? He’d never gotten as angry as he’d made her; and she’d try.

No. In this, he was very much like the Jaffo who were slow to react beyond stoic listening.

But he hadn’t turned her back into her fae form. Was that his way of showing her who was boss?

A whomp sound told her Wyrn had grown to match her. She smiled because that meant one thing.

“Making love is not a good way to end a fight.”

“Oh, I would disagree.”

Rihetha froze.

Who was that?

Now instead of standing bold, she crossed her arm along her chest and below her stomach.

Who…was that?

“You do know that I can see the back side of you rather well…and fondly.”

“Whoever you are,” Rihetha said, breathing ragged, “my husband is not the most forgiving of your kind.”

He scoffed. “Why do you talk like this? It’s me. We know each other so well. And besides,” he said, his voice deepening, “you owe me.”

She stood to her full height. That voice she knew.

Instead of looking back, she searched for her clothes.

He jumped from the bed and held her waist.

She was sure to leap away as she turned. “Do not touch me.”

Matax managed a weak, one-sided smile. The physical beauty of the fairies spurred legends. Rihetha had considered her love for her husband as why she saw Wyrn as handsome. But now, upon seeing Matax, who easily towered over Wyrn in human form, she could admit he was something to behold. Like Wyrn, and perhaps all fairies, his body was trim. But where Wyrn’s muscles were well-defined, taut, strong, Matax looked sturdy rather than formidable. His face resembled his fae form as well, prompting Rihetha to wonder if he simply chose which characteristics to make more human, because his black irises were larger than most. As a fairy, the iris encompassed the entire eye.

Yet another thing was strange about him in human form, he kept his blue…in hair color. No other fairy did this. Although Rihetha was curious about it, she also valued her neck.

Being found naked in her room, in her bed, with another man was bad enough. With another fairy. She couldn’t imagine all the ways Wyrn would do away with them.

Matax flopped down on the bed then lay on his side. “I need your help,” he said, resting his head on his palm.

“Me? My help?”

“Hm’hm.”

Rihetha knew better than to trust fairies, least of all Matax. She feared for him more than herself because while Wyrn was gentle in all things, there was something below the surface she feared disturbing in him.

She waited but the fairy hung his head and muttered into his chest.

“Pardon?” She must have heard wrong. “You want him to do what? And how pray tell will you convince him to do this?”

Matax chewed his bottom lip for some time then shrugged. “Figured you’d know. Since you’re his bedfellow—”

“I’m his wife.”

“Same thing.”

His posture was casual, legs crossed at the ankle, and yet, there was something pathetic about him. He wasn’t as cool and collected as he’d wanted to appear.

Rihetha sympathized. “You really need the help, don’t you?”

The fairy kissed his teeth. “Just get him to do it and we’re even,” he said and faded from view.

His little blue body rose from the bed only to disappear out the open window.

Rihetha made her way to the window and watched his melancholy figure bob in the morning light.

A tingling sensation in her gut told her Wyrn was heading this way. Something about the way his wings hummed affected her. He worried but she used it as an alarm.

And that alarm told her to change the sheets before Wyrn returned and put his sense of smell to good use.

She was dressed, putting the last of the new sheet down when a rose bobbed at the windowsill.

Her smile was instant but she counteracted it and cleared her throat, “If you’ve come to apologize….”

The rose rotated and the bronze body threatened to carry it away.

“Wait. Wait. That was in jest.” Rihetha hurried to hold him in both hands. He sat on her palm by the time she took the rose, pressed it to her nose, and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the fragrance.

Despite his tiny size, he puckered and she leaned down to allow him to peck her lips. She couldn’t feel it.

When he sat down in her hold, she knew to throw him up. His wings didn’t flutter, in fact, he moved not a muscle as he popped out of view then returned big. He landed on the bed, a fat grin in place, and held out his hands to her.

“Leave the dress on,” he said, “though you won’t be wearing it long.”

On any normal day, she would fall into his lap, laughing. Today she hesitated.

He read her well. “Lovemaking at the end of a fight?”

