My heartbeat kicks up a thousand notches. My girl, half-naked?
Warning! Warning! Dark self alert!
“I’ll meet you out on the fire escape.” I duck out in a hurry, my heart pounding with love and runaway desire.
My vow to Georgina comes rushing back. “I’ll protect her.”
But even if I can protect her from Dark Faerie and my father, can I protect her from myself?
17
SYL
And should the Shroud
Ever be torn
The realm of Faerie will
Bleed
- Glamma’s Grimm
* * *
At this point, most people would wish for less excitement, but for me, that’d mean no Roue. No way. She’s my love, my life. We’re supposed to be mortal enemies, but neither of us ever really bought into that. It’s hard to, especially when we’re so good together.
Besides, she’s an amazing kisser.
My stomach plummets like a big drop on a roller coaster. I feel her smile against my lips as she pulls me close in her dressing room at the Nanci Raygun, the local hangout where she plays gigs as Euphoria. The room is a cozy mess of old spray paint and band posters, a beat-up couch, and a vanity with mirror.
It’s the perfect spot for an impromptu makeout session with your girl.
“Roue…” I drag her in by the lapels of her lacy black goth shirt and kiss her harder. My whole body is flushed with heat and excitement.
Can you blame me?
My girl is all things powerful and smart and sexy. Plus, she looks amazing in her Euphoria leathers, her black hair perfectly tousled, eyeshadow and liner smoky and dramatic. Just a tinge of red on her lips.
A tinge of red I’m determined to kiss off.
I’ve never been so bold, but every night it’s getting harder to kiss her goodnight and go back to my room while she goes back to her futon. Sleeping and waking, I want her with me, close to me. I want everything with her.
I can feel her emotions pulsing down the soul-bond.
She wants this, too. She wants me. I want her back.
I push her against the wall, pressing in, loving her earthy autumn scent, loving the little gasp she gives. Her hands tighten on my waist, and she meets me equally.
I’m lost in her kiss. She’s lost in mine.
The world goes away, and for a time, we forget about Dark Faerie, Fair Faerie, hearthstones, the Xi, Adamant and Aureate Thrones, Inimical circuits, and dad-related stuff.
She’s the first to pull away, her sapphire-blue eyes intense and glowy. “Syl...”
“Yes?” I feel a little punch-drunk from all our love and desire ricocheting down the bond.
Dark Faerie and Fair Faerie are on a collision course, and so are me and Roue. In more ways than one.
“Maybe…” Her grip tightens on me. She winces as if she’s got a headache. “Maybe we should cool it a bit.”
“Yeah.” I’m all swoony, my insides gooey warm. Two years ago, I’d have killed to just be in the same room as the infamous Euphoria. Now we’re dating, girlfriends. I’ve seen her in her underwear.
My body flushes with heat. Ummm…that’s so not helping, Syl.
Gently, Roue touches my cheek. My knees turn to Jell-O as I look into her eyes, blue ringed in gold, all of me laid open and vulnerable beneath her gaze. Heart on my sleeve and all that…
“What is it?” she asks softly.
I shake my head, still blushing like a dork. “I…I’m your biggest fan.” It sounded corny in my head, but it comes out all breathy and raspy. Not corny at all. Whoa…
Her lips curve into a genuine smile that makes the tips of her pointed ears bob. Damn, my girl is both sexy and adorable. I want to scritch those ears.
But I’m pretty sure scritching a dark Fae’s ears is grounds for a butt-whooping.
“I’m your biggest fan,” she whispers, her lips barely brushing mine.
A sudden knock at the door makes us both jump. “Miss Euphoria?” The backstage manager, Drew, sounds muffled through the dressing room door. “You’re on in five.”
“Got it!” She blows out a trembling breath, pulling away from me with monumental effort. Her gaze meets mine. “I have to go, princess.”
I feel her conflict race down the bond.
She tries to hide it, but really? If she were a cartoon character, there’d be dark storm clouds over her head. My girl needs a break—from summer school, from Becca and her posse, from our Faerie problems.
