Shadow (Touched by the Fae Book 2)

by Jessica Lynch

  “Let me take you away from this place,” Rys murmurs enticingly. His voice is low, yet it seems to echo in the darkness. “No more bars on your windows. No more looking over your shoulder. You’ll be free with me.”

  He’s got to be kidding.

  If I give myself over to the Light Fae, I’ll be more trapped than if I stayed committed to the asylum for the rest of my life. At least, at Black Pine, I’d have one.

  I swallow roughly, bracing my back against the slimy sewer wall, ready for him to lash out, then say bluntly, “Hard pass. I’d rather live down here in this sewer forever than go anywhere with you.”

  2

  He blinks. For a split second, shadows play across the sculpted features of his face, as if he isn’t sure how to react to my answer.

  I hold my breath again.

  Like the slipper he tossed into the sewer to signal his arrival, I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He doesn’t like being told no. He’s not really going to let me off the hook so easily for our little chat in the mausoleum… right?

  I… I might be wrong.

  With a wounded expression that is as posed as it is manipulative—and, damn it, it actually works—Rys shifts so that his full splendor is on display in front of me. He holds out his hand imploringly. “What do I have to do to prove that my feelings are real?”

  “You are not real,” I counter.

  It’s a reflex—and, after everything that’s happened to me lately, a half-hearted one. The more I insist that the fae are not real, the more I’m beginning to question what real even is.

  Once upon a time a Shadow Man who kept me company at night was real. Art therapy and morning med lines at the nursing station used to be real. Right now, real means hiding out in a smelly sewer and having a conversation with a mystical stalker who murdered my best friend.

  What will be real tomorrow?

  I’m not sure. With Rys’s next comment, it seems as if I’m going to find out.

  “It’s very nearly the time of the shadows,” he announces with a sultry pout. “I must leave you soon, but I won’t be gone for long, my love. As soon as the sun rises again, I’ll return for you.”

  “Don’t. And I told you. I’m not your love, asshole.”

  Rys throws back his head. The laughter he lets loose is even more joyous than before. “Asshole,” he repeats. He makes the curse sound like poetry. “It’s perfect.”

  Oh, yeah? I have half a mind to call him some other choice names—but I don’t. I know how capricious the fae can be, Rys more than most. Sure, he finds my attitude funny… now. How quick before he turns on me?

  Better not push my luck.

  I can’t explain why I’m almost… almost disappointed at his announcement that he has to leave. Some part of me doesn’t want him to go; the part that doesn’t want to let him touch me, but isn’t succumbing to another panic attack at the thought of it.

  Climbing into the sewer to escape the cop changed things. On the outside, I can’t take care of myself. I want to—but how? I don’t have anything except for the clothes on my back. I’m still super stinking pissed at Nine, and Rys is a monster with an angel’s face, but at least they both have a reason to keep me safe from the Fae Queen.

  And, okay, I’m not so sure what those reasons are… doesn’t matter. I’ll take what I can get.

  Truth is, down here in the sewer, I can admit that I never should’ve forced Nine to leave me alone in the cemetery. I’ve been by myself for so long that it was nice to have company. Nice to have someone who seemed to care about me.

  Even if Nine didn’t actually mean it, it was still nice to pretend.

  It’s tougher with Rys. There’s something about him. I guess you could say he’s almost intoxicating. Actually, that’s about right. It’s how I feel around him: I’m drunk, just one sip past the last of my good decisions. I slap my cheeks and swallow heavily. I’ve got to sober up before I make a big mistake.

  Like taking his hand and begging him to take me from this place like he offered.

  No. No. That’s his glamour talking.

  Of course he’s gorgeous. Their astonishing good looks make the fae the most dangerous of predators to their chosen prey: humans.

  I can’t let myself forget that for even a second. He’s a murderer who killed one of the only people I cared about when I told him no six years ago. Rys might seem like he’s enjoying himself right now—but what happens when I say no again and he catches on that I actually mean it?

