“And, sadly, far too weak for either of us to enjoy my being here . . .”

Her gaze snapped to him, and her cheeks colored with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why? It’s who I am.”

“But it’s not . . . we’re not . . .” She tried to look stern as she wiped blood from his stomach, looking at her hand rather than at his face. “You just shouldn’t say things like that, Sionnach.”

“So it’s Sionnach now, not Shy?” he murmured.

She met his gaze. “I can’t . . . we’re not like that.”

He looked serious now. He put his hand over hers, keeping her from escaping. “I know. You need a relationship without any ulterior motives. I knew that Jayce could give you that. I can’t.”

She paused, processing the implications of his words and the feel of his hand on hers. If she were more fey, she’d focus on the offer that he wasn’t making, at the admission he wasn’t speaking, but she couldn’t think about that. Her body tensed as if she were poised to flee. All she said was, “So you have ulterior motives?”

“Always.” Sionnach didn’t look the least bit apologetic—nor did he remove his hand from hers.

“Will you tell me what they are?”

“Someday.” His tricksy smile returned, chasing away the seriousness that felt strangely heavy between them. “Some of them.”

“How am I to trust you then?”

Sionnach squeezed her hand once and then entwined his fingers with hers. He pulled her hand away from his bare skin but held on to her, keeping her from retreating. “You aren’t to trust me . . . not on everything. Trust your instincts. Trust your judgment.”

“You’re—”

“A faery by blood,” he interrupted. “Just like Keenan.”

She wasn’t sure what Sionnach was admitting—that he was manipulative, capricious, deceitful?—but she did know that nothing she could think of was particularly comforting. Trusting a faery was what had gotten her into this strange world; it was why she had never had the mortal life that she’d wanted. Despite all of that, she did trust Sionnach. He was the closest friend she’d ever had in either her mortal or fey lives.

Sionnach used his grasp on her hand to turn her arm and then kissed the underside of her wrist where her pulse was thudding. “And, like the Summer King, I’ve never been prone to lingering; that’s why I didn’t try to get in your bed when we met. Jayce is good for you right now. I’m not. Not in that way. . . .”