Saddened, she gave him a nod.

His brows creased as he rested with his elbows on his knees. He gave her words ample consideration and said, “I don’t do it to avoid the confrontation, I do it to feel close to you yet again.” His frown was full and sincere. “I hate sleeping apart from you.”

This time when he held one hand out and not two, Rihetha complied and climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

One kiss came with caution. The second with their tongues meeting. Wyrn became erect but Rihetha didn’t move to either encourage or discourage him, and she had no plans to.

Something she could admit about Wyrn which made her happy, he wasn’t forceful or selfish in their coupling. It was rare he’d take anything for himself.

When he ran his fingers through her hair as they continued the languished kiss, that was for her. He was more fond of kissing her body than her mouth. Cheek, ear, neck, chest, nipple, and even the crooks of her arms.

Never had she imagined there were this many ways to be cherished.

The fact that he kept himself from doing that now meant he was holding back.

When their lips finally parted, he pressed their foreheads together and let out a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

And here came his defeat.

Something in her body language confused him.

“What?”

Rihetha shook her head. She kept her head hung. “If you have good reason for something, then fight me for it.”

He gave no verbal response, and she did not look for a visual cue as she kept her head hung. His warm hand on her face was why she lunged forward, hugging him.

There were reasons. Of course there were reasons. Wyrn never refused her without good reason.

Wyrn hove a sigh as he dragged her body so close to him that she felt the beating of his heart.

But he sighed again, and again and she opened her eyes.

Her husband eased her back as he scanned the room, nostrils flared. The Jaffo men weren’t the only ones with good smell. Apparently, fairies could learn it. The average fairy didn’t depend on that sense, but Wyrn, forced to rely on whatever he could to fit into his family, practiced and practiced to the point where his senses were rather sharp.

The moment he eased Rihetha to stand, was the moment her stomach sank, plummeted to the floor, and broke through the bottom of the very earth.

Wyrn didn’t speak. Instead, he waved her back, propped both elbows on his knees, and studied her.

His scowl was unrecognizable. What was he thinking?

Each breath he took came with a shivering of his body, so strong that the bed reacted, then the very ground.

Despite that, he looked…calm.

Rihetha considered it her imagination. Wyrn took one final breath, popped out of existence and something shot through the window like a raging arrow going after its wife’s possible lover.

“Oh no….” Rihetha rushed to the window in time to see the copper streak slam into something blue. Matax.

With one hop, Rihetha tried to transform. Nothing. Nothing came of it. She abandoned the task and raced to the door to drag it open.

Luckily or unluckily, they didn’t get far. The streaks collided again and one of them, likely Wyrn, dragged them into human form, his hand firmly clutching Matax’s throat.

Panic had Rihetha rushing to stop the carnage.

Fairies were nearly immortal, but not in human form.

Wyrn hoisted Matax up and the terror in the blue-haired man’s eyes was palpable.

Rihetha slammed into Wyrn’s body, hugging him from behind, desperate to sooth him.

“Calm. Please calm. Nothing’s happened. Please.”

But Wyrn didn’t move.

“Idiot,” Matax strained to say. “Foolish human. Didn’t you bed him before telling him of my meeting? Now you’ll never get him out of this rage!”

Despite Rihetha’s gentle touches, Wyrn gave no response. His muscles failed to relax. His posture didn’t change. That was why she walked around to try and see his face.

What she witness shocked her to the core.

His face was nearly black. Black eyes, a black shadow on his face.

And he looked…different.

She needed a moment to catch her bearings. Once she no longer felt dread at the sight of his malicious expression, she eased between Matax’s dangling body, and Wyrn’s tensed one.

The hug she gave him that time came with a kiss on his cheek. She used Wyrn’s usual way of affection as a map to plant peck after peck along his body. When she reached his throat, kissing it long, was the first time she felt some tension in his body fade.

Another kiss up to his chin all but relaxed him. With their foreheads together, Wyrn dropped the fairy pest like a sack of garbage.

