The light fae whose name I still don’t know growls and rears back to hit me, but his fist never connects. I blink, and he’s flying through the air until he smacks against the brick side of the building.
I suck in a sharp breath as Tristan prowls toward the guy crumpled on the ground. “Don’t.” I grab his arm. No matter how much that fae deserves what he’d have coming to him, I don’t think I can watch Tristan kill someone.
“Nice suit, Westbrook,” Nik laughs from the same spot against the side of the car.
“You want to live, Sterling?” Tristan snaps.
Nik snorts. “Oh, threatening. Showing off for your girl?”
Tristan steps around me, and faster than my eyes can register, he has Nik by the collar of his jacket. Seeing fae shifting from one place to another so fast makes me queasy. “Since when do you do Jules’s dirty work?”
Nik cocks a brow. “Who says Jules sent us?” He shakes his head.
“Nikolai,” the female fae snaps.
“Why are you here?” Tristan demands, and his knuckles go white as he tightens his grip.
“Now where’s the fun in me giving that up?” Nik’s eyes glimmer.
“Well, you might get to keep your life. That could be fun.”
“You’re so uptight, Tristan.” Nik glances over at me. “Anytime you want to get away from Mr. Broody over here, you let me know.”
Tristan growls and slams him into the car, which shatters the passenger-side window.
I offer a tight-lipped smile. “Not in your lifetime.”
He chuckles. “I’m immortal.”
“Exactly.”
Nik rolls his eyes and twists Tristan’s arm enough to slip free, stumbling to the side. “Believe it or not, Westbrook, your fight isn’t with me.”
“My fight is with the light fae,” he barks. “Until they—you—stop killing my people, my fight is with you.”
Nik fixes his jacket where Tristan wrinkled it. “I haven’t killed anyone.”
“You’re going to act like you weren’t going to kill me?” I cut in.
He licks his lips. “I wasn’t.” He shrugs. “I was going to watch.”
Tristan backhands him so hard, he falls to his knees. Tristan hauls him to his feet and strikes again and again, slamming his fist into Nik’s face until blood is spraying from his nose and mouth. The female fae disappears at that point.
My eyes focus on the battle in front of me. Nik isn’t getting many hits on Tristan, but it doesn’t look as if Tristan is putting much effort in either, and he’s practically pummeling Nik.
Nik disappears, and Tristan whips his head around, growling.
A hand snakes around my waist and a hand clamps over my mouth. This shit is really starting to get old.
“Let. Her. Go,” Tristan says in a voice so hard, so low it hurts my ears.
“Relax, Westbrook. I’m not going to hurt your girl, especially not today.” Nik spins me around to face him and tucks my hair back. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
My mouth goes dry. I blink at him, and then he’s gone.
The fae on the ground comes to, groans, and gets to his feet. “Your days are numbered, Tristan,” he grumbles. “Jules will make sure of it.” With that, he disappears, too.
“Are you okay?” Tristan asks, stepping in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I say.
He tilts my head back to look over my face, and his features sharpen. “Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t feel particularly good,” I answer.
He closes his eyes and exhales through his nose before he traces his fingers along my skin to heal the marks from being thrown against the car.
When he leans down to kiss my cheek, I cup the side of his face and guide his lips to mine, kissing him fiercely.
After we break apart, I say, “What the hell was that about? Jules has people tracking us now?”
He shrugs, tucking my hair behind my ear. “It’s possible.”
“Tris, you don’t think my parents are in danger, do you?”
“We can’t be sure of anything, sweetheart, which is why I’ve had a team of my people watching them for a while.”
I let out a breath. The idea of Jules targeting my parents makes my pulse surge with nervous energy, but knowing they’re protected eases the weight on my chest. “Thank you.”
“Maybe we should take this food to go?”
I’m not about to argue with that.
It would be a lie to say the next month is any easier than before Adam’s death because it gets harder after the day of his memorial. Tensions are high with the dark and light fae so close to war. After I was attacked, Tristan explained that his meeting with Jules was unsuccessful in putting an end to the war. He said I was targeted because of my affiliation with the dark fae. Because of that, I now have one of the dark fae with me most of the time—including when I go home for Christmas break. It’s quite the sight, Skylar drinking hot chocolate in our kitchen with my parents. Either she’s an amazing actress, or she didn’t hate spending time with humans as much as she wants me to think.
Christmas is hard. Mom and Dad make an effort for me, I think, but it isn’t the same. We do the tree thing, open presents, and Dad cooks a turkey, but we go through the motions of celebrating as if we’re being forced to do it.
After the first real snowfall of the season, I drive over to the cemetery and clear off Adam’s stone. Kneeling in front of it for a while, I wish him a merry Christmas before I leave. I can never spend much time there. It still hurts too much.
I travel back to campus a few days later, unable to spend any more time in that house with nothing to do.
With the first semester over, I don’t have anything to work on for a week and a half. I thoroughly clean my room, leaving Allison’s side alone. There isn’t much I don’t do to distract myself. I shift my furniture only to move it back an hour later and wash my bedding and all of my clothes. I clean the bathroom. Hell, I sweep and mop the floor.
Now, almost two weeks into my final semester of college, my life falls into a comfortable routine. I go to class, study in the library or the lounge, and help out at the Westbrook Hotel. My placement is over, but I’ll use any excuse to spend time with Tristan, something I never could’ve predicted would happen.
On the couch in Tristan’s office, I’m half sitting, half lying, reading over the preliminary papers for my business proposal final assignment when he storms into the room and slams the door behind him.
“Long day?” I ask, glancing at him over my paper.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t know you were here.”
I frown. “I don’t have to be. Do you want me to leave?”
He approaches the couch. “That is the last thing I want, Rory.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, messing up the already tousled strands.
“Okay,” I murmur, offering him my hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He slides his hand into mine and sits on the edge of the coffee table beside the couch. “Four more of ours were found dead this morning. I sent Max out to get some answers.”