City of Fae (11 page)

Intimidating
was one word for his presence. “Oh get over yourself.”

“I’m beginning to see the honesty in you, American Girl. It’s refreshing.”

“Give the rock star fae a medal; he’s had a breakthrough. You pretty boys are all the same. Surrounded by ‘yes’ people so much that you can’t hear a no through the lies.”

He hesitated, mouth open, about to deny it. But the denial didn’t come. A grin did though. “Exactly.” He pointed the packet at me. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“And there you go again. Coming from you, that’s not a compliment.”

“You’re also more complicated than you look. I can see I’ll have to double my charm to have you bend to my will.”

“I’m not bending for anything, mister.” The words were out before I could stop them. Oh heavens, he did not just cast me a wicked glance and I did not just imagine exactly how I’d bend for him. A trickle of desire spilled through me, warming me in places I tried to ignore with another restless shift in my seat. Heat simmered in his gaze. He knew exactly what I was thinking and wasn’t about to look away any time soon. During my research, I’d skimmed a few of the stories about him. The stories women had sold for big bucks; stories about the kind of lover he was. A few words recurred in those trashy articles. Words like
generous, sensuous, insatiable
… and
wild
.

My cheeks burned. I reached for my coffee, throat suddenly dry. Was the air-conditioning working? When did it get so hot in here? I really needed some air, and space.

“Sovereign.” A sharp, regal voice announced from the door. “By the decree of the Fae Authority, we hereby apprehend—”

Reign shot from the booth like an arrow from a bow. He charged the first fae before the warrior had chance to draw his short sword, drove a shoulder deep into the fae cop’s chest, bulldozing him back and through the café window in an explosion of glass. It happened lightning fast, leaving me and the café patrons gaping. The three remaining fae drew their weapons with a shriek of metal on metal, and while two went after Reign, number three locked his tricolored eyes on me.

I had never been in trouble, never really had anything happen that had me contemplating fight or flight.
Before
Reign entered my life, the closest I’d come to a fight was standing on the sidelines of a three second brawl outside a nightclub.

“Step out of the booth.”

I lifted my hands and shimmied out. Like the general who’d attacked Reign on the train, this fae warrior bristled with weapons and was taller than I am by several feet, and lean, like a long-distance runner. His neutral face said “don’t-fuck-with-me.” He didn’t look as bone-breakingly strong as some of the fae, but that didn’t mean I was going to test him. Fast? Yes, he could definitely outrun me. I glanced at the smashed window, searching for Reign’s distinctive profile, but I couldn’t see much beyond the burgeoning crowd.

“Running would be foolish.” The fae yanked my arms out at my sides and frisked me with clinical detachment. “You will come with us. Any resistance will be met with deadly force.”

“You can’t detain me. I’m human. I haven’t done anything wrong.” I did want to run. Knowing what I did about the queen, and how Warren had reacted to my human presence in Under, I wasn’t entirely convinced the FA had my well-being at the forefront of their thoughts. My body tingled and my heart raced, throbbing adrenaline through my veins. The familiar itch in my palm crawled up my arm, sprinkling a restless twitch in its wake. The urge to bolt wouldn’t abate. I flexed my hand into a fist, trying to work the sensation out, but rather than dissipating the tingling surged. A jolt went through me, tensing muscles, and before I could think about what I’d done, I’d snatched my cup from the table and launched coffee into the fae’s face. He spat a curse and reeled back, his right hand reaching for the dagger sheathed at his thigh. A snarl sounded—my own. I sunk my hand into his hair, fisted it into a knot, and punched him downward, throwing all my weight into the move. His forehead cracked against the table and he collapsed. I stumbled with him, trying to untangle my hand as my heart thudded in my ears and the tiny voice of reason screamed at me, demanding to know why the hell I’d just face-planted a fae cop into a café table.

“Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God.” I clambered off him, scuttling backward. He groaned, fingers twitching too close to his knife. I snatched the blade away from his reaching fingers and blinked into his dazzling eyes as he tried to focus on me and failed. A terrible, almost undeniable urge to finish him sparked in my mind. Thoughts struck, vicious and precise.
I should kill him. Kill him now, before he recovers.
My fingers curled around the dagger handle.

End him.

Reign strode in—impossibly unruffled considering he’d leaped through a window. He raked his gaze over the fallen fae and arched a questioning eyebrow at me. “Remind me never to piss you off.” He clamped his hand around my upper forearm and dragged me onto wobbling legs. “You okay?”

“Yuh-huh.” The sharp, alien thoughts dissolved into figments of my imagination.

