City of Shadows (3 page)

“Alina.”

I
froze. Thoughts of Reign drowned beneath a flood of memories that weren't mine. “Andrews.” He was close; right behind me. He should have left, should have gotten as far away from me as possible. Why hadn't he?

Because he can't.

I should have been the one to leave—just walk away right then, but what would happen to lover-boy fae and his victim? I'd already had one failure that evening. I wasn't letting this one slip through my fingers as well.

“Small world, isn't it?” Andrews had the kind of quaint English voice Americans adored, and to my “American” ears, he sounded chipper. I'd have smiled if I hadn't immediately wondered whether his tone was a little too enthusiastic—if bespellment drew him to me.

A small ache in my chest added to the growing guilt choking me.
Just get it over with.

I turned but wished I'd walked away. He smiled a tentative, unsure smile. It slipped across his lips but didn't really stick. The man I'd known, my first and only true friend, was a shadow of the man he'd once been. His eyes had dulled; the spark of intelligence snuffed out by the poisonous thoughts in his head. Shoulders slumped, face taut behind a mask of denial, he'd aged in a weary, rugged way.

“Andrews, I …”
I'm sorry
? That wouldn't cut it. Sorry was pathetic. Sorry didn't bring him back, sorry didn't remove the memories from my head or his, nor did it do anything to stop me wanting to take his draíocht again, because it had felt so damn good the first time, and what difference would it make? He was already mine. I couldn't make it any worse.

I gulped a few mouthfuls of my drink, hoping the alcohol would chase away all the wrongs.

“
It's okay.” He scratched absently at his head, fingers threading through his short locks, and then tucked his hands into his jeans pockets. “You've got to get your kicks somewhere.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I've had a lot of time to think about what happened. It was for the best. You need draíocht. It's … natural, I suppose.”

“No.” I frowned, appalled that he'd associate me with the other fae working the club. “I'm not here for that.”

“You have to survive. There's nothing wrong with wanting to live.”

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes. This wasn't Andrews talking; not really. Oh, he was in there somewhere, buried under the artificial need, but bespellment had a hold on him. He could have been trolling these bars for weeks, looking to get his fix of the fae who'd gotten under his skin—me.

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked so softly that half of me hoped the thudding music would bury my words.

When I opened my eyes again, he'd moved closer and now leaned a shoulder against the wall beside me. “I'm fine,” he said, but kept his hands tucked deep inside his pockets. “Really, Alina. I … I know what to expect. I'm not a naïve fae fan. I saw the signs in my sister. I know I'm bespelled, but the difference is that I can manage it.”

My lips tightened into an uncomfortable smile.
You can't manage bespellment. It manages you.
“No, you can't. No one can.”

He drew in a shaky breath and briefly let his gaze wander toward the crowd. “Look, I'm not hiding anything, okay? It's not easy. Right now, I'm struggling to
think
much beyond wanting to touch you.” He shrugged his shoulders, drawing attention to his hands locked in his pockets. “But I am
thinking.
I'm still me.”

Sorry.
That useless word was perched on the tip of my tongue again. Instead, I looked into his eyes, really looked. Was he really still in there, still in control?

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I …” He paused and gritted his teeth, flexing a jaw muscle. “There's something I have to do. It's not about you, though.”

“Thank you,” I said. It still sounded like sorry, and from the gentleness in his eyes he knew it too, but he understood, and to me that meant everything. “For being straight with me.”

“What's done is done. We—I just have to keep moving forward. I'm not about to let bespellment take me. I'm not that easy. I can speak to you and walk away. I don't need you.” His smile this time was warm and real.

No, he wasn't easy. He was strong and intelligent and he deserved more from me than a cold shoulder.

He pushed off the wall and merged with the crowd until I lost all sight of him among the herd of people and rippling lights.

Good. That was good. He wasn't as far gone as the girl in the alley. There was still hope for Andrews.

I finished my drink, rolled the cool empty glass against my cheek, and closed my eyes. He might be managing his bespellment, but what he didn't know was exactly how I'd imagined brushing my fingers across his hand and igniting that spark, drawing all of him into me exactly like before. I'd taken his draíocht to survive. I didn't have that excuse again. These thoughts were toxic, but that didn't stop me from having them.

