City of Fae

“No, thank you.”


“C’mon, I see questions burning in your eyes, American Girl. You’re curious about me, about what I can do. I have more talent in my little finger than most humans can exhibit in their entire lifetime.”

“I guess modesty isn’t one of them?”

“This is me being modest. If I turned on my charm, you’d forget your own name and beg me to tell you it.”

I rolled my eyes. Arrogant. Smug. He probably had no idea what real life was like. Did his stylist pick his wardrobe? His PA probably paid his bills, attended to the mundane so he didn’t have to. Did he have someone stroking his ego 24/7? No, he clearly didn’t need any help with that.

“What job do you do, Alina?”

My thoughts stumbled. I mentally groped for a lie. Teacher? No, where did that come from? Nanny? Kids—yikes! Think of a normal job and quickly. Zookeeper. Oh, for heaven’s sake. I couldn’t lie to save my life.

“Shall I ask an easier question? I know it must be difficult to have a celebrity of my caliber standing in your flat. I’m afraid I forget the effect I have on your kind.” He threw a playful look over his shoulder, the kind of look that shouldn’t be used in public; a private sideways glance, laden with salacious intentions. It was real. It might even have been the first real look he’d given me since we’d met. And it occurred to me that Reign knew exactly what stereotype he played to, and he played it well. It was an act. All of this. The swagger, the ego. A stage act, designed to disarm and play on my preconceived ideas. I’d fallen for it, played right into his hands. Deeper, behind the teasing, the quick wit and cheap smiles, Reign was something else, someone else. Oh, he was so much smarter than I’d realized. He’d shown me a glimpse of the truth in that look. So I gave him a little truth in return. “Reporter,” I replied, clearing my throat. “Well, sorta … I was an assistant with the Metro, but … that’s over with. Austere times; the Internet squeezing out the press, blah-blah …”

He stilled and for a few seconds I wondered if I was about to witness a less-than-charming side of Reign. Swinging the refrigerator door closed, he turned the full weight of his stare on me. “You’re a reporter?” He chuckled and raked his hands through his hair. “Of all the people. ….”

“Ex-reporter.”

His eyes narrowed in a decidedly unfriendly way. “So, you’ve read all about me. You think you know me, don’t you.”

“I know enough. You’re the lead singer from that band … Oh, what’s its name? Touché?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re clearly incompetent. I can see why they fired you.”

I clicked my fingers. “Tatiana?”

His brow arched. “Is this your attempt at humor?”

I’d rattled a fae, and I liked it. “Well, you’re not that famous.”

“Tell that to my agent. It’s Touched.” He made a dismissive pfft noise. “Don’t get any ideas, American Girl. I am not your story. I have enough to deal with without you selling my secrets to the tabloids.”

“Are there secrets?” I picked at a nail, feigning disinterest.

“I’m in your pokey flat, in the asshole of nowhere, when I should be wrapped between silk sheets in Kensington, accompanied by a fine redhead, mentally preparing for my concert at the end of the week. You’re the reporter; you figure it out.” He looked at me hard, drilling his stare into me, daring me to rise to the challenge.

Yes, there really were secrets. But while he might look relatively harmless, he wasn’t. Seductive, mysterious, aloof, and any reporter would give her right arm for the inside scoop on Sovereign, lead singer of Touched. He knew it too, hence the hard-as-nails stare.

“Will you sell me out?” he asked, working his jaw around a bite of anger.

“Nothing really happened.” Yet. “What’s to sell?”

Several knocks rapped against my door. I flicked my gaze to it, then back to Reign, who certainly didn’t look any more pleased than he had a second ago.

“Miss Alina O’Connor? Could you open the door please? It’s Detective Andrews and Detective Miles, from the Metropolitan Police.”

Reign invaded my personal space with all of his overt faeness. If I’d had time to react, I’d have pushed him away, but before I could blink, he bowed his head and whispered against my cheek. “You think you know me. You don’t.” I planted my hands against his chest, but his words locked me down before I could push. “You believe you know what’s happening here. You don’t. This isn’t my story Alina, it’s yours.” The thin veil of air between us wobbled, rippling my focus, and then snapped back into sharp clarity, minus Reign’s looming black-clad presence. He’d vanished, leaving the ghost of his words whispering in my ear.