He eased the dagger from my death grip and pulled me toward the door. “We need to leave. Now.”

Adrenalin surged through my veins. I gave the waking fae one last look. “This puppy has teeth, asshole.” A grin slashed across my lips. We’d garnered an audience who gasped as we rushed by their tables. So much for
going somewhere quiet.
Outside, a small crowd gathered around the recovering fae Reign had dealt with. All snapped pictures with their cell phones. I heard cries of, “Reign!” “It’s Reign,” “Sovereign,” as he dragged me through the crowd and could imagine tomorrow’s headlines. R
OCK
S
TAR
R
EIGN
B
EATS
F
AE
A
UTHORITIES
U
NCONSCIOUS
. Or, R
EIGN OF
T
ERROR
, oh yeah, I liked that one, maybe I should write it.

Reign veered us down a side street lined with terraced houses, leaving little room for hiding places. He stopped suddenly and I plowed into him with an
oomph
. He steadied me and grinned. “Ready?”

“What for?” I panted.

He closed his arms around me. In the time it took to blink, we’d shifted from one place to another. The world did a horrible tilting, liquid ripple, and before I could focus we stood on the flat roof of a tall building, the London skyline stretching far and wide around us. Head spinning, I pushed away from Reign and bumbled backward. “Whoa, jeez, give me some warning when you do that.” Doubling over, I planted my hands on my thighs and concentrated on my breathing.
Breathe in, breathe out … Nice and calm. No need to panic.
I hadn’t just knocked an FA warrior unconscious and then fled the scene with London’s most notorious fae.

Reign’s presence simmered like an electrical charge, making it damn difficult to think peaceful thoughts. “I took out a fae,” I mumbled. Cracked his head open on the edge of a table, if I remembered correctly. I’d locked my hand in his hair and mustered a surge of strength out of nowhere. And those thoughts … Was that the adrenalin? Sure, adrenalin can do odd things, but I shouldn’t have been able to best a warrior fae. “That’s not possible.”

Reign crouched in front of me, breathing fast, but smiling, as was I. “How d’yah feel?”

A little wobbly, somewhat queasy, but otherwise, I felt rejuvenated. “Freakin’ awesome.” I straightened, trembling so hard I might shatter.

With a light chuckle, he reached for my face but hesitated, “You have a little blood there—”

I kissed him; pitched forward, planted my hands on his cheeks and kissed him hard, surprising myself as much as him. I hadn’t even been aware I’d wanted to kiss him until I’d tasted him on my lips, and wanted more. His mouth was soft, his lips warm. Fae magic fizzled across my tongue. He tasted amazing. Sweet, intoxicating. Like illicit things, made all the more delicious because they were forbidden.

But he wasn’t returning my kiss.
Oh-kaay …
I pulled back, licking the taste of him from my lips as heat burned my cheeks. “I’m sorry … I don’t know what I was thinking. I mean—I wasn’t thinking, I just … It must be all the excitement.” He looked at me, brows pinched. Clearly, I was an idiot. He didn’t want me. I’d just kissed a fae; I was falling into the trap.
Bespellment.
“It won’t happen again. It’s probably because we’ve touched, and you, ya know, took my draíocht. I guess I let you get under my skin more than I realized—”

His eyes darkened. “Because it couldn’t be real?”

“Real?” Abrupt laughter bubbled from me. “Real, no. No. Of course not. Wait? What?”

He stood still; really, really still. Only his hair ruffled, teased by the breeze. I froze too, sensing that something was going on here that I didn’t understand. Something dangerous. My fingers twitched, my lips skewed. How long had it been, minutes? Should I break the silence?
This is so awkward.
“Reign … I’m sorry, okay? I think, maybe when you took me to Under, that the touch is starting to work on me. The Trinity Law … Damn.” This was bad. The best thing I could do, for both of us, was stay away.

He stalked forward, intent oozing from each stride. My feet stumbled back of their own accord. The look he wore wasn’t pleased. He did “scary fae” far too well. He stopped, then handed over the dagger he’d taken from me in the café. “Keep this. Considering how you’ve just assaulted one of the FA, I’d hazard a guess at you needing it.”

I took it, and yelped as he vanished. “Reign …” Oh yeah, the kiss had angered him. Damn it. Turning on the spot, I cursed. “Reign!” How was I meant to get off the rooftop without him? Grumbling, I spotted a fire door, tucked the knife out of sight, and resigned myself to a long walk home.

