She’s gone.
Perfect.
I blink several times, but the pure white room still has a haze at the edges that I can’t seem to shake. My fingers tighten around my whiskey, and the two of us sway out the door. Clothes catch against my feet, but I don’t give them a second glance as I dance my ass down the dark hall to the swanky kitchen.
The sword that I once used every day of my life as a Shadow Guard is propped against the chairless table. I catch its hilt as my wings carry me up effortlessly. My wings are the one thing about me that seems to have control of itself. I might be a mess—and yes, I do know I’m a fucking mess—but my wings will never let me down.
I lower with ease until my feet meet the sticky tabletop. The solo of the song kicks up, and I’m so fucking ready. It’s my moment. Broadway isn’t ready for a shit show like this.
My legs shift, my hip jutting out as I grip the hilt with both hands and sing my fae heart out into the magical sword like it’s the only one listening.
Except it’s not.
The front door pounds open with a force that defies the air itself. A whirlwind of power blows me back, but my wings refuse to let me fall. My feet stagger against the teetering table, my hair pushing across my face, my heart drilling so hard I can barely breathe.
And then, big white wings fill my door way, cold cutting eyes sweep the dim room. The stranger spots me with a glare glinting his gaze.
My fingers fist around the hilt, no longer using it as a mock microphone but a weapon that I’d long forgotten.
Those enormous wings of his strike against the air with violent force. In seconds, he’s gripping my wrist that holds the sword. My other hand still holds my Jack Daniels like I’ll go down into the bowels of hell clutching my favorite whiskey.
His strength is a cracking hold that threatens to make me drop my blade, but fuck him if he thinks it’s that easy to disarm a former Shadow Guard. My beloved bottle of whiskey crashes into his dark hair, and the amber liquid sprays us both as glass cuts across my skin. His hold on me falters, and it’s just enough.
I fly back from him to safety, hovering inches from the high ceilings and sizing his big body up. Like I could actually compare, with all the weight I’ve lost over the years. His big palm skims the blood running down his temple before he pulls back to look at it on his fingertips.
I don’t know why pride burns through me at seeing his scornful scowl.
“Who the fuck are you?” I never lower but hold myself aloft above him.
From the safety of the space between us, I can really get a look at the intruder.
Dark hair lies messily atop his head. The faintest shadow of that darkness lines his hard jaw that he holds tightly together. And the brightest blue eyes glare up at me from beneath lowered brows. To top it off, he’s shirtless, with too many perfect lines veering down an impossibly hard chest.
He’s attractive in every way, but I can’t explain why he’d come blazing in here looking to die a good death when he has such a handsome life he could be leading.
Being an alluring fae myself has taught me that beautiful people are reckless. And this man, he’s got chaos written all over him.
“Your wings are black.” He notes the obvious, pulling a sword from over his shoulder. I can only assume his perfect ass cheeks were holding it in place for him.
Seems a little impractical, but I’m not the judgmental type.
The blade gleams to life with shining white light that’s too intense to look at directly. The glow of it pierces the dimness of the room, pulling my attention to a swift movement behind me, and then I spot him . . .
A second too late.
Another man grips my bare foot, and with mighty strength, he pulls the air from beneath my wings and slams me to the tile floor. Pain shoots through my arms as they’re jerked tightly back beneath my wings. Something rises within me like vomit at the back of my throat.
Except she’s worse.
No! No! No!
A smoky face screams out from my own, a shuddering image of a woman I’ve never really met before, but I know all too well. My limbs are barely my own when Catherine makes an appearance. She lashes out in flickering movements that wrenches my spine into an agonizing arch that isn’t at all natural. I see the stranger spring away from me as Catherine pulls my head back and looks him in the eye upside-down.
I hate when she does this.
She is so dramatic.
“What the fuck?” The man stumbles away from my twisted body.
The moment there’s a safe amount of space between me and him, Catherine sinks back into the darkness of my soul. I slump to the ground, my energy waning from her appearance.
Everything settles within me, but this just seems to set the winged man more on edge. The bass of the music tenses his shoulders, and his jaw grinds hard.
“What is that fucking sound?” He spins, and my eyes grow wide when his gaze locks on the blue glowing speaker on the messy kitchen counter.
“No!” I scramble on the sticky tile floor, but I’m not fast enough.
His beaming white sword arcs up with perfect swiftness and crashes into Alexa. Plastic rains around the room, clattering against the dark cabinets and scattering to the ground as he heaves a breath that doesn’t seem to calm him at all.
Silence drops.
That bastard!
My wings swing out, and my body collides with his, sending us both to the ground. My nails bite into his skin. His hands grapple with mine. He flips me, and the winged man dominates above me in seconds. Once more, my wrists are jerked back harshly, and I try my best to fight him off. My feet crash capriciously against him. It isn’t enough. The more I struggle, the more his hold on me tightens. Scorching heat sears into my wrists as an iron lock clicks in place in the midst of my screaming and thrashing. My teeth clench from the pain, and a dampness prickles behind my eyes that I refuse to give in to.
The two strangers lift me, and I’m gasping for an unreachable breath—just as I was the day that my father dragged me away from my kingdom.
The exact same thoughts are in my mind now as they were then.
Even when I’m beaten down to my lowest, I’ll never let them see me cry.
2
The Fae and the Fallen
More searing hot metal wraps around my torso and over my wings. It hurts, and I can smell my feathers singing from the iron, but I keep my head tipped up, my shoulders square. Not that I have a choice of posture. The bindings are forcing it at this point.
They didn’t give me pants. They didn’t brush my long silver hair. They didn’t even give me time to mourn Alexa. They just rushed me into the street looking like I’d drunk myself stupid for three years straight.
And now the two of them are taking a BFF piss together while I lie anchored to this street light, waiting for them.
They really know how to make a girl feel special.
“She’s really far gone. Never seen black wings like that on a fallen,” the wingless man says to his companion, who simply shrugs as he stares out at the glistening water.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the ocean. I forgot how consuming it smells. It rejuvenates me, and I can physically feel my magic pulling to get closer to the intoxicating nature.
The greedy humans who stomp quickly past me, the ones who couldn’t see through my glamour if they tried, I don’t miss them too much.