City of Fae

“W-what … ?” Andrews mumbled.

I blinked back into my moment. My body tingled. Pleasure and pain twitched through me. I breathed hard. I’d taken his draíocht. Panic and elation vied inside my head. I could feel the thrill of his energy working, threading through my broken body, fixing me as it raced. Revived, and very much alive, I turned my head and saw horror etched into Andrews’s face.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

We both knew the answer, but I needed to hear the words, to believe it. “I took your draíocht.” And broke the first law. I tried to think if I’d touched him before, if I’d touched anyone besides Reign, or the other fae. I couldn’t remember. I could barely think beyond Andrews. His memories bubbled in my head. Things I had no right to know; private moments I’d stolen.

He blinked and looked at his hands. I’d never seen such naked horror on someone’s face before. He curled his fingers closed and fixed wild-eyes on me. “I, er …” Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Can you stand? You look … better.” He on the other hand had paled, and he looked as though he might be about to pass out.

As I managed to somehow get my legs under me and stand, he reached out to help, and then thought better of it and backed off. “I’m okay,” I said, not wanting to relive how I’d seen myself near death through his eyes. “Go, help everyone else.” I wavered, but stayed upright. “Go.” I couldn’t be close to him. It was too much. I didn’t want his secrets, didn’t want to hurt him. But I had. One touch. How many other times had I touched him? I needed to know, for his sake. I had to think, to remember. My head was a mess, my thoughts a muddle. “Just go!” I barked.

With an acknowledging nod, he left my side, glancing back once, and not with a smile. I’d taken his draíocht and broken the Trinity Law. But that fact paled in comparison when I witnessed the carnage the queen had left behind. There was no going back to normal after this. The fae would be hunted. And I was one of them. Ducking my head, I stumbled from the arena, out of the plaza and out into the night. The press had gathered. Crowds of people milled about. Ambulance and police vehicles fenced in the front of the dome. Only once I was a safe distance away did I turn. The dome, with its twelve masts, lay draped in a second canopy of webs, its dazzling lights diffused beneath the queen’s blanket. News crews beamed the footage all over the world. She was gone, but her legacy was not.

Turning away, I tucked my chin in and hugged myself. These were my first steps in a new world, a new life. A curious thrill surged through me. Draíocht throbbed anew in me veins. I was free. My steps quickened. I was me. Alina. Out-of-work cub reporter who had somehow acquired a lifetime of emotional baggage in a few days. I broke into a jog, filling my lungs with cool night air. Sirens wailed behind me. The world was changing with every second. I’d survived. I was alive. We’d won. London was safe. I ran, Andrews’s stolen draíocht lending me an unbridled sense of power. Wind in my hair, kissing my face, burning my throat—I ran. My first steps in this new life were all my own.





Chapter Thirty-one