City of Fae

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.





Chapter Two


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.