City of Fae

He leaned back and cast his gaze about the empty car. “Don’t think so. I have a good memory for faces, and yours is new.”


The train slowed with a shudder and the screech of brakes. If I got off at the next station I’d probably never see him again. A tiny jolt of panic skipped my heart a beat. As though sensing it, Reign drew his gaze back to me. That was how the city worked. So many people, so many opportunities. At that very moment, as much as I hated to admit it, I needed him. Maybe there was such a thing as fate. Maybe that was the disjointed sensation crawling beneath my skin. Maybe if I walked away, my career, my life in London, would be over. What if he was the one opportunity to get things back on track? Perhaps more important, could I walk away?

“Are you going to be okay?” I asked, raising my voice over the sound of the grinding train cars.

He flashed what could have been a genuine smile but it didn’t linger long. “Thanks to you.” The train halted. He rocked in his seat, settled back and flicked me a parting salute. “Have a good life, Alina.”

The doors hissed open. This was my stop. And this was good-bye. I smiled a reluctant farewell, wracked my thoughts for an excuse to stay that didn’t make me sound like a desperate reporter, and turned toward the door. A figure blocked my way, so close I could smell the warm leather scent of his coat. Jerking my head up, I recognized telltale tricolored eyes of the fae, but that was where the similarity to Reign ended. These eyes were gray, like thunderclouds, and just as angry. Thin, bloodless lips stretched over sharp fae canines.

“Hey, you wanna move?” I grumbled.

He grabbed my wrists—hands like steel—whirled me around, and shoved me away. “Stay back, girl,” he snarled, fixing his glare on Reign.

“Hey!” Who the hell did he think he was? I considered offloading a verbal assault when he produced a dagger from inside his coat. Curved like a grin, light glanced off the notched blade and sparked in the trail of tiny gems inset into the guard. The train lights flickered, licking off half a dozen daggers and knives strapped flush against his leather-clad body. FA, and clearly not to be screwed with.

The doors shut and the train shuddered into motion.

Reign sprang to his feet and backed down the aisle. Head down, glare up, he smiled and beckoned the fae with a curl of his fingers. “Nice knife, General, but size isn’t everything. Care to impress me?”

The general’s thin lips rippled in a snarl. “Sovereign. By decree of the Fae Authority, I hereby revoke your roaming rights. You will submit, and obey, or deadly force will be employed.”

Reign flipped him off, baiting the general into action. He shot forward, tackled Reign, driving a shoulder into his chest, and rammed him through the closed doors as if they were made of paper. Reign clamped his arms around the general, narrowly avoiding being chewed up between the train cars and spat out onto the tracks. The car shuddered, thundering through the tunnel. Reign brought his knee up somewhere sensitive. The general oomphed over, leaving himself exposed for the elbow Reign thrust into the back of his neck. They fought dirty, up close and personal, snarling and grunting, more like animals than men. This was personal. As the general sprawled forward, Reign pinned him down and drove a fist into his side, but it didn’t seem to have much effect. The general bucked, twisted, and brought the knife around. Reign caught his wrist, blocking the slash before it could cut across his cheek. The fae thrust his head back, cracking his skull against Reign’s chin, whipping the rock star’s head back. I had a hard time tracking their brawl, torn between wincing and watching. The general grappled with Reign and the dagger, shoving the rock star into a window. Glass smashed and tunnel-air ripe with city smells of dust and ozone blasted into the car.

I had to do something. This wasn’t some insignificant brawl. They were out for blood. Someone was going to get killed. “Hey …” I couldn’t stand by and watch. “Stop.” Neither paid me any attention. I scanned the car and found the Break This If Serious Shit Happens alarm. Punching through the plastic, I snatched the handle and yanked. Brakes wailed, the car locked, and I went flying down the aisle. Pain blasted through my skull. The sharp coppery taste of blood on my tongue only worsened with the imminent threat of either throwing up or passing out. Through a murky haze, Reign’s outline blurred. Sparks of light flared off sharp edges, growls resounded, but I had no desire to watch. I could maybe take a nap, right there, on the sticky floor of the car. Maybe I wouldn’t even see tomorrow.