Chapter 382: Validation: Temptress Fairy

Her wings thrummed low and filthy behind her, scattering black-diamond motes that fizzled into nothing before they could touch the drinks. Glacial blue-white light pulsed through her translucent skin, catching every bottle, every glass, every surface in a private, sinful aurora that existed only for the boy who could see her.

She’d assumed this position the exact second the auburn girl asked about Delilah, Sierra, and Maddie.

Phei was

certain

it was deliberate.

Because from his angle—the only angle that mattered—the veil did

nothing

.

Less than nothing.

It was an act of war against the concept of coverage.

The

frost-thin

fabric clung to her

breasts

like starlight poured over sin—full, impossibly firm for a four-foot body, dark nipples peaked and pressing hard against the material, twin points of deeper shadow that stabbed through the shimmer like accusations.

The veil gathered and pooled at the

violent dip

of her waist, then stretched taut across the flare of her hips, riding so high on one side that the smooth,

void-black

curve

of her thigh was bare from hipbone to knee.

And between those thighs—pressed together, one leg draped over the other in a pose that somehow managed to be both

angelic

and catastrophically

depraved—

The veil gathered into a narrow, clinging strip that outlined her pussy in devastating detail: plump outer lips swollen and parted just enough to show the slick inner folds glistening with starlight frost, the

dark pearl

of her clit visibly throbbing beneath the sheer fabric, the entire cleft dark and wet-looking, as though she’d already been touching herself while he wasn’t looking.

She bit her lower lip. Slow. Deliberate.

Then dragged her tongue across it, leaving a glistening trail that caught the crimson light like fresh sin.

She

knew

he was looking.

Of course she fucking knew.

Her glacial eyes—sharp as shattered starlight,

wicked

as sin itself, glowing with the dark, delighted glee of a creature who’d spent eons perfecting depravity—locked straight onto his.

She arched her back—slow, obscene, deliberate—spine curving in a long, liquid bow that pushed her breasts upward until the veil strained to breaking.

The

frost-gossamer

stretched thinner, thinner, until the

dark

areolae

bloomed visible beneath: wide, flushed violet-black circles framing nipples so hard they stabbed through the fabric like twin accusations.

The veil rode higher—

another deliberate inch

—baring the smooth void-black swell of her

hips,

the inner curve of her thighs glistening with that impossible starlit wetness that shimmered like liquid moonlight and smelled faintly of ozone and raw lust.

The hunger in Phei’s eyes had

nothing

to do with Delilah.

Or Sierra.

Or Maddie.

What Emily had read as longing for his absent women was Phei fighting—

fighting

—not to stare at the invisible fairy currently using the space above a

ten-thousand-dollar

table of champagne as her personal

porn set

.

One hand slid lazily down her own body—fingertips tracing the

underside of one breast

, circling the hard

nipple

through the veil until it peaked even sharper, then continuing downward. Over the dip of her waist.

Across the flare of her hip.

Between her

thighs.

She didn’t spread her legs.

She didn’t need to.

Her other hand drifted to her throat—

fingers wrapping loosely around it in a

mockery of a collar

—then slid down to cup one breast, squeezing until the flesh spilled between her fingers and the veil stretched taut over the dark peak.

He tore his gaze away. Took a long, deliberate sip of Coke. Bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste copper.

The fairy

giggled

—high, crystalline, ancient knowing wrapped in sugar-coated malice—and the sound speared straight through him, even though it existed in a frequency nobody else could touch.

And then she spoke.

"You know what I’ve been thinking about,

Master

?"

Her voice was sweet poison. Light as spun sugar. Filthy as the things she was currently displaying.

"I’ve been thinking about how you’ve had me for—oh, let’s see now—

quite

a while. Through the awakening. Through the bathroom. Through the game. Through all of this glorious, delicious chaos."

She propped herself up on one elbow—the motion crushed her breasts together until they spilled over the veil’s edge, starlight catching the thin fabric so it turned practically transparent.

Nipples dark and straining, begging.

The veil clung to them like wet silk, outlining every ridge, every swollen peak.

"And you still haven’t asked me about me but my name."

Phei’s jaw ticked.

"I’ve been busy."

"

Busy

." She repeated it like she’d just discovered a dead roach in her champagne flute. "

Busy

?

BUSY

?!"

The shift from sultry

lounge-singer

to outraged princess was instantaneous and nuclear. She shot upright—veil swishing, wings flaring wide in a burst of black-diamond shrapnel—tiny fists balled, scattering agitated flurries of void-snow that fizzled into nothing before they hit the bottles.

"I am a

primordial Void-Ice fairy

! Forged in the cold heart between dying stars! I have watched empires rise like morning wood and fall like spent cum and you—

YOU

—have had me by your side this

entire fucking time

and haven’t even bothered to ask what me what BACKGROUND is?!"

Phei took another calm sip of Coke.

"I had a lot to think about. You should know that better than anyone. Today’s literally the first time I’ve sat down and breathed after yesterday awakening and meeting you today. I sure as hell did not have a single free moment."

She stared at him. Void-black eyes blazing with the incandescent fury of an ancient entity who’d just been cosmically ghosted.

"What about that time with Ms. Bloom? Or whatever her name was? You had time

THEN

."

Phei paused. Swallowed. Another sip.

"That was

my woman’s

time."

"

AND MAYA

! You were free the

entire

time you were with Maya! You could’ve had a conversation! Asked about me! Shown basic fucking

courtesy

to the fairy companion who’s been

serving

you,

healing

you, feeding you

intelligence

that will literally keep your sorry beautiful and hot ass

alive

—"

"That was also my women’s time." Flat. Factual. Unapologetic. Like he was reading from a rulebook titled

How to Piss Off Immortal

Fairy-Succubi

101

. "Would’ve been distracting to have you floating around with that almost-naked body in my peripheral."

The rant died mid-breath.

Eira’s mouth—open, primed to unleash the next righteous tirade—snapped shut. Eyes widened.

Outrage drained like water through sand, replaced by something sparkling, delighted, and

dangerously

pleased.

"

Yes

!" She clapped her tiny hands together—wings blurring into razor-frost propellers. "I

knew

it was working on you! I

knew

it!"

Phei sighed through his nose.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

The deliberate thinning of the veil. Millimetre by millimetre. The way she’d been posing, stretching,

displaying

herself across his vision all day like a

Loli succubus

conducting a slow-boiling-lust experiment.

She’d been fishing for this exact confirmation, and he’d just handed it to her on a silver platter because apparently even an Ice Prince had a breaking point when a fairy spread herself across a table of vintage champagne like the universe’s most illegal centrefold.

She was doing it

right now

.

Back in that lounging pose—one arm beneath her head, body curved in a long, obscene S, veil so sheer across her breasts he could see every vein, every ridge of areola, nipples so hard they looked painful.

Between her thighs the veil had gathered into a narrow,

clinging strip

—dark,

damp-looking

with inner starlight, outlining the

plump

outer lips, the slick inner folds glistening, the swollen clit visibly throbbing like it had its own heartbeat.

She hooked one finger under the edge and

pulled

the fabric—slow, shameless—

He looked at his Coke. Studied the bubbles rising like tiny, pointless rebellions against gravity. Found them suddenly, obsessively fascinating.

"Of course it’s working on me," he muttered, lips barely parting, voice so low it drowned in the bass.

"Happy?"

Another giggle—musical, crystalline,

unbearable

—rippled through the private frequency only he could hear.

Then—quieter. Warmer. The tantrum bleeding out, leaving something almost sincere beneath the ice.

"By the way thank you for the intel, by the way.

Eira

."