Music
drummed into my skull. The air thinned and the crowd swelled, pushing against my carefully constructed facade of normalcy. Add to that the ache in my shoulder and the bruise pulling on my ribs, and I was in no condition to be hunting wayward fae. Reign was right. That didn't mean I was going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing it.

The music cut off so quickly it left my ears ringing. Murmurs rippled about the bar, and then a deeply resonating voice carved through the quiet like a death knell.

“By decree of the Fae Authority, any and all fae found on these premises are now under arrest.” Silence smothered everyone and everything. “Resistance will be met with deadly force.”

I jerked onto my tiptoes. The fae known as the General loomed inside the entrance doorway, flanked by six red and black clad Fae Authority warriors. Each stood still as watchmen, daggers glinting at their thighs. Not a smile, not a flicker of anything in their eyes but complete devotion to their cause. The general—well over six feet of perfect fae genetics complete with sharp cheekbones and a jawline so severe you'd crack your knuckles taking a swing at him—scanned the crowd with laser-like eyesight.

I ducked my head low and tried to make myself small and uninteresting. The last time we'd met, I'd been trying to kill him with every muscle, every thought, every intention. Now, wounded and somewhat less “charged” with the queen's draíocht, I was in no condition for round two. I hadn't technically survived the first round.

Whispers filtered through the crowd. The fae here knew the general by reputation, if not immediately by sight. The chances that he'd been just passing by
were
slim. He was here for a reason. That reason couldn't be me, but there was a fae here who'd slipped by the FA at least once already.

Lover boy bolted from his seat. He made it all of five feet before an FA dagger sliced through the air and punched him in the throat, pirouetting him. He staggered and crumpled to his knees. A few bleats of alarm from the crowd punctuated an otherwise heavy silence.

If I moved, I'd be seen. My best chance was to stay still, keep my head down, and weather the storm; maybe slip out the back exit—

“You!” Andrews's bark snapped my head up. “You fae son of a bitch!”

Oh God, no.
I tried to get a good look at what was happening but the crowd erupted. People scattered and surged, some pouring through the back door, some clawing at others to get away. Fighting my way forward, ignoring the burn of pain in my shoulder, I caught glimpses of Andrews lunging for the general. I pushed ahead. He was going to get himself killed. What was he thinking? My fingers twitched, daggers calling to me. When I finally extracted myself from the horde, the FA had Andrews on his knees, his arms yanked behind him. A fae had one hand twisted in his hair and the other was drawn back, long fingers curling into a fist.

“Don't!” I slid my daggers free, grateful for the cool steel against my warm palms.

The warriors' heads whipped up. Indignation burned in their fae eyes. They recognized me.

“If anyone hurts him, they'll be dancing with the queen's killer.” Adrenalin surged through me and, deep inside where I locked all the uncertainties and fear away, hidden desires stirred awake.

The
general's silvery eyes narrowed on me. “Construct,” he snarled.

“Hello again, General.”

Chapter Two

The general's laughter was the sort to simultaneously seduce and terrify. I'd heard it before, not so long ago, when we'd both been covered in each other's blood.

He had the kind of narrow, haughty face you'd expect an ancient knife-wielding badass to have. He could have been thirty or three hundred. Considering how all the fae seemed to revere him, his age was likely closer to the latter. I certainly didn't relish the idea of going toe to toe with him, but I would to keep Andrews safe. I owed him that much.

“Let him go.” I nodded toward Andrews. “He's not fae, he has nothing to do with … anything.”

The warrior with his hand fisted in Andrews's hair growled, “He threatened General Kael.”

“Threatened?” Andrews snarled through gritted teeth, “I'll kill the bastard.”

I tried to convey an “Andrews, what the hell?” expression, but he wasn't looking at me. He only had eyes for Kael, and if looks could kill, the general would be dead already. What was Andrews thinking? He couldn't go up against the general.