From her father who wants to fight her to the death.
I take her hand. “We deserve a normal night.”
“Yes we do.” She smiles, her mood lightening at my touch. “Let’s go, princess.” She tugs, and I fall in step with her, my heart soaring.
I would fight to the death for what we have, for her. I may have to.
Especially since there’s a new threat in town—an Inimical threat I can’t purify.
But right now?
I just want to have some snotty fries, a cherry Coke, and watch my girl play her Friday night gig.
You know, normal stuff.
We head to the backstage area, the swell of crowd-noise and house music thumping louder and louder, the low rumble in the Nanci’s ramped up to a roar.
The place is packed to the gills, as Glamma would say.
Roue gives me a chaste kiss, probably so we don’t lapse back into steamy-hot-makeout territory. “See you after.” Our gazes meet and she blushes shyly, chuckling a bit.
“After” is one of our old in-jokes, from when I first met her as Euphoria at a club in DC. It warms me to my toes. “You’d better not skip out on me this time,” I tease, referencing that first meeting.
“Never.”
I watch her go, all smoky-sexy and leatherclad yumminess, then I slip from the backstage area into the busy club. Crowds so aren’t my thing, which my introverted heart reminds me by going bananas, slamming against my ribs. Picking my way through Euphoria fans and regulars, I find my reserved booth near the bar.
Molly, my fave waitress, comes over. She’s curvy and bubbly, and she always remembers my usual. “Cherry Coke and snotties?”
“Thanks, Mol.” I lean back to check out the crowd.
I might be an introvert, but I do like people-watching.
From a safe distance.
A bunch of skaters with their boards and hoodies slouch in the corner on their phones. A mix of gamers and K-pop fans gathers at the foot of the stage near the loudest speakers, all glowy cat earphones and Overwatch T-shirts. Goth kids swarm the floor, sporting smoky eyeliner and crimped hair and trailing black laciness.
Euphoria attracts people from every group.
In short order, Molly brings my cherry Coke and snotties, and I dig in.
Mmmm…snotty fries, all that gooey cheese on top of crispy French fries. The first melty mouthful is heaven. I stuff my face while I wait for my girl. The house music fades, the lights go down, a hush falls over the crowd.
I love this moment, right before she steps out onto the stage.
Anticipation builds, then the rush of adrenaline when she surges onto the stage, the lights coming up in a blue blare, her violin screaming into the night.
The crowd breaks from a hush to a roar.
I stand up like everyone else and cheer and clap. Even with all the drama, Roue’s in fine form tonight, black boots stomping the stage as she grips the mic, her violin balanced in one hand. Her raven-dark hair is that perfect mix of messy and styled, cascading over one shoulder in a dark wave.
She’s so beautiful my heart aches.
She doesn’t even have to use her Euphoria power to entrance the crowd.
They’re already spellbound.
And me? I want to sweep her up and carry her off, not share her with anyone. But I’d never take this away from her. On stage, she’s truly alive, vibrant.
I love watching her shine.
Even more, I love that she’s wearing the Adamant Queen, the counterpart to the Aurea
te Queen in my pocket. I take it as a sign she belongs to me and me to her—and that we’ll solve our Faerie equation.
Euphoria finishes her first song to the roar of the crowd. In the ruckus, the chair next to me pulls out.
I turn, expecting Lennon. “Got done studying, did y—”
That’s not Lennon.
It’s Aldebaran.
Shock hits me like a bucket of cold water. The last time I saw the prince of the fair Fae, he was trying to avoid getting murderfaced by deep wards of Dark Faerie. After trying to force me to be his mated princess.
Yuck.
He casually slides into the seat like a fashion model at a shoot, hair artfully tousled. His clothes, beige cargoes and a white polo, match his golden aura. The popped collar signals his membership in Club La Douche.
“Hi, Syl.” He flags Molly down and orders one of those fancy craft beers. When Molly asks to see his ID, he Glamouries her. “You don’t need to see my ID.”
“I don’t need to see your ID.”
These are not the droids you’re looking for. I sigh. Same old Aldebaran.
