City of Fae (2 page)

His gaze dug deep, seeing through me, into me, sending a flight of tremors beneath my skin. Rocking with the motion of the train he tilted his head and studied me. I glared right back at him. If he thought I was going to wilt underneath that gaze, he was in for a surprise.

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked.

Fate? I could have laughed. I wanted to, if only to ease the unexpected tension. “No.”

“No?”

“You do?”

“No.”

“Wait, what? Then why ask?”

“Because there are worse things than fate.”

Okay, was he high? I shook my head and crossed my arms. “Is this something to do with the FA following you?”

Wincing, he snatched his gaze away. “Yeah.” When he eventually faced me again, the intensity had vanished. “If you hadn’t have helped, they’d have found me, and in the condition I was in …” He bowed his head, thoughts obviously wandering. This sorry fae specimen, beaten up and soul weary, had the kind of weight on his shoulders that would crush him over time. This wasn’t the Sovereign who exuded sex appeal and played to the cameras. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of him.

“What did you do to upset them?”

“There’s a list.” Lifting his head, he blinked. “A very long list somewhere with my name on it, and the crimes I’ve supposedly committed.”

“Ah, so really you’re innocent.”

His grin was a sly thing, it didn’t reach his eyes. I suspected those wicked smiles, designed to seduce an audience, had no real substance behind them.

“Until proven guilty.”

I could see why some fell over their own feet to know him. He certainly had the looks, and a sharp wit to complete the desirable package. But Sovereign, like all fae, was too dangerous to touch. Too easy to fall for. And before you knew it, you’d broken the Trinity Law and had no hope of escaping him, and no desire to.

As if reading my mind, he asked, “You ever broken the rules, Alina? Maybe done something you shouldn’t have?” He didn’t wait for my reply, but instead gave his head a dismissive shake, “Of course you haven’t. I’ll tell you this for free, American Girl, fate’s a bitch that’ll bite you whether your choices are right or wrong.”

The car groaned and complained as it hurtled down the tracks while I stood, clutching the upright pole, letting his words and their gravity settle around us. He didn’t look much older than me, and yet his words dragged a lifetime of experience behind them.

“Well? What mistakes have you made?” he asked.

I wondered if I should tell the arrogant fae to mind his own business or lead him on, lure him in. It went against my better judgment to lie, even just a little, and yet I had a twitching sense of panic when I considered I’d have to leave him at the next stop. Just how far was I willing to go to discover more about him? Why was he here? What had he done? He watched me, waiting for my reply. At least his eyes were honest. There was something else though. Some niggling sensation, like an itch I couldn’t scratch, or the unsettling sensation of knowing I’d forgotten something important, that I was missing the obvious, as though his being here was significant and I should know why.

His question sidelined, I asked, “Have we met before?”

He leaned back and cast his gaze about the empty car. “Don’t think so. I have a good memory for faces, and yours is new.”

The train slowed with a shudder and the screech of brakes. If I got off at the next station I’d probably never see him again. A tiny jolt of panic skipped my heart a beat. As though sensing it, Reign drew his gaze back to me. That was how the city worked. So many people, so many opportunities. At that very moment, as much as I hated to admit it, I needed him. Maybe there was such a thing as fate. Maybe that was the disjointed sensation crawling beneath my skin. Maybe if I walked away, my career, my life in London, would be over. What if he was the one opportunity to get things back on track? Perhaps more important, could I walk away?

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, raising my voice over the sound of the grinding train cars.

He flashed what could have been a genuine smile but it didn’t linger long. “Thanks to you.” The train halted. He rocked in his seat, settled back and flicked me a parting salute. “Have a good life, Alina.”

The doors hissed open. This was my stop. And this was good-bye. I smiled a reluctant farewell, wracked my thoughts for an excuse to stay that didn’t make me sound like a desperate reporter, and turned toward the door. A figure blocked my way, so close I could smell the warm leather scent of his coat. Jerking my head up, I recognized telltale tricolored eyes of the fae, but that was where the similarity to Reign ended. These eyes were gray, like thunderclouds, and just as angry. Thin, bloodless lips stretched over sharp fae canines.