“He's bespelled. He doesn't know what he's saying.” I wasn't entirely sure that was the case. Bespelled people did act irrationally, but only when it got them
what
they wanted—closer to their fae masters. Attacking the general didn't make any sense. It was nothing short of suicidal.

Unless, that was the point. A way out? My heart sank. Was that what he'd come here to do?

Finally Andrews blinked back into the room, and by the widening of his eyes he seemed to realize he was in trouble. He yanked on his wrists, but the fae holding him hauled him back. “He's the one that took her, Alina,” Andrews spluttered and snarled. “He took Becky!”

Who the hell was Becky? I searched my memories, some mine, some I'd stolen from him.
Becky. His missing sister. Kael took her?
I swung my glare back toward the general.

“Get him out of here,” Kael snarled, stalking toward me.

I straightened to my less-than-impressive human height, daggers clutched in my hands, and held my ground. Kael stopped close enough to ripple shivers along my skin. He smelled of warm leather and wet metal; like blood. Memories sparked alive, derailing my bravado. The last time I'd seen him, I'd been bleeding out in his arms. He hadn't fared much better. I'd only survived because the queen had healed me. Clearly though, he'd healed quickly enough.

He smiled. On his proud face, his smile was a wicked thing. His eyes—shades of dark slate, black coal, and liquid mercury—narrowed by the smallest of margins. “Something is amiss in this world if an insignificant thing such as you can kill our most glorious queen.”

I lifted my chin, sure he could hear my heart hammering inside my chest. “I had help.”

“Ah yes; the hound.” His eyes raked over the crowd. “Where is he?”

“
Screw you.”

Kael's touch burned when he grabbed me by the jaw, plucked me off my feet, and threw me down on the bar top as though I were a child's doll, one he'd like to rip the limbs off of. He pinned me by the throat and leaned his weight in, tightening his fingers with every passing second.

“Where's the killer in you now, Construct?”

Lungs heaving, I gasped for what little air I could. I kicked and bucked, swiped at him with my daggers, but he avoided my slashes. Then he plucked the blades from my hands so fast my fingers burned. I watched, wide-eyed, as he passed my daggers to the sandy-haired warrior on his right.
My daggers!
The killer in me came then, surging through my mind and body, dragging invaluable fae knowledge with it. I bit down hard and pulled back on my rapidly unraveling control. No, I didn't want to be
that thing
. Not even for this. I couldn't lose control. But I had nowhere to go and no weapons to fight with.

“Alina!”

“Andrews, get away!”

“Fae bastards. You deserve to be hunted, you sick psychos! You took my sister! Where is she?!” I heard the horrible grisly sound of knuckles on flesh and his corresponding grunt of pain, and then nothing from Andrews.

Hooking my fingers behind the general's, I fought to prize his grip off my neck. If he killed me, nobody would care. I'd vanish. I shouldn't even be there. Every second was borrowed. And the knowledge in his dark eyes told me so. “You are subject to fae law, Construct. That makes you mine.”

“Wait,” I wheezed. There was a way out of this, if he'd just let me talk. “Wait … I …”

He
leaned as close as we'd ever been and dug his elbow into my chest. His lips curled into that wicked, wolfish leer. “I expected more of a fight from you. Without the queen pulling your strings, you're nothing but thoughts and dreams. Such things are easily destroyed.”

“Teach me,” I whispered. His eyes widened and then narrowed again, but the grip on my throat loosened a fraction. “Teach me … to be … ” I rasped, “like you.”

His smile was a thing alive. It went from leering grin to salacious smirk all too quickly. Laughter glinted in his eyes. “There is no place in my cadre for a construct.”

“You saw me, saw what I can do.” Louder this time. His grip eased, letting me breathe again. “I need someone to pull my strings. You're right about that. You can be that person. I killed your men.” His tricolored eyes flared. “Make me yours. Imagine what you could do with the queen's construct. Imagine the knowledge tucked away in my head. She was ancient, a powerful fragment of Faerie. And she lives in me.” Much of it was lies, or fears I hadn't yet voiced, but it was enough to make Kael consider my words.