His smile is so bright it’d make the sun look tarnished, but it’s as fake as a spray tan. “Would you like one?”
“A beer? No. Gross.” I wrinkle my nose. Stuff smells like dirty gym socks. Why would I want to drink that? Besides… “How’d you get free? And what do you want?” After what he did, I don’t owe him any politeness.
He’s all smarm and smiles. “Can’t I just sit here and have a conversation with you?”
Roue starts the next song. It’s a quiet one, and I wish she’d have chosen “Heartbreaker” or “Soul”—something loud so I could pretend I can’t hear him, even with my Fae hearing.
I give him the stink-eye and load my snotties with ketchup. “If I call security, are you just going to Glamoury them?”
He chuckles as Molly puts his eight-dollar beer down. “Probably.”
He’s not going to pay, either, the jerk.
Reclining in his chair, he’s as smug as the Great freaking Gatsby, delicately sipping his beer like it’s a mint julep. I kind of expected him to drink dandelion wine out of a thimble-shaped glass, all fluted and crystal like something you’d see in a fantasy movie.
Nope. Here he is, the Prince of the fair Fae swilling a Hardywood.
And for thimbles… I can almost feel the disgusting thimble-turned-ring he forced onto my finger a few months ago. The torc. Roue and I figured out how to break his spell, though.
In the face of our love, his cruddy two-cent hex melted like butter in the sun.
That pleasant memory’s the only thing that keeps me from flipping the table.
Instead, I watch Roue on stage, lose myself in the way her body moves, the sway of her hips, her eyes dark but sparkling, the way she cradles the violin like it’s made of glass, her fingers moving delicately across the fingerboard.
She’s power and precision, elegance and grace.
I adore her.
“You going to eat those?” Prince Fancy points at my snotty fries.
The two-year-old in me drags the plate closer, hovering over it like a wolf at its kill. “Sure am.” To prove my point, I cram a handful in my face and chew away. But with Aldebaran sitting here like some wannabe romance hero/stalker, my fries turn into a glob of gross in my mouth.
I swallow and take a sip of my Coke. “You’re really killing my vibe, dude.”
Only Aldebaran could ruin snotty fries.
He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t given up on you, you know.”
Disgust and fury well up inside me. I can’t help it, it all rockets down the bond. Crap. I sense the moment Roue sees Aldebaran. She bristles noticeably, and tiny wisps of violet electricity spasm across her strings.
“I’m okay,” I send quickly.
All I get back are her emotions: anger, frustration, concern. But for now, she stays on stage, her gaze ice-cold on Prince Fancypants.
Aldebaran ignores her, his focus laser-sharp on me. “We have to take the Aureate Throne before Midsummer or Dark Faerie will swallow us whole.”
It’s like what my dad said, only with a side of stalkery nonsense. “Forget this.” I stand, my chair scraping back. “I’m not going to sit still for one more minute—”
Aldebaran grabs me, and in that moment, my Fae-sight pierces through his Glamoury to the real him beneath—to his bloody, torn clothing, wounds riddling his flesh, bruises around his wrists.
From the deep wards.
Suspicion coils cold inside me. “H-how did you escape?”
“I didn’t. The dark Fae set me free.”
I smell a rat. A giant, king-shaped rat.
Aldebaran’s grip tightens. “You’re coming with me. To OverHill.”
“Oh really?” I flex my hands. Last time he tried this, I was a partly Awakened sleeper-princess. Now, I’m fully Awakened and in control.
But I can’t flame on in a busy club. And he knows it.
He’s stronger than me, too. He drags me toward the door, where I can only hope there’ll be fewer onlookers.
Looks like our chill night out is turning into another fight.
18
ROUEN
Make no mistake
You’re my enemy
And I will see you vanquished
Before the day is out
- “Vanquished,” Euphoria
* * *
Aldebaran. That dirty— Always using force to get what he wants.
And what he wants is Syl to be his soul-bound queen so he can take the Fair Faerie throne and become Overking. He might not have said that last part out loud, but I know how Fae princes work, how they think.