“Hey, you wanna move?” I grumbled.

He grabbed my wrists—hands like steel—whirled me around, and shoved me away. “Stay back, girl,” he snarled, fixing his glare on Reign.

“Hey!” Who the hell did he think he was? I considered offloading a verbal assault when he produced a dagger from inside his coat. Curved like a grin, light glanced off the notched blade and sparked in the trail of tiny gems inset into the guard. The train lights flickered, licking off half a dozen daggers and knives strapped flush against his leather-clad body. FA, and clearly not to be screwed with.

The doors shut and the train shuddered into motion.

Reign sprang to his feet and backed down the aisle. Head down, glare up, he smiled and beckoned the fae with a curl of his fingers. “Nice knife, General, but size isn’t everything. Care to impress me?”

The general’s thin lips rippled in a snarl. “Sovereign. By decree of the Fae Authority, I hereby revoke your roaming rights. You will submit, and obey, or deadly force will be employed.”

Reign flipped him off, baiting the general into action. He shot forward, tackled Reign, driving a shoulder into his chest, and rammed him through the closed doors as if they were made of paper. Reign clamped his arms around the general, narrowly avoiding being chewed up between the train cars and spat out onto the tracks. The car shuddered, thundering through the tunnel. Reign brought his knee up somewhere sensitive. The general
oomphed
over, leaving himself exposed for the elbow Reign thrust into the back of his neck. They fought dirty, up close and personal, snarling and grunting, more like animals than men. This was personal. As the general sprawled forward, Reign pinned him down and drove a fist into his side, but it didn’t seem to have much effect. The general bucked, twisted, and brought the knife around. Reign caught his wrist, blocking the slash before it could cut across his cheek. The fae thrust his head back, cracking his skull against Reign’s chin, whipping the rock star’s head back. I had a hard time tracking their brawl, torn between wincing and watching. The general grappled with Reign and the dagger, shoving the rock star into a window. Glass smashed and tunnel-air ripe with city smells of dust and ozone blasted into the car.

I had to do something. This wasn’t some insignificant brawl. They were out for blood. Someone was going to get killed. “Hey …” I couldn’t stand by and watch. “Stop.” Neither paid me any attention. I scanned the car and found the
Break This If Serious Shit Happens
alarm. Punching through the plastic, I snatched the handle and yanked. Brakes wailed, the car locked, and I went flying down the aisle. Pain blasted through my skull. The sharp coppery taste of blood on my tongue only worsened with the imminent threat of either throwing up or passing out. Through a murky haze, Reign’s outline blurred. Sparks of light flared off sharp edges, growls resounded, but I had no desire to watch. I could maybe take a nap, right there, on the sticky floor of the car. Maybe I wouldn’t even see tomorrow.

A hand scooped my languid body upright onto jellified legs. Without an explanation or warning, we were outside, on the bitter London streets. A bus thundered by, splashing through a puddle, drenching me. I wanted to ask how it was possible we were aboveground, but couldn’t muster the strength to speak.

“Where do you live?” Reign’s colorful eyes were all I could see. So beautiful, like butterfly wings. He gave me a shake and muttered a curse. “Alina … Just tell me where; say the words. I can get you home.”

“Mile End.” I mumbled something like an address, possibly mine, and stumbled forward, pitching into him.

In a blink and with the smell of sweet forbidden things briefly raising questions in my head, we were moving again, or were we? The street tilted. Colors bled into one another, yellow streetlight danced with the red taillights of passing cars. Reign’s arms closed around me, drawing me against him. “It’ll be okay … You’re safe with me, for a little while,” he said, and I almost believed him. In the next stomach-flipping moment we were standing in the dark, in my tiny apartment, dripping dirty street water onto my floor. An “Oh,” whooshed from my lips before the darkness rushed in.

There was a fae in my kitchen.

I was still asleep, wasn’t I? I’d dreamed the crazy events on the tube, because there was no way any of that could have happened. If I’d dreamed that, perhaps losing my job had been a figment of my imagination too?

