City of Fae

City of Fae by Pippa DaCosta





The Trinity Law ~ Est. 1974


Look, but don’t touch.

Touch, but don’t feel.

Feel, but never ever love.





Chapter One


I should have let him die. Had I known what saving him would mean for me, perhaps I would have.

I hugged my bag close and pulled my coat tighter as the train I’d stepped from clattered out of the subway station, blasting me with hot, dry air in its wake. After the day I’d had, I didn’t want to go home; that much I knew. Lingering on the platform, alone but for a few late-night stragglers and a homeless guy slumped on the floor against a billboard, I checked my cell phone: searching for a signal: No notifications. What did I expect? For my boss to e-mail and say he’d made a mistake? That I actually hadn’t just been fired, and that it was an office prank? Ha-ha. Seeing as nobody had gotten in touch with the punch line, I figured I was out of luck, and out of work.

I checked the digital display above the platform: 22:15. Next train in three minutes. While tucking away my cell my gaze lingered on the homeless guy. Something about him gnawed at the part of my thoughts reserved for forgotten things. Steel-buckled boots climbed lean ripped-jeans-clad legs. A long tattered coat covered the rest of him. Expensive, I assumed, from the tailored cut. Clothes designed to be disheveled. His scruffy, unkempt dark hair could have been styled that way. Maybe not homeless, I thought; probably wasted. Recognition darted through my thoughts. Could it be I’d seen him before? Many times in fact. Like any reporter in London, I knew him by reputation. I ambled closer, feigning interest in the billboard. If I could get a good look at his face, I’d know for sure.

A wave of warm air signaled an arriving train, ruffling my coat and rifling through his hair. His eyes popped open. His gaze flicked to me, locking on with ruthless intensity. For the briefest of moments, three distinct coronas ringed his dark pupils, flecked with sharp filings of light. He blinked and his eyes softened to a less dazzling hue. Thousands of fans regularly swooned at the sight of those tricolored eyes. Sovereign, the infamous rock star fae, with a penchant for provoking the press. But this wasn’t right. He shouldn’t be here, slumped alone on a platform. Where was his entourage? Where were the groupies, and hangers-on? I glanced on either side of us. Nobody paid us any attention. My gaze landed on the EXIT sign, and I considered leaving. I really didn’t have the energy to humor a wasted celebrity, much less one of the toxic fae. Unless … unless I could use this, use him. I inched closer still. His eyes tracked me, flitting from head to toe, analyzing, brow pinched with suspicion.

The next train to Leytonstone thundered in and screeched to a jarring halt behind me. My thoughts whirred. His being here could be the break I needed. Clearly something had happened, and given his reputation, whatever it was would be newsworthy. Sovereign’s fans would fall over themselves to read about his latest escapade. Instead of another reporter getting the scoop, it could be—no, it would be—my name on the byline.

“Are you okay?” I crouched down, fumbling with my bag as it tried to slip off my shoulder. “Do you need help?”

His earthy eyes narrowed. His face had the sort of fine angles that would have made him beautiful if not for the hard slash of a smile. Up close, there was no mistaking him. Curiosity fluttered my heart. The notorious London fae had landed in my lap.

His hand shot out from beneath his coat and clamped on mine. A yelp lodged in my throat as a sharp pins-and-needles sensation rushed up my arm. “Hey!” I tugged, but he jerked me closer, almost yanking me off balance and into his lap. The sweet smell of autumn berries—and a darker scent, something lusciously male and intoxicating—filled the air as he whispered against my cheek.

“Help me.” His voice grated, the sound strangled.

“Let me go.” Turning my head, I locked my glare on his. The multifaceted colors were back; green to blue to violet, but beyond that, deeper, something hungry and wild peered back at me.

His grip tightened and he blinked, erasing all traces of what I thought I’d seen. “Not yet.”

“Let. Go.” The fae are quicker, stronger than we are, but it was his touch I feared. Look, but don’t touch … The numbness spread to my shoulder, and with it came a gut-churning wave of nausea. I tugged again, but his cool fingers clamped tighter still.

“Just a few seconds more,” he growled.

“Let me go right now or I’ll scream,” I hissed. “And I don’t think you want that kind of attention, do you?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Just help me onto the next train.”

“To Leytonstone?”