Instead, he pulled Rihetha close, rubbing her body against his. More than once, his affection had started in public like this. Rihetha knew better than to expect him to stop for modesty’s sake.

She gave him one push and he continued to explore her with his fingers as they made their way back to the hut.

He had two digits sliding in and out of her by the time they were inside.

The door close and he pressed her forward to it as he rooted up the dress.

When he flipped her around again, the cold expression on his face had only dulled slightly. He brought one leg up, holding her at the knee, then the other.

After a few long strokes of his member, he entered her with ease and a satisfied moan into her neck.

He didn’t move for some time. And then it was slow, languished, and careful.

It was such a stark contrast to his stone expression. She wrapped her legs around his waist, satisfied when he held her up and took more of an initiative in their love making.

The kiss on her chin returned and she let out a breath she hadn’t known herself to be holding.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked.

Rihetha tightened her hold. “No. You feel good.”

“No.” Wyrn paused and swallowed hard. “I—I can’t see beyond the anger when I’m like that.”

When?

But he’d never been this angry before.

Over the years, they’d been happy. The fights were few, the romps many. But there were a handful of times he’d shoot off into the night and not return until the very next night.

At this moment, Rihetha hung on to him, not for pleasure, but fear. What would have happened if she’d been able to chase after him?

Her embrace tightened but he kissed her throat one last time and carried her to bed. They hadn’t changed it. There was no need as they both slept in fairy form mostly.

Wyrn preferred lovemaking fully grown as his wings wouldn’t react when he climaxed.

Now, his pace was slower as he entered her to the hilt.

A familiar whomp sound came and Rihetha risked opening her eyes to see the blue-haired Matax sitting on the windowsill, watching them.

Her yelp had Wyrn, her right nipple in his mouth, pause in his thrusts.

He kissed her breast and asked, “What is it?”

She hesitated. Considering their situation, she decided to be candid. “He’s watching us.”

Wyrn kissed her throat again and gave a firm buck.

“He’s a blue fairy. Blue and red are attracted to affection,” Wyrn grunted. “But if he interrupts us, I will kill him.”

Rihetha held his face, surprised by the vigor of his lunges. The rage was mixing with lust and turning this into something else.

On the surface, she loved it, but deep down it also frightened her.

She turned her focus to Wyrn entirely, stroking his face and answering his kiss with a well-earned moan. Lightening shot through her body and she arched back, crying out at each stern slamming of their bodies together.

Wyrn gripped the sheets by her head as he froze up, crying out into her mouth. His rod pulsed, jutting his essence into her without end.

He bucked again and again, making the friction nearly painful. And then he collapsed.

Rihetha pulled him close, contented with his seed slipping out of her.

The moment Wyrn hugged her back, whispering several soft apologies, Rihetha closed her eyes and cherished the beating of his heart against her own.

Matax hadn’t left, if the scoff was any indication.

Instead, he jumped down off the windowsill, crouched down before them some distance away, and said, “Now that you are thinking straight yet again, Your Majesty, there is the matter of the slight unanswered by your wife.”

Wyrn’s head rotated so slowly, it appeared mechanical.

Rihetha clutched him in her legs and arms, using everything in her to not let him go for another attack.

“Hear him out,” Rihetha found herself saying. From where did those words come from? When Wyrn’s eyes settled on her yet again, his look of betrayal tore through her. “Darling, please,” she begged, “it’s for a good cause. And it’ll get him away from us.”

He gave no answer at first then sighed. “If it means he’ll stop leering at my wife’s breasts, then fine.”

Matax cleared his throat. “Oh. Yes. Sorry.” He then told Rihetha, “They are beautiful, by the way.”

Rihetha, stunned, allowed herself to feel some pride. “Why, thank you. Would you believe someone once called them uneven?” she teased.

After letting out a laugh, Matax opened his mouth to answer. Wyrn whipped out his left hand. A beam of light shot forward, ending right under Matax’s chin—if the fairy even swallowed, I would be his end.

The spear solidified into a spike.

Rihetha was sure to turn her attention to Wyrn again as she held his face and admitted, “All right, so this was not the time.”