The faucet in my kitchen spluttered. I jerked out of bed, almost falling over my own feet. Okay, so I had a tee on, and panties, and for some reason socks, but I had no memory of getting into bed or removing my clothes. And there was definitely a fae in my kitchen. At least, I assumed it was
him
—Reign. Smug-ass
“
you-should-know-my-name” Reign. Although, the intruder could have been the FA general. What if he’d followed me back? Weapons. I needed a weapon. Snatching the hair straighteners from the dresser, I crept toward my bedroom door and peeked into the one room that made up my living room and kitchen. The trespasser rattled a few things and slammed cupboard doors. Whoever it was, they weren’t concerned with letting me sleep. I eased the door open a few more inches, just enough to get my head through. Oh yeah, that was Reign. His back to me, head down, the cut of his black tank top revealed a kiss of a spider tattoo where his shoulder muscles flexed. I deliberately flicked my meandering gaze higher, to where the disheveled cut of his dark hair revealed the elegantly pointed tips of his ears. Fae. A real-life celebrity fae was raiding my kitchen cupboards. He reached for a glass, and I got a good look at the sinewy ripple of corded muscles in his arm. Considering he probably spent more time partying than working out, he had a predatory physique, muscles molded by survival and honed to the pinnacle of evolution. And we thought we were the top of the food chain. That was until the fae “came-out” and dashed our fragile human egos.

“You plannin’ on attacking me with hair straighteners? Should I call my stylist?”

Busted. I threw the straighteners onto my bed. When I turned back, he’d moved to stand in front of me, close enough to see the oil-on-water play of color in his eyes. A few scuff marks marred his cheek; the only outward sign he’d been brawling on a subway train. I gulped, and silenced my runaway thoughts. “You actually pay someone to make you look like that?”

“I don’t pay for anything,” he purred, dropping his gaze to where it had no right to roam.

“Hey, pal.” I tugged my T-shirt down and threw my shoulders back. “I didn’t ask you to come back here. I should call the police.”

He took a step back, his smile skewing to one side, as though it might slip from his lips at any moment. “You were about to pass out on the street.”

“And whose fault was that?” I touched my head and winced. Reign’s smile wasn’t helping. I glared, trying to inject some genuine threat into it, and retreated to my bedroom, closing the door on him. I wasn’t going to argue with a stranger in my apartment while half-dressed. Throwing on some skinny jeans and a loose shirt, I raked my hair back and tied it up, muttering to myself the whole time.
Okay, calm down. Think about this rationally
. He’d been hurt, I helped him. He was attacked by the FA. Or, more accurately, the FA general attempted to arrest him. I tried to help, hit my head, and somehow we ended up back here. Sounded simple. But there was a lot more going on. Why had he been hurt? Why were the Fae Authority after him? What happened to the general? Questions were my profession. At least, they would have been, had I not been fired. I was about to turn my luck around though. We make our own fate, and whatever Reign had done, the story would surely get a second-page slot, maybe even front page.
He could make my career.

I shook my head at my reflection and frowned at the bruise over my right eye. It could have been much worse. The FA didn’t mess around. The general could easily have gutted Reign right in front of me. I might not like him, but that didn’t mean I wanted to witness his death. How had Reign spirited us away from the general? He hadn’t exactly been bright eyed and bushy tailed when I’d found him.

A curious tingling danced up my tight arm. I shook it out. Reign had
taken my draíocht
. It took more than one touch for the fae to bespell their victims, but that single touch was enough to seed suggestion in weak minds. The Trinity Law had been drummed into me since I could remember.
Look, but don’t touch.
Touch but don’t feel. Feel, but don’t love.
Three levels of protection. If you failed those safeguards, you could essentially wave good-bye to free will and throw yourself at the feet of your new fae master. Fae bespellment wasn’t nearly as rare as the government wanted it to be. Hence the TV campaigns, press adverts, and election promises.

“Do you need help?” Even his smooth voice held a smirk as it drifted below my closed door.

Opening the door, I stepped around his tall, languid self, propped against the wall. Cats had that
“
you must step around me
”
attitude. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you out right now.”

“You’re curious.”

“No …” My tone amped up, undermining my lie. Damn it, he already had me pegged. Maybe he wasn’t just a pretty face. Or I was just easy to read. “How did we get back here?”