***

With the evening to myself I scoured the Internet for information on the fae. There wasn’t any shortage, but reliable sources were few and far between. Wikipedia had everything from Shakespeare’s mischievous Puck to winged flower fairies. Faerie was mentioned. A lot. In folktales, myths, and legends. The land of the fae. But nobody thought it was real, at least not from the twentieth century onward. Those who did believe were labeled “alternative.” Perhaps we’d convinced ourselves it was a cultural thing; just a story the fae liked to tell. Like our penchant for telling tales about Santa Claus. How wrong we were. The “official” Fae information made no mention of Under, or how they’d been expelled from Faerie, just that the fae were few, they lived among us, and had done so for as far back as records went, so there was no need to panic. I chewed on a nail, remembering how Reign had told me they’d been kicked out of Faerie. All the fae here were outcasts. Maybe Andrews knew more, or suspected. He had said they weren’t meant to be here.

There were other less palatable websites, calling for the fae to be monitored, even going so far as to suggest they wear tracking devices. But as the fae presented a glamorous, desirable image, those websites hadn’t gained much traction. The unfortunate side effect of their touch, was just that; unfortunate, but the Trinity Law and the FA would protect us. The public wouldn’t be so easy to placate if they knew about the queen, and the real Faerie. Tracking monitors may not seem like such a bad idea once they knew creatures like her lurked beneath their feet. Were there more where she came from? Were more likely to be cast out, sent here? It was my responsibility to reveal the truth; even if the thought of doing so set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t just my livelihood at stake, nor was it the lives of the people the queen had to be using to bolster her strength, it was the broader implications. What the truth would mean for human-fae relations. I had to do this right. No mistakes, no guesses. I needed the facts before I published.

After flipping on the TV to chase away the quiet, I settled in for some quality Google time, but deciphering facts from fiction was virtually impossible without a rock star fae to filter the fantasy from the fact. The going would have been easier if my mind didn’t constantly wander back to Reign and the kiss. Could you call it a kiss if only one person was doing the kissing? Of all the things I had to think about—spider-queens, the fact I’d helped a fae-at-large escape the authorities, the bigger picture—and I couldn’t get past the kiss. I touched my fingertips to my lips and closed my eyes. It had been astonishing, and he hadn’t done a damn thing. What would it be like had he responded to me like I’d wanted him to? Wait. What? When did I start lusting after him?

With a growl, I searched the Internet for the effects of fae bespellment, ignoring the ads trying to sell me fae-look-alike contact lenses, and confirmed my suspicions. For most victims—all of which were human, since the fae couldn’t bespell each other—it took several “points of contact” to start the process, but once caught, the victim slid inexorably into fae bespellment. If a fae should take your draíocht during those initial moments of contact, then the connection solidified sooner. I’d touched him … twice? Three times if I counted the kiss. More? I was so screwed.

I searched next for a cure. Separation. I had to walk away. Clinics specialized in weaning humans off their fae addictions. It would be easier to kick the bespellment if I hadn’t progressed to stage two: Feeling. Did I feel for him?

I looked up and caught the end of a news report on the TV. Library footage of Reign fending off a barrage of paparazzi adorned the screen. Beneath the unforgiving camera flashes he only seemed more fae-like, more alluring and untouchable. The report went on to say Reign’s publicity agent denied the rock star was missing, even though he’d failed to show up for several scheduled TV appearances. When asked about the pictures taken that seemed to show Reign leaving a grubby Mile End café with an unknown woman, aka me, his agent offered a smile as though she shared an in-joke with the world. This was playboy Reign: no explanation required. Likewise the FA weren’t mentioned, so it would appear their hunt for Reign and the fact his right-to-roam had been revoked, hadn’t been made public knowledge. Not entirely surprising. As Andrews had said; the FA liked to keep their problems to themselves. The publicist mentioned a concert at the O
₂
Arena at the end of the week, which he “wouldn’t miss, if he wanted to keep collecting his paychecks.” Money didn’t motivate Reign. I’d known him a couple of days and that was clear. He had more problems on his mind than making that concert. Apparently, he had a plan
…
But I wasn’t trustworthy enough to be part of it. I couldn’t blame him. He knew I was a reporter. It begged the question why he hadn’t shut me out; the answer no doubt lay in the queen’s words:
She’s mine
. I shivered. What could the queen possibly mean? How could I be hers? It didn’t make any sense. The spiders were sent to me for a reason. Reign said they wanted something. But he knew more. The way he sometimes looked at me, as though trying to see through me. Was it something to do with my work? I racked my brain for anything out of place, anything unusual prior to Reign’s appearance. I had been working on a bespellment story, but that was nothing new. What wasn’t he telling me?