Quicksilver (Fae & Alchemy, #1)

by Callie Hart

Emerging from the silver, the huge figure rose up from the pool as if ascending from the very depths of hell itself. Broad shoulders. Wet, shoulder-length black hair. Tall. Taller than any other man I'd ever seen. His eyes shone an iridescent, shimmering green, the pupil of the right eye rimmed by the same shining metallic silver that ran in ribbons from the black leather armor that covered his chest and arms.

THATS MY MANNNNN RIGHT THERE 🤪

“Graceless gods,” he hissed. “What's this? A fucking joke?”

🥰

Of course Death was beautiful. How else would anyone choose to go with him without putting up a fight? Even though he scowled at me, his dark brows tugging together to form a dark, unhappy line, he was still the most savagely beautiful thing I'd ever seen. “Pathetic,” he murmured. “Absolutely...” He couldn't seem to find the words. Shaking his head, he reached into the front of his chest plate, fishing around for something. A moment later, he withdrew his hand, a long silver chain hooked around his index finger. He unfastened it. “If you die before you can give this back, I'm not going to be happy,” he groused. The chain was warm against my skin

🫶🏻

“Our ancestors were cursed millennia ago. As a result, we ended up with these,” he said, gesturing to his canines. “We used them to drink your kind dry. We drained you by the million before the blood curse was lifted. This was long before our time, of course, but the Fae line still bears the marks of its past. We might not need blood to maintain our immortality anymore, but by the gods, do we still have the teeth for it. Our dirty little secret. Our awful, horrible shame—” “Fisher!” Everlayne had reached her breaking point. Tears streamed down her face, leaving wet tracks over her cheeks. She moved in front of Kingfisher and slammed her hands into his chest. “Why are you being like this?” she cried. Kingfisher shrugged. “I'm only telling her the truth.” “You're being an asshole!” This elicited a scornful blast of laughter from the warrior. “You should be used to that by now, Layne. Or did you spend the last century years forgetting what a shit I am? I'm the Bane of Gillethrye, remember? The Black Knight?” “You’re my brother,” Everlayne hissed. “Though I sometimes wish you weren't!”

🧛🏻‍♂️ 🫶🏻

come on. She's not going with you,” Kingfisher drawled. “She’s coming with me, aren't you, Oshellith? She wants to know secrets, and I’m the only one willing to give them to her.” “Why are you calling me that? Oshellith?” I snapped. “What does it mean?” He'd turned around. Was walking away. I listened to his boots striking the cold stone beneath his feet, each step ringing in my ears. “An Oshellith is a type of butterfly,” he called as he went. “Osha for short. They hatch, live, and die all in one day. The cold kills them very fast. Isn’t that right, Renfis?”

🥰 🦋

Kingfisher was a miserable, grouchy bastard without a kind word for anyone. The way he called me that—Oshellith—like it was a dirty word, made me want to smash my fist right through his gorgeous face. But he was offering me the truth, even if it was frightening. The quickest way out of this nightmare was through Kingfisher.

🤪🥰

His eye. That was his lasting reminder? It had to be. The filaments that marked his jade iris were actually remnants of quicksilver. Gods. It was inside him, always there, always whispering in his ear, pushing him toward madness. The relic really was the only thing keeping him sane.

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Fisher rested his chin on top of his forearms and sighed. “What?” I whispered. He thought for a moment, appearing to decide whether he'd answer the question. Then he said, “I was wrong, y’know. You are a good thief.” “What have I stolen?” But he smiled a small, sad smile, slowly shaking his head.

THIS MAN is the LOML 😭🫶🏻