Inside, the tavern was empty save for a female wiping down the bar. Two ribbed horns circled the sides of her head and her dark hair was styled to run parallel with them. “Welco—” Her words cut off as her gaze met his, recognizing him immediately.
Tin did his best to give her a reassuring smile but the iron distorted half of it. “Do you have any rooms?”
The girl shifted back warily. “We’re … closed … during the…”
He didn’t mention that she’d started to welcome him before she looked up. Instead, he pulled out one of the larger diamonds and held it in the center of his palm. Her eyes grew impossibly wide at the sight of all the fresh blood on his glove.
Shit. Diamond or no diamond, he knew she was five seconds away from bolting.
“Give the man a room, sweetmeat.”
Tin froze at the familiar voice—one he blissfully hadn’t heard in years—and eyed the alcohol behind the bar. “What are you doing here, Lion?”
“Good. You remember who I am,” he said with a chuckle. “Join me.”
The last time Tin saw the bastard was at his hearing, when Lion was called as a witness against him. For all the courage Lion gained, it had only made him a fool. Tin ground his teeth together and turned to face the other fae. Lion was exactly as he remembered: coarse golden hair tied in a low ponytail, bronze skin, and piercing golden eyes. The tuft at the end of his tawny tail skimmed the floor beside his boots. A fur cloak wrapping around Lion’s broad shoulders made him appear even larger.
But, no matter how much bigger Lion was, Tin was certain he wasn’t a threat. Lion had a heart, after all, even if it was darker than most, and that bloody organ made all creatures weak.
“What are you doing out of the South?” Tin growled.
Lion smirked arrogantly and flicked a look at the tavern girl, who let out a sharp gasp from behind the bar. “Another drink, if you wouldn’t mind, and one for my friend.”
“I asked you a question.”
Lion rolled his eyes. “Stop being an ass and sit down.”
Tin drew a slow, steady breath and reached for the axe at his hip.
“You’re going to scare the lady,” Lion warned coolly.
The hell if he cared. “I warned you. If I ever saw you again—”
“We’re immortal, Tin. There’s plenty of time to kill me. I have a job for you, so you may as well make your fortune first.”
Fortune. Tin kept his hand on his axe but didn’t wield it. He didn’t kill people because he needed money—he liked killing—but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t recognize its usefulness.
The horned female sat the drinks down on the table with shaking hands. Some of the foam splashed over the sides, landing on Lion’s sleeve. He growled at her and she hurtled out the back door.
Once they were alone, Lion continued. “You remember Dorothy, don’t you?”
Tin narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on his weapon. It was rather hard to forget the little human girl who’d crashed into his life and set him on the path to self-destruction.
“Of course you remember the little bitch.” Lion took a long gulp of his drink, studying Tin over the rim of the glass. He nudged the empty chair across from him with his boot. Another invitation to sit.
This time, Tin accepted.
Chapter Two
Dorothy
Dorothy gripped the handle of the garden fork so hard that her palm would most likely bleed. With the tool and gritted teeth, she ripped a carrot from the dirt—then another and another and another. Her fierce actions were scarring the flesh of the vegetables, but she didn’t care because she needed as many as possible.
Blowing out an exhausted breath, she stared at her aching hands—red and rubbed raw. She didn’t mind the aches and pains. This farm had to survive, not only for her, but for Aunt Em and Uncle Henry. It had to.
Tears ran down her filthy cheeks, landing against her striped overalls as she thought about her aunt and uncle. Uncle Henry had been gone for five years now, and Aunt Em nine months. After Uncle Henry died from scarlet fever, most of the workers had left, and the farm’s profits took a nose dive. The remaining workers had stopped showing up when Aunt Em passed from a heart attack. There was no way to make the business thrive with only Dorothy. Nobody in town wanted to work for Crazy Dorothy Gale. No one.
She fisted a carrot, fingernails digging into the vegetable as she thought of the place that everyone had told her didn’t exist—no matter how many times she screamed and yelled that it did. At times, she wasn’t so sure what to believe anymore. A flash of emerald crawled into her thoughts and she closed her eyes, shutting out what Aunt Em had beaten into her head—it wasn’t true.
“There’s no place like home,” she said through clenched teeth. “There’s no place like home, Dorothy. Because this is the only place that’s real. Oz never existed.” She breathed heavily, remembering the needles, the pokes, the prods, the medicines, the shock therapy—all of it.
And still, the place lingered in her mind when she opened her eyes.
As Dorothy leaned back down to grab her shovel and return to the task she’d set for herself, a line of dust, farther out from the farm along the dirt road, filled the air with brown smoky clouds. She froze.
Dorothy recognized the black two-seater Roadster, and knew right away it was Jimmy. Time wasn’t on her side anymore. Jimmy was a friend she’d known for years, but more importantly, he was the messenger for his father. His father, Glenn, had been trying to take the farm from under her feet for months. Dorothy had made the decision two weeks ago that the last way to possibly prevent the farm from being taken was to sleep with Jimmy. She liked him well enough, and she was desperate, but it was a terrible action on her part. A terrible action she’d repeated multiple times since then.
Brushing a dirt-covered hand across her forehead, Dorothy wiped away the beads of sweat that had collected, as best she could, and removed her sun hat. The hot ball of fire in the sky beat down against her tan skin as she watched Jimmy’s car approaching from afar. In that moment, she wished so badly that Aunt Em was here. She had always been better at prolonging things than Dorothy.
The car came sputtering across the pebbled drive, past the wheat fields, and stopped in front of the foundation of the old porch. After the tornado had torn across everything with its windy paws, the rebuild hadn’t gone easily, especially with the cost of supplies and labor. That had been the start of the farm’s downfall.
As Jimmy stepped out from the car, she waited for her heart to speed up at the sight of him, wished she could make it thump harder. But she just couldn’t fall in love with him, no matter how much he dreamed of her doing so, no matter how much she wanted to. He was nice and it would save her farm but the convenience would never be enough.
He took off his hat—displaying his neatly side-swept blond hair—and placed it at his chest while he moved toward her, as though he was prepared for a funeral. Dressed in an all-black suit, he seemed calm, but she noticed the rhythmic motions of his fingertips against his hat. She knew right then and there the news wasn’t going to be good. It was a funeral, one for her home—a home she would have to leave, and never return to. She didn’t know where she would go next. Back to the institution? That was where the town would try to send her anyway, even if Jimmy tried to stop them.