City of Fae

“I needed to know.” He whirled away, staggering a few steps before bumping into the table.

Slumped against the couch, I rubbed some feeling back into my arm. He hadn’t taken a lot, not like at the station, but he’d still damn well stolen it without my permission. Once was an accident. But twice? “What is this, Reign?”

He shrugged his shirt back over his shoulders and braced his arms on the table. Bowing his head, his shoulders quivered, his body as aroused as mine. So why did he have to spoil it by stealing from me? “You taste like her,” he said softly.

“Screw you. Taste like who? Shay? What is this?” I shoved off the couch, intent on forcing him to meet my eyes. He turned his head and settled a sorry gaze on me, his eyes returned to the normal fae tricolors. He looked as washed out and exhausted as when I’d seen him on the platform. “You’re weak, you need draíocht. Were you …” My voice fractured. “Were you seducing me to feed?”

“No, I …” He struggled with his reply, and sighed, “Yes. But you don’t understand.” He winced. “It’s not what it seems. I had to find a way to taste you.”

“Taste me?” My fingers curled into fists.

“The blood. I need to know what you are.”

“What I am is pissed off. Goddamn it, Reign, you nearly … We nearly …” How many times had we touched? What had I been thinking? He wanted my draíocht. He was measuring me up for his next victim. The come-on, the alcohol. He’d even dressed me in Shay’s dress; maybe it helped him fantasize. Was this how he operated? Did he bring his victims back to his opulent pad, seduce them, steal their draíocht, bespell them, keep them.

A chill washed over me. I brushed at my bare arms. He’d just deliberately manipulated me, used the bespellment, knowing I couldn’t deny it. He’d used me. “How many people have you bespelled here?” My voice came out hard, flat, like cool iron.

Reign straightened, but it didn’t last. He drifted away, and resting an arm on the bookshelf, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“How many?!”

He sighed, and cast his gaze toward the ceiling, like I was the one who frustrated him. “It doesn’t matter now. None of this matters.”

“It matters to me!”

“I don’t bespell anyone. It never gets that far. I …” He gritted his teeth, twitching a muscle in his jaw. “It’s not something I can control. None of us can. We need it. I make it brief, but stop the process before it goes too deep.”

“How many?”

Blinking rapidly, he tossed a throwaway gesture at the room. “I don’t know. You’re young.” His lips skewed into a bitter smile. “I’ve had a long time to collect mistakes.”

“Ten?”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “What does it matter?”

Potent rage settled like lead in my gut. “There’s no mention in the press of your victims. So either you keep it very quiet—”

“Goddamn it, Alina, you just don’t quit with the questions!”

“How many, Reign?”

He crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin. “Hundreds.”

Dread knotted my insides. “You hurt hundreds of people just so you could get your kicks?”

He snorted and tossed his gaze about the room. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. If we don’t take what we need … we die. Humans replenish draíocht. We don’t. In Faerie we never needed to. We’re cut off from our lifeblood. Faerie is draíocht. Taking the dregs of your draíocht is the only way we can survive here.”

“But you’re hurting people.”

His grin cut deep. “I don’t hurt anyone. I don’t enslave anyone. I wouldn’t have hurt you, if … it hadn’t … If I hadn’t … Fuck, Alina … Please, just …” He speared his hands into his hair. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

Bullshit. “The only thing I need protecting from is you!”

He smiled that stupid placating smile. “You don’t know how right you are.”

“Is that what you tell your victims? That it’s for them? For their own good?”

His lip rippled in a snarl. “It’s not like that. They’re not victims. My assistant has to wade through the fan mail asking me to bespell them. They want it. I give them a night they won’t forget and send them on their way. I’m careful to only take a little, like with you. I rarely let it take hold.”

There was so much wrong with that picture, and he couldn’t even see it. “You’re taking advantage of them. Of me.”

“You? I couldn’t take advantage of you. You’re just as bad as I am.” He barked a cruel hoarse laughter. “Yes, I do take advantage of them. I have to. Take your judgmental crap elsewhere.” He pushed off the bookcase and stalked me down, staring hard. “Women beg for more, Alina, I give them what they need and take a little in return. Is that so terrible for you and your human ideals to get your head around?”