  He followed me to Black Pine. He followed me to Faerie after Nine helped me escape the asylum. He followed me to the cemetery, then used a sliver of sunlight to join me in a freaking sewer.

  And now I have to look forward to him chasing me down tomorrow? When will it stop?

  “Why? Why do you insist on coming after me? Why won’t you leave me alone?” He’s not like Nine, he has no reason to answer me, but I can’t stop the demands for answers from slipping out. “Look, if the queen sent you, and you really give a shit about me, just tell her I’m missing. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

  Rys runs his tongue along his bottom lip, tucking the tip in the corner for a moment as he regards me. I’m wearing filthy jeans, a dusty hoodie, leather gloves that cover my hands, yet that one look makes me feel like he’s stripping me on the spot.

  He smiles. “So it seems my rival has finally told you about the prophecy.”

  Rival? Oh, jeez. I think I liked it better when he was the bogeyman in my nightmares, the golden fae killer who threatened and mocked and scared the absolute crap out of me. This lovesick male who’s convinced himself that we’re meant to be together is terrifying in a whole other way because he just won’t let this go.

  I ignore him. As angry as I am with Nine for intentionally hiding the truth about my mom from me all these years… as confused and lost and just plain defeated as I am, I know who I’m siding with all the way—and it’s not the Light Fae watching me like he’d like to gobble me up.

  He’s gorgeous, but he’s not Nine.

  Rys wants to own me. He told me that once, back when I was fifteen and he was trying to lure me away from my foster family. After he followed Madelaine and me to an empty house at the end of the Everetts’ street, he appeared suddenly in the basement, popping into existence near a window that let in a stream of early afternoon light.

  I had never seen anything as glorious as he was. In my mind, I called him the golden angel because, after all of the stories Nine told me that painted the fae out to be monsters, I never thought anyone who looked so beautiful could be so terrible.

  I was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  For an entire year after I watched Rys kill my sister before burning the house down around us, I re-lived her death constantly.

  From the moment the golden fae with the angel’s face appeared in the basement where my sister and I hanging out after cutting school, to his pronouncement that he came to take me away with him, to how he turned his golden gaze on Madelaine

  The music. The dance. The snapping of her neck, and the fire that circled her after she fell. How I reached for her, how I screamed my voice hoarse, how Rys laughed and laughed and laughed before he vanished and I had no choice but to flee the hungry flames.

  Therapy helped me process it, and my psychologists helped me understand that it wasn’t my fault. With the right meds and a little distance—plus my nighttime visits to the cemetery where I poured my heart out to the stone angel that marked her grave—I was able to go days, then weeks, and finally months at a time without watching her die.

  With Rys looming in front of me, the depths of the sewer trapping me like a rat in a cage, there’s nothing left for me to do but remember.

  “You belong to me.”

  “Come to me.”

  “You’re mine.”

  I said no.

  I tried to walk away.

  And he charmed Madelaine to come to him, compelled her with his fae magic to offer her han
d for a dance, then snapped her neck as punishment for my defying him.

  With the image of Madelaine’s broken body seared into my mind, the pain of seeing her dead mingling with the agony of being burned by Rys’s conjured fire, I start to tremble.

  The doctors were full of it. And I might just be insane for not screaming the sewer down around me as I face off against this heartless creature.

  Love?

  Rys doesn’t know what love is.

  I’m the reason Madelaine is gone. For that reason alone, I’ll never give in to him.

  From across the sewer, Rys’s golden eyes gleam with the secret knowledge that, no matter how I deny him, in the end he’ll win.

  He’s fae. They don’t know how to lose.

  I can’t do this right now. I’ve run out of adrenaline at this point, and my stomach has twisted itself into one giant knot. I’m two seconds away from hurling the empty contents of my angry stomach. If the bile splashes and stains his pristine white pants, that’s all the better.

  He’d deserve it.

  Six years. It’s been six years and I remember that terrible afternoon like it was yesterday. For six years, I worked to forget it—to try to believe the alternative events that the courts and my doctors tried to convince me were real—and now that I’m face to face with Rys again, I know what’s really real.