Plus, his actions speak louder than words.
One second, I’m on stage, killing it on vocals and violin, glaring icy daggers at him, the next he’s trying to steal my girl, dragging her out of the club.
Oh, hells no.
I don’t even think. I bolt off the stage, violin in hand, all my anger sweeping up inside me like a winter storm swirling, collecting power.
My fans surge forward in a wave, sure this is some kind of crowd-surfing stunt, but I shoot right through the middle of them, pushing toward Syl, cold fury driving me. I feel hands on my arms, my shoulders, someone touches my hair.
I pull away, muttering apologies.
“Roue!” Syl’s sending is edged with panic. Even her Awakened strength is no match for the Prince of OverHill, and she can’t risk using her white flame here.
Just like I can’t risk windwarping. Still, I push my speed to the limit, dodging fans. On stage, the band shifts into a Mary Maudlin cover song. I’ll make it up to them later.
The crowd surges around me, everyone certain that this is part of the show, and I lose sight of Syl in the throng of people dancing, singing, trying to get close to me. I sling my violin onto my shoulder and push through, panic driving me.
He’s taking her from me. Again. “Syl, hold on!”
“Rouen, he’s—”
Summer breezes and shafts of sunlight break through the darkness of the club. The scent of elderflowers and sunshine fills my nostrils, spiking through my skull in an insta-headache that, for once, has nothing to do with my dark self.
Dread coils within me. I know that smell.
He’s manifesting, opening the gates to Fair Faerie in the mortal realm.
Through the teeming crowd, I glimpse Aldebaran dragging Syl to the door, her fighting every inch of the way. Prince Jerkwad’s thrown up a powerful don’t-see-us Glamoury, so I just look like a crazy person rushing the door for no reason. I can already picture the social media backlash: Euphoria Gone Wild!
But Syl’s all I care about.
“Syl!” I push by a dancing couple, but a fresh wave of fans surrounds me.
“Euphoria! Can I get your autograph?”
“Euphoria!”
“Hey, can you sign my cast?”
I’m swarmed with people. “Not
right now,” I say, trying to politely push through them. Someone shoves a glossy print in front of my face. I push it down.
“Syl!”
They’re near the entrance now. Aldebaran tips me a jaunty salute. The door slams open, and the night pulses with sunlight. As a dark Fae, I see right through his Glamoury. Wafts of summer sun, wildflowers, meadows, the brightness blinds me. The stinging scent of dandelions and the shrieks of songbirds rake across my senses, turning the throbbing in my head to sick pounding.
The realm of Fair Faerie.
I shield my eyes with a hand. I only have seconds to get to him, to stop him from manifesting and dragging Syl to OverHill where I can’t follow.
The second he gets out of the crowd, I’ll lose Syl.
I push through the crowd for real, using my Fae strength as much as I dare. Gently, Roue. Mortals are crunchy, like potato chips.
Sunlight blasts me again, and pain lances through my body. Every instinct, including my dark self, screaming at me to go the other way—not toward the light.
Screw that. I’d dive into the burning sun itself to save Syl.
I grit my fangs. In one final burst, I’m out the door.
Silence.
The parking lot is filled with cars, but I can’t see Syl and Aldebaran for all the blaring light of OverHill. Through the brilliance, the barest outline of the gates rises up.
“Look out!” Syl screams, and I duck instinctively.
A sunbolt caroms over my head, smashing into a brown sedan. Glass and plastic showers me. Instantly, the car alarm blares into the night.
Weeeee-oooooo, wee-ooooooo, wee-oooooo!
Great. I squint and spot Aldebaran, golden and smirky, haloed in sunlight as the gates of OverHill drag closer to us.
If any of that Summer sunfire hits me…
Whatever. No one kidnaps my girl.
I stand up, unsling my violin. One stroke of my bow, and bolts of lightning leap across the strings, spitting, crackling. “Let her go.”
He tightens his grip on Syl’s arm. “She’s mine.”
My laugh is thunder and ice-storms. “She’ll never be yours, buddy-boy.”
Inimical Page 15
