City of Fae

“How many?”


“Three. No, four.” When he’d taken my draíocht, when he’d taken me to Under, when I’d kissed him on the rooftop, and when we’d kissed and he’d deliberately taken my draíocht in his apartment right before I’d slapped him. I was losing count, and that was bad.

“That’s more than enough for him to have bespelled you.”

It was. I opened my eyes and turned my head to find Andrews watching me with something like pity on his face.

His lips turned down. “Do you feel for him?” he asked gently.

I couldn’t answer, at least not truthfully.

“Alina …” He sighed through his nose. “Do you love him?”

“No.” No, no, really, really no. “I’m not in that deep.” The pity was still there, pooling in his eyes. Surprisingly, anger simmered in my gut. How dare he pity me! I was not Reign’s pet, not yet. “Look, I know how it sounds, how it looks, but I’m not his.”

Andrews rested an arm over the back of the couch and briefly averted his gaze. “That’s what Becky, my sister, said. My brother and I,” he shook his head, “we did everything to help her. Tried to wean her off the fae who bespelled her, got her checked into the clinic. And when she convinced us she was clean, we believed her.” His eyes clouded, his gaze drifting to the framed photo on the mantelpiece. “I’ve not seen her for six months.”

I threaded my fingers through my hair, drawing it back from my face and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Sadness settled in his eyes. “She’s my little sister; I’m meant to look out for her. It’s worse for my brother; we, er, we don’t talk much these days.” Andrews seemed to catch himself revealing too much and straightened, turning serious. He looked like the detective who’d sat on my couch and grilled me about Reign. His work, the detective persona, was his armor. “What they do, it’s the perfect seduction. You don’t know you’re caught until it’s too late.”

I couldn’t argue with him, not when he’d already been through it. He was right. Reign had said if he’d wanted me, he’d have caught me already. Apparently, he had. But, I wasn’t bespelled. I wasn’t losing my mind to the fae. It was real. Wasn’t it? What if I hadn’t stabbed them? What if I had hallucinated it? There was no denying Reign had touched me too many times. The facts said I should have been bespelled. I bowed my head and looked at my hands clasped in my lap. “Did your sister hallucinate?” I asked quietly.

“Before we checked her into the clinic, she was barely coherent. I don’t think she could tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

Oh God. Was I going insane? I racked my mind, going over the dozens of victims I’d interviewed. Some talked as though it was torture, others had spoken of their bespellment like it was a dream, a wonderful dream that swallowed reality and kept them pliable while their fae master drained them of their draíocht again and again.

“It’s all right, Alina.” Andrews’s gentle voice made it sound like it really was. “It’s not too late.”

I shook my head and bit my lip, hating how tears blurred my vision. What was more believable? A spider queen under London, plotting her escape; fae magic wafting from my fingers; or that Reign had touched me too many times and I was merely falling into his web of desire. A cool tear slipped down my cheek. I’d seen women like me, women in denial. Men too. Convinced they’d not been caught. So damn sure they had everything under control. Until they didn’t.

Andrews rested a hand on my shoulder. Such a simple gesture. But it broke through my attempts to fight off the fear and guilt, and revealed exactly how messed up I was. Tears fell. I couldn’t stop them. Swiping them away didn’t help; more followed in their tracks. “I … But it feels so real.” Andrews eased an arm around my shoulders and drew me against him. I tucked my chin in and let him hold me with no fear of the fae’s toxic touch. Eyes closed, I listened to his breathing and welcomed his resilient warmth. He was real. This was real.

A knock at his door interrupted us. Andrews drew back, his face so forgiving. He’d lost his sister, and there I was, wandering down the same road as her. It wasn’t fair. He brushed a thumb across my cheek, wiping away the tears. The brush of his touch warmed my face. There was a moment, just a second, when the closeness meant something more. I saw it in his eyes, saw the flicker of recognition, saw his lips part. But the moment vanished as quickly as it came. He must have realized how close we were and the professional in him shuttered away his emotions. He dropped his gaze and pulled away. I could have stayed like that, would have liked to have him hold me, just a little longer.