  And I know that I’ll do whatever it takes to make it all go away.

  Even tell the Light Fae the truth.

  “Nine told me about the stupid prophecy, okay? About how… how the Shadow is destined to take out the queen. How she’s got this crazy idea that I’m the Shadow—”

  “Melisandre doesn’t think so,” Rys interrupts. “She’s sure of it.”

  Great. That doesn’t make this any better. “Well, you can tell her from me that she’s got nothing to worry about. I’m not killing anyone.” In a burst of anger, I jab my gloved finger in his direction. “There’s only one murderer here and it sure as hell ain’t me.”

  It takes him a second to get it. His lips tug down. If he was a regular guy, his brow would be furrowed. He’s part of the fae, though, and not a single wrinkle mars his perfect expression.

  “Are you still mad about the human girl?” he asks, like he’s surprised by my reaction.

  “She wasn’t just some girl,” I snap in indignation. “She was my sister!”

  Rys has the nerve to wave me off. “She was human, and, I’m sorry, but she was far more fragile than I realized. If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t have broken her beyond repair if I actually thought you cared about her.”

  Wow. I mean… wow.

  “You never should’ve been there in the first place,” I spit out. “If you would’ve left me alone, Madelaine would still be alive.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Time will tell, my ffrindau.” Rys angles his head, frowning when he notices that his precious sliver of light is little more than a thin line disappearing into the darkness. “Alas, for now, time also grows short. I wish I could stay and play with you. But, you see, my kind, the Seelie, the Blessed Ones… we’re not suited to the dark. I’ll leave that to your accursed prince of shadows. Me? I need a little more… mmm… illumination.”

  His lyrical tone when he brings Nine up again—because who else could he mean?—is so mocking, I have this sudden urge to pick up my dirty slipper and fling it at him. First, he casually mentions how carelessly he murdered my sister, then he puts down Nine, the only person who—for whatever reason—has always been there for me. Who the hell does he think he is?

  I’m already screwed and he’s made me so stinking furious. So what if I piss him off? It would only go to prove that I’m not wrong when I think of the Light Fae as an actual monster.

  Before I can grab the slipper or flinch or, I don’t know, try to hobble up the sewer’s pitted ladder just to get away from him, Rys reaches out into the dark space in front of him. He uses one of his long, slender fingers to draw an imaginary line in the air. Three more follow, a perfect square. It looks like he’s playing some weird game of charades, or maybe practicing his pantomime.

  And then he presses the flat of his palm against the square he’s drawn. There’s some give to it. Rys pushes gently and—

  I gasp.

  His hand is gone. Seriously. His whole hand disappears, and most of his wrist, too, like a giant eraser has rubbed them right off. Just… just gone. From the middle of his forearm up, I can see every inch of him despite the dark because of his sudden shine. His golden glow has gone from dim to full blast again. It only makes it more obvious that a part of him has vanished into thin air.

  “Maybe,” Rys says, giving his arm a jerk, “with this, you’ll start to things a little more clearly.”

  His hand reappears as he backs away from the square—and it isn’t empty. I can’t really see what he’s holding. Whatever it is, it’s black and narrow. After swooping low, Rys sets it gingerly at his feet before aiming the same finger at it.

  There’s a spark, followed by the tang of metal in the air.

  I’m immediately blinded.

  I clamp my eyes shut. Too late. The night vision I’ve gained since hiding out in the sewer is all but gone. I can’t see a damn thing except for the fiery flash.

  Keeping my eyes closed isn’t an option. Not with Rys looming nearby. To think of being so vulnerable, standing with him with my eyes closed… No. No. I absolutely refuse to let the Light Fae have any advantage.

  My breath is shaky, my head spinning, my heart racing. Despite the orange glow that washes over the inside of my eyelids, I crack my eyes open, peeking out through barely open slits. The flash is still there, but at least it’s contained now.

