City of Fae

“Yeah …” I hesitated. I’d lived in London almost a year, and at first I worried my accent might mark me as foreign, but London, with her web of ancient streets and forgotten avenues, embraces lost souls. I was just another anonymous face among thousands.

“American, huh …” Reign remarked, holding my gaze as if he could stare me into telling him more. I certainly had no intention of telling him anything I didn’t have to, especially considering he’d touched me and broken the law. He’d obviously been weak, and a weak fae is a dangerous thing.

“Relax,” he drawled, noting my scowl. “I just took a little of your draíocht. It won’t have any lasting effects.” When my scowl pinched into a glare, he frowned. “I didn’t have a choice.” He paused, giving his next words gravitas. “I am in your debt.”

My draíocht; the aura of energy all living things exuded. He pronounced it as dree-ocht, and curled something of an accent into the word, lending it an exotic flavor. The fae needed it to live. It just so happened we had enough for them to tap into, and could replenish our reserves. I shifted from foot to foot. One single touch wouldn’t be enough to cause any lasting damage, if the leaflets and public service announcements were anything to go by, but I still felt peculiar; exposed. A tingling numbness skittered beneath the palm of my hand. Perhaps I could treat this experience like research. I’d written my fair share of fae-victim stories. Well, now I had a little firsthand knowledge. I’d been in the midst of a fae bespellment story when I’d been let go from my internship, and while I had no desire to be this fae’s victim, I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to get closer to him.

“Someone else might not have been so forgiving …” I trailed off as he planted both boots on the floor and leaned forward.

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?”