City of Fae

My stride didn’t falter. I clocked the dagger sheathed at his left thigh, and adjusted my balance as he reached for the weapon. Another three seconds and I’d be on him. My hand itched. His dagger would soon be mine.

“You!” He tore the dagger free and lunged. The imagined unreal part of me watched in horror as I twisted, blocked his thrust, and cracked my elbow under his jaw. We clashed, coming together in a frenzy of blows, and yet my heart beat steadily; my thoughts never clearer. The queen strummed her web from a distance. Watching, always watching; tap-tap, Alina. “Follow your design. Fulfill your purpose.”

“Alina!” Reign’s ragged hiss tugged on my consciousness. A twitch of recognition jolted through me. My gaze found him locked behind bars, face twisted in disbelief. No, not disbelief … Regret. Warren plunged the dagger into my shoulder, then yanked it free. His fist cracked across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Bigger, heavier, he thrust an arm under my chin and slammed me back against the bars of an empty cell. Pain bloomed through my jaw, and my already wounded shoulder screamed a protest.

Warren’s eyes, red on black, burned into me. “I knew you were trouble.”

“Warren, don’t hurt her, she doesn’t know what she’s doing …” Reign’s words wove into my thoughts and picked at a mental wound. She doesn’t know what she’s doing … What was I doing?

“I taught you better, Sovereign. She’s not real,” Warren snarled. I bucked, and his forearm pushed against my throat, threatening to cut off my air. “You’re not seeing what I’m seeing. She came here to kill me.”

“Damn it, Warren … She’s different. She feels. She’s not just the queen’s tool, she’s conscious. We can use her.”

“Different, hmm … Not different enough. If I let her up, she’ll go straight for the dagger, won’t you, pet?”

“No.” A lie. He held the dagger below my chin, and could easily cut my throat if he pulled back. He’d do it too. I knew killers; Warren and I had that in common.

“No,” he snorted. “It’s all tricks.” He moved closer, so close I could smell the almonds and peaches scent of him, sweet and sickly, old draíocht, he was from another time, another place. Ancient. Powerful. Strong enough to trap the queen; once. Not anymore. “She’s the queen’s. You, better than anyone, know you can’t manipulate the queen’s control.”

“Alina, tell him … Please,” Reign said, but there was nothing to tell. “You’re not hers, not really.” Warren witnessed the simple truth in my eyes, a truth Reign couldn’t see. Reign continued as Warren glared into my soul, “I saw something real in you. I saw it …”

Warren’s ragged lips lifted into a soft curl of a smile. “Whatever you thought you saw, it’s gone. The queen has her now. This thing needs to be put out of its misery.”

To better twist the dagger for the killing blow, he eased off, and I stole the moment, hooking my leg around his, and yanking him off balance. He wobbled on his bad leg, leaving himself wide open. His wrist gave easily inside my grip. Bones shattered as they had with the other fae I’d attacked. Warren barked a cry. The dagger fell, but I plucked the weapon out of the air and tackled him. Plunging the dagger deep into his side. The quiet calm in my head erupted into a sudden broiling mass of emotion. “Yes, finish him. The last Keeper.” Warren clung to me, and I to him; locked in a deadly embrace. He staggered, face twisted with rage, eyes wide.

“Alina, no!” Reign slammed into the bars. “Stop! You can’t do this. If he dies, she’s free … She can’t be free. Alina, Please … Look at me.”

I couldn’t move. Broken inside, the pieces of me shattered and swept aside by the horror of my own actions. I was a killer. A tool. A construct, organic human parts combined with fae magic. A monster. And Warren, bleeding in my arms, was proof.

He relaxed, let me go, and staggered back, bumping against the wall. A glistening wetness crept down the front of his black and red leather coat.

I must finish him, I thought. The queen would be pleased.

The dagger slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. I laced my fingers in my hair, knotted them, twisting, welcoming the pain, real pain.

Reign’s voice cut through the madness. “Alina O’Connor. That’s who you are. The smart-mouthed reporter who saved me on that station platform. The woman who asks too many questions. Who’s afraid of spiders, and heights, and failure? You want the story, Alina?” Slowly, I lifted my head. Reign clutched the iron bars, face pressed against them, even though it must have burned him. “Yes, front-page material standing right here. I’ll give it to you. Everything. All my secrets. It’ll make your career.”