A switchblade suddenly appears in Ralph’s hand, the knife flicking into position with a metallic snick. “Fuck you, Verran. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”
And now I’m done playing around.
Dropping the ruse like an anvil, a malevolent grin slides onto my face as I abandon my glamour and let Ralph get his first look at the real me: pointed ears, golden eyes so bright they almost glow, and deadly sharp canines.
He gasps, and I revel in the spicy scent of his fear.
“You should’ve gone with iron, Ralph.”
“F-f-faerie!”
Loosing a ferocious growl, I cross the distance faster than he can track and pin him against the wall. “It’s fae, you sniveling piece of shit. And I’m the motherfucking king.”
With that, I use my bare fists and brute strength to unleash the day’s frustrations on Ralph, punishing him for all his transgressions against me, my business, the workers under my protection, both human and fae alike. The whole thing lasts less than a minute but probably feels like an eternity to the man lying battered and bloody on the floor, whimpering in pain the same way I’m sure the women did after he assaulted them.
Seamus walks over and offers me the handkerchief from his pocket. “What do you want to do with him?”
“Tell the assistant manager he’s been promoted. Then have Madoc take him out to Joshua Tree and send him through the veil. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to dance and drink himself into a stupor with the other assholes at the Spring Court. If I’m lucky, he’ll be captured by the Winter Court and tortured for fun.”
Honestly, it doesn’t matter whether it’s the Summer, Winter, Spring, or Fall Court that finds him once he’s in Faerie, the world my ancestors hail from—a place in Ireland that exists in what humans call a parallel universe—or how they treat him while he’s there. They’ll get bored of him after a few days and spit him back through the veil.
Unfortunately for Ralph, a few days in Faerie could be a hundred years or more over here. A punishment that amuses me more than the swift finality of his death would, since a human mind cannot travel back from Faerie and survive fully intact.
Seamus dips his head in acknowledgment and leaves to follow my orders. Wiping the blood from my hands, I exhale slowly, regaining my legendary control and applying my glamour once more.
This wasn’t how I saw this meeting going, but that’s on Ralph. During his Google search, he should’ve paid less attention to the myth about counting grains of salt and more to the myriad warnings against insulting members of the fae. Especially the ruler of the Dark Fae.
Tossing the blood-stained handkerchief onto Ralph’s chest, I stride out of the manager’s office, where Seamus is waiting for me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“To the tower it is, sire.”
“Keep it up, wiseass, and see if I don’t make you walk back to Nightfall.”
He gasps dramatically. “That would be uncommonly cruel, Your Majesty. You know how slow I am these days.”
“Slow, my ass,” I say, cutting him a dubious look. “I saw you dodge that Ralph bullet like you were two hundred years old.”
He opens the rear passenger door of the Bentley for me. “Well, don’t tell the princes. It would take all their fun away.”
He winks, making me grin and shake my head as I slide into the car. Once the door is closed, I exhale slowly and let the adrenaline of the past hour drain out through my feet into the floorboards. Despite the neon chaos going full bore outside my window, a quiet stillness wraps itself around me, and I feel like myself again.
Seamus gets in behind the wheel and asks the same question he always does, whether he knows the answer or not. “Where to?”
“To Nightfall, old friend.”
Soon I’ll be back in my own office where I can relax in my usual fashion—pouring myself an expensive drink while the humans pour their money into my city.
It’s fucking good to be king.
CHAPTER TWO
Bryn
Stepping out of the cab, I tip my head back and stare up at Las Vegas’s most popular hotel and casino, Nightfall.
I can’t help but gawk in appreciation at how the black glass and clean lines appear to merge seamlessly with the night sky. The hotel is magnificent, and this is only the front. I’m not a Vegas expert, but I know from the website that Nightfall is taller and larger than every other hotel on the Strip and sits at the far end as though arrogantly lording its power over all the others.
It’s weird to say about a building, but it’s damn sexy.
The cab driver gets my attention and rolls my carry-on to where I’m standing on the curb. I tip him generously, then take a minute to be present in the moment instead of rushing ahead to the next one. I’ve always been what my mom called “a real go-getter,” so it’s hard for me to get my brain to stop spinning like a hamster wheel twenty-four-seven, but I’m trying.
Tucking my long blond hair behind my ears to keep the desert breeze from blowing it in my face, I close my eyes and take a deep breath…then slowly release it as I allow myself to experience the cacophony around me.
The traffic, the people, even the neon lights—they all mesh together, creating the sound of excitement. It feels like a humming in my bones, a vibration in my blood, and standing still while everything around me is urging me to GO is more than this Zen novice can handle.
Giving in, I grab the handle of my carry-on and pull it behind me as I finally stride through the automatic doors of my destination. A welcome blast of air-conditioning breaks over my body when I enter the lobby that’s just another version of the hustle-and-bustle outside. Once I make my way to the back of the check-in line, I look around to take everything in, even more impressed than I was with the exterior.
The design of what I can see in the lobby is the embodiment of nighttime opulence—all sleek and contemporary in swaths of black and midnight blue, accented with gold and silver. The lighting above isn’t large fixtures but rather thousands upon thousands of tiny gold lights hanging by invisible strings, giving the appearance of stars shining up in the sky.
It’s incredible.
The line moves forward a few steps. I move with it, then take out the folded letter from my back jeans pocket—the letter I’ve been reading over and over to make sure I didn’t miss any fine print. Biting my lip, I carefully comb through the information one last time and breathe a sigh of relief. The words haven’t magically changed or anything, so I think I’m good.
I damn well better be.
Forty-eight hours ago, I booked a flight for this spontaneous trip to Vegas from a random offer I received in the mail. I’d just been fired—sorry, let go due to organizational changes—from my job as a public relations specialist, so I should be more concerned about saving money right now instead of blowing it. But I’m a firm believer that the universe sends us signs that lead us toward our destiny, and I always follow the signs, hence why I’m standing in Nightfall’s lobby right now.