by LJ Swallow
I'm snoozing, warm and glowing from the whisky's effects, when Col returns. The front door closes, the sound echoing down the hallway outside the room. I don't hear his footsteps, but when the light flicks on overhead, I know Col's here.
His tall figure appears in my line of vision.
This guy— he's a strange combination of beautiful but sexy. His angular features and large eyes are human-looking, but only just. As with most fae, he's taller than an average human guy. He doesn’t have a bulky build, but his toned body is fitting for an immortal. He often walks around the place in with feet and chest bare, and I can vouch that the sight of his taut abs distracts a girl.
We've never hooked up. Over the years, our relationship moved from professional to something odd, but not physical. We're close, which is why our recent argument and distance hurt. He's the one person in this world I think cares for me, but I’m convinced he sees me as a sister figure. Well, if an immortal fae could be a half-demon's brother. I hate to admit this, but I think part of the attraction to Bastian was his similarity to Col—in appearance, anyway.
Col crouches down and rests his hands on his thighs as he studies me. His face shadows in anger and violet eyes light up with magic.
"What happened to your face?" His voice is quiet, and the harsh tone unfamiliar.
"My face is only half the problem." I stretch out my arm and Col takes my hand, holding it straight as he stares at the mark. "You know what this is, I presume?"
He nods and stands. "I’ve heard about them appearing on girls. Who did this to you?"
"A necromancer’s buddies. I think. I don't know. I've been working with some guys—Dwellers—to find ingredients for a cure. But they decided I wasn’t worth the hassle and can’t trust me." I swig from the bottle. "Nothing new there."
Col takes the bottle from me and sets it on the table. His expression darkens. "Did they do that to your face? How many Dwellers did you spend time with?"
"No." I jump to their defence—fuck knows why. "They're okay."
"They're Dwellers, Syv. I've yet to meet one I can trust."
"These three were genuine, as far as I know." I chew on my bottom lip. I'd better not mention the Institute.
"What did you do that caused them to stop trusting you?"
His words turn my stomach. Sure, this had to be my fault because Syv double-crosses people for her own benefit. Col catches the anger in my expression.
"I apologise. Tell me the story, Syv."
I do. Often, I'll embellish tales to make myself sound better, but I give him a staccato version of events. The warehouse. The Institute. The attacks. I don't mention their quest for the box.
Col sits opposite me, head tipped to one side as he listens, remaining quiet for a few minutes after my story finishes.
"Do you think the Horsemen want to kill these men and that’s what happened tonight?"
I blink. "No. They wouldn't put me in danger. Demons attacked us—it's insane to think the Horsemen would be connected to that."
"The Horsemen worked with demons before when they had a joint interest. Perhaps they are again. We both know how keen they are to wipe out any Dwellers left over from the Reckoning."
"And I know Ripley is mobilising his Order against the Horsemen again. As do they. Their truce is over, Col. Ripley won't stop his original plans, especially now he has help. So, no, I don't think the Horsemen are siding with demons again."
Col rubs his forehead. "Talk to the guys. Tell Xander you need their help, or Vee if he won't listen. They owe you, Syv. These other three guys... I think they were using you."
I swallow down the hurt; I'm pissed off I fell for their promises. My mind filled with theories earlier, as my good friend whisky spoke to me.
Subject change necessary.
"I hope you don't mind me crashing at your place again. You didn't answer your phone."
"You always have a sanctuary here, you know that." He leans forward and touches my shoulder and a soft buzz takes some pain. "And I left my phone at home."
"As always." I smile weakly.
"Few people call me. Or few I want to talk to, anyway." He sighs and his fingers explore the wounds on my face. "You know I can't help with the mark, but I could help a little with this."
I nod. Fae magic. Their school is a world away from the necromancers—well, a realm away, as there's no connection between their worlds. Col's magic can't counteract a magic his has never encountered.
Col doesn't heal, but something in his touch can enhance a body's healing process. Luckily, I have enough human in me that he can help, since it's the human that's injured.
"And that will only help the physical wounds." He pushes the bottle out of my reach as I lean forward to pick up my drink. "This numbs you, Syv. You need to learn to deal with your emotions in a different way."
"I'm not emotional. Just pissed off."
He smiles. "But anger is an emