City of Fae

“How’s that working out for you?” I sounded as cold as I felt. I’d wrapped myself in a brittle shell. I heard his words, their meaning, but none of it penetrated. If it did, I’d break apart.

“There’s good in you. More good than bad. I knew you were sent to kill me, Alina. I just couldn’t figure out why you hadn’t tried.”

“I still might.” It was the truth. My palm itched, urges spurring me on. It was written in my DNA to follow the queen’s orders.

“Warren will kill you,” Reign warned, his tone darkening. “If he thinks she has her fangs in you, he’ll execute you before you have a chance to beg. I’m not trying to scare you. It’s a fact.”

I bowed my head. It still might come to that. “Maybe it’s for the best.” By the end of the week it wouldn’t matter anyway. If Warren was right, my expiration date was fast approaching.

“I’m sorry. Do you see why I had to keep you at a distance, why I couldn’t trust you?”

Moistening my lips I lifted my chin and straightened my spine. “I understand you were using me, leading me along like the pet Warren thought me to be. Sure, I see … I see you, Reign. Now, get out of my way. I want to talk to Andrews.”

“Alina, please …” He reached, but I backed away.

“I said not to touch me, ever,” I growled. His pained expression added to the dreadful weight of emotion pushing down on me.

“When we touch, what you feel … It’s real. It’s fae.”

“It doesn’t matter!” I snapped. “By the end of the week, I’ll be gone, or burned out, or whatever the hell happens to her constructs. Just, get out of my way, Reign, before I do something I’ll regret … or maybe I won’t regret it.” Maybe I couldn’t regret?

Reluctantly, he stepped aside. I gripped the door handle, pausing as he said, “You can help us. You’re the same as her, Alina … Closer to the queen than any other living thing this side of Faerie. We need you.”

With a sigh, I replied, “What about what I need?” And I opened the door.





Chapter Nineteen


They’d gagged Andrews and cuffed him to the heated towel bar with his own cuffs. His eyes widened when he saw me, then narrowed suspiciously. I wouldn’t have been pleased in his position either. I crouched down beside him and worked the gag free.

“Where’s the keys?” I snarled over my shoulder at Reign.

He loitered in the doorway. “We can’t let him go. He’s our insurance you won’t kill Warren.”

So much for Reign trusting me. “If I stop caring, having Andrews tied up isn’t going to mean a damn thing to me.”

He held my stare and witnessed the truth in my eyes. He wanted to deny it, wanted me to be the answer to all his problems. It was misplaced hope. The words to tell him so settled on my lips, unspoken.

With a sigh, he closed the door behind him, leaving me on my knees, frowning at Andrews.

The detective arched an eyebrow. A healed cut sliced through his bottom lip and an angry bruise had bloomed across his jaw. His creased clothes twisted at his waist. “Nice bathroom,” he drawled. “Whoever fitted the towel rail wasn’t messing around, it’s not coming off the wall.” He rattled his cuffs.

At least he was alive. The smallest of smiles flicked across my lips but fled in seconds. “I’m so sorry they’ve done this to you.”

“Considering Miles left me out cold, this is progress.” His attempt at a smile also died too soon.

Mention of Miles turned my stomach. “It really isn’t all right, Andrews. Nothing is all right. It may never be all right again.” I dropped my gaze and focused on my trembling hands cradled in my lap. “Miles isn’t coming back.”

In the corner of my eye, I saw his disgusted grimace. He turned his face away, uttering a curse. I gave him time, listened to the soft murmuring of the two fae in my kitchen and the muffled sounds of London outside the window. When his despondent gaze searched my face, he saw the tears pooling in my eyes.

“How?”

“The queen …” I couldn’t find the words. How do you explain how, from one moment to the next, someone is alive, and then they’re not? Miles was a bastard, but he didn’t deserve to die in those tunnels.

“I believe you, you know. About the queen, about everything.” He shuffled around, getting himself onto his knees to face me while his wrists dangled from the towel bar. “My jacket pocket—”

“What … ?”

“My phone.” He dipped his chin, gesturing toward his side. “It’s in my pocket. Your fae friends are lousy cops.”

“They’re not my friends,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what they were, but friend wasn’t the right word. Shuffling closer to Andrews, I dug inside his pocket and withdrew the phone.

“Find videos.”

I scrolled through the menu. “Okay …”

“Go to Monday. Time-stamped twenty-two fifteen.”