  Blinking a couple of times, I get enough of my night vision back to see what it was that he made appear.

  It’s… it’s a lantern. And Rys is using the same fire that burned my hands to fill it.

  I choke on a gasp. My face goes hot, my chest tight, and I can feel the phantom pain of the burns that ruined my poor hands when he dared me to reach through the flames to save my sister.

  I couldn’t save Madelaine, just like I can’t take my eyes off of the fire.

  I’m mesmerized by the light and all I keep thinking of is how hot the flames are. I should know. My whole body shivers; the heat makes me see how cold I am. I haven’t lost the chill from the mausoleum and the sewer is even worse. My teeth start to chatter.

  Still, I finally manage to say, ““Keep that away from me.”

  “Why? Surely you’re not afraid of the light.”

  “No,” I tell him honestly. “Just the flames.”

  The answer pleases him. Rys shines nearly as bright as his fire.

  He bows low, the ends of his long, tawny hair kissing the sewer floor as he bends. “I hope my gift serves you well.” He straightens, his lips a sly curve in his eerily perfect face. “Think of it as a reminder that, as reckless and as dangerous as fire can be, it’s nearly indispensable when embraced by something equally as strong.”

  Huh?

  I shake my head. “I don’t want it. Take it back.”

  Just like that, just like I was afraid of, Rys’s good humor fades. A dark look shadows his expression, his brilliant shine suddenly dim. In that instant, I remember with a start just why I have good reason to be so afraid of this fae.

  His voice changes, going from warm and flirty to absolutely icy. “Where I come from,” he says coldly, “it’s considered a slight to refuse such a generous gift.”

  Crud.

  “Please take it back.”

  “No,” he pouts. “But because I am so generous, I will choose to look past your insult. And, as a token of my desire for you, I’m even willing to give you another gift.”

  “That’s okay—”

  “Zella.”

  My mouth clamps shut.

  Rys’s smile returns slowly. “Much better.”

  He moves closer, walking toward me, almost dancing on the tips of his toes. I can’t do any
thing to get away from him. Once again, he says that strange Zella word and I’m too stunned to do anything but stand there like an idiot. I notice that he’s careful to avoid the pocket he pointed out, but he walks right through the shadows surrounding me as if they don’t bother him at all.

  When only a few inches separate us, he raises his left hand so that it’s right in front of me, then folds his fist. He squeezes it tight, concentrating, and when he opens it back up again, there’s a small pile of golden glitter sitting in his palm.

  I’m still frozen in place, but whether it’s from his compulsion or because I’m too terrified to move, I’m not sure. Either way, as Rys presses his lips together and lets out a breath of air that sends that glitter shooting straight at me, there’s not a single thing I can do to avoid it.

  It hits me full in the face. Letting go of the ladder rung again, I try to wipe it off my cheeks, off my lips, out of my eyes, but it sinks right in. I try to blink it away. That doesn’t do anything, either.

  Whatever it is that Rys blows at me, it’s powerful stuff. Within seconds, I’m already feeling drowsy. Dizzy, too.

  Rys watches me closely as I drop down to my knees. The stone floor of the sewer is cold and damp and hard. A jolt of pain shoots through both legs as my knees hit the ground; between my throbbing ankle and the impact to my knees, I don’t think I’m moving anywhere for a minute.

  Not that I could. I’m too weak to even pull myself back up to my feet.

  Now the slimy, dark walls of the sewer seem to be spinning around me. The ground moves sideways, or maybe that’s me.

  What was that stuff? What has he done to me?

  I sprawl out on my belly. I’m too disoriented to even care that I’m lying in the smelly, oily muck in this sewer. It’s not that I don’t know how nasty this is. I do. But I just can’t do anything about it.

  My eyes are already shuttering.

  “Sleep well, Zella,” Rys purrs somewhere above me. He shifts, lowering down to my side, nearly brushing my cheek with his hand. Half asleep and almost unaware that I’m doing it, I lean into his touch. “Dream of me.”