The Fae coughed, drawing my attention to the swollen spot on the right side of his torso. Almost certainly a broken rib. Not much I could do for that. He would have to stop fighting long enough for that one to heal.
His bloodied knuckles were last, a mess that I cleaned and bandaged quickly. Split knuckles were child's play in my healing repertoire. Mordecai had taught me how to attend them early on. We healed no faster than humans, after all, and shifters were notorious brawlers.
“And dicks,” I grumbled to myself. I cast another long look at the red-headed Fae sprawled before me, seeking any missed wounds. He seemed a bit more relaxed. Cleaner, at the very least. I shook my head and sighed, closing the door to the guest room as I strode out. He was going to be hell incarnate when he woke up.
I jumped into a quick shower while I waited for the inevitable. Pocketing my phone from the kitchen counter, I grabbed a soda and wandered to the living room. As I flopped onto the couch, I clicked the television to a cheesy soap opera and settled in. Flipping the can tab, I snorted. Let him wake up and try to give me trouble. I would show him the meaning of hell incarnate.
Snap. Whoosh. Snap. Whoosh.
The sound boomed in my head—a head ready to burst. When the repetitive noise wouldn’t let up, I cracked my eyes open. Well, one of them anyway. The other wouldn’t work. Had someone glued my lids shut? No, that wasn’t right. My body tilted, moving against something warm and . . . furry?
Blinking sluggishly, I peered down at what looked like fur of purest white. A sensation similar to caressing fingers feathered up and down my right arm. My vision grew hazy then, but I swore I saw wings. White wings. Almost iridescent like in the painting. Was I dreaming?
Gaia, am I dead?
An angel was winging me up to heaven.
At least I wasn’t going to the other place.
With that thought, my single-working eye drifted shut and my mind blanked. I hadn’t felt peace like this in a long time.
—
When I woke again, the first thing I noticed was a slight breeze on my bare skin.
The second thing was white scraps resting on my chest. My naked chest. Was this my angel garb? I thought they wore floor-length robes. I lifted the cloth to find tiny black stitches holding my skin together. Then I saw the scars littering my torso. Was I to be cursed with these reminders even in death? Maybe they would be my penance for failing.
I deserved to remember. I deserved the pain.
Talking about pain, it was everywhere. I hissed between my teeth at the sensations flaring awake.
Something tickled my face and I reached a hand up, dragging a sweet-and-spicy-smelling cloth from my left eye. Right away, I recognized the natural healing aromas, ingredients the Fae used far too often. My eyelids were still swollen, but at least I could crack them open now. Which meant . . .
My brain slowly clicked together the pieces of last night: the disappointing fight, the alley encounter, the thrill of unleashing myself on those mangy fleabags, the angel dream.
I paused on that memory. When had I ever dreamt of angels? And those wings. So white, so real. I could still imagine how they felt against my skin.
My brain caught on a new revelation: morning light streamed through the transparent blue curtains covering a tall window. A clean window. Not mine. My eyes raced over the rest of the room. Pristine white walls with blue and silver accent pieces. Definitely not mine.
And not a hospital. At least not one I’d ever been to before, and I’d been to a few. I forced my battered body into a roll and landed with a dull thud on soft white carpet. At the sight, a rock settled in my gut. Fae couldn’t afford white carpet. They wouldn’t want it anyway since most of us walked around barefoot. The cleaning bill would be disastrous.
That meant I wasn’t in Fae territory.
Cursing, I stumbled to my feet, a groan sliding up my throat as my rib cage pulsed with pain. That’s right. I have a broken rib. Healing the bone would take a lot of energy, and my abilities didn’t work well when unconscious. As fast as my aching body would allow, I strode to the window and yanked back the curtains. Several swears flew from my mouth. How did I get up here?
I was a good ten stories off the ground, and in the ritzy, high rise section of the shifter district, no less. Exiting through the window wasn’t an option. Maybe I could bulldoze my way out of this place, catch my kidnapper unaware.
Solid plan.
On silent feet, I crept to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. What was going on? Now wasn’t the time to question my luck. I jerked the door open and was met with a hallway. My head whipped right, then left. I went left. Although I walked with purpose, my steps were whisper soft on the snowy carpet.
I hated myself for the thought, but the plush floor on my calloused soles sure beat hard cement. The hallway dumped me into a large open-plan living area. I slunk past a sleek dark kitchen counter-top-top, snatching an orange from a bowl along the way. The apartment’s main door—my portal to freedom—was only a few steps ahead to the right, but I made my first mistake.
I glanced left.
And that’s when I saw her.
Asleep on a white leather couch was the Night Enforcer. Dressed so casually, so normally, I almost didn’t recognize her. But the blue and black hair spilling over the couch’s edge gave her away.
Oh Gaia, not her! What in all blazes was happening? Was this her apartment? My second mistake was not seeing the small table with a blue and white vase perched on top. My thigh bumped the table and the vase swayed. I lunged with the hand that held the pilfered orange. And missed.
Crash!
I skid to a halt, gaping in shock. The carpet had given way to tile, and now the mosaic was covered in broken ceramic bits.
“Really? You’d think someone who loves to fight would have a little more grace.”
The annoyed voice came from her, and I made my third mistake, the worst of them all: I faced her and opened my stupid mouth. “At least I know how to decorate. What a dumb spot for a table with a fragile vase.”
The little spitfire flashed hands on hips before retorting, “It’s Feng Shui.”
I stared, slack-jawed. Fae worried about a room’s energy, not shifters. I shoved the random thought aside, muttering, “I don’t have time for this,” and nimbly navigated the mess I’d made.
When I was two steps away from the door, she said, “You’re welcome,” before adding a mumbled “Ungrateful prick” under her breath.
I paused. Heat slowly crawled up my neck. Walk away. Walk away and don’t look back. I turned, scattering pieces of ceramic as I marched up to that glaring upturned face.
“For what?” I snarled, holding nothing back. “For driving my kind to the edges of your precious city? For beating them up when they step out of line?”
Her two-toned gold and sapphire eyes darkened. “I don’t—”
“Of course you do,” I spat. “You’re an Enforcer. And I’m supposed to thank you?” I pressed nearer to her, trying for intimidation. It was high time she got a piece of Fae malcontent up close and personal. But she didn’t budge. She had balls, I’d give her that. “You’re what’s wrong with this city.”
Before I swiveled on my heel, I saw her mouth pop open. Saw her hands curl into fists. If she were male, I would have stuck around. Seen what kind of damage we could wreak on this expensive waste of space. I wrapped my hand around the door handle right as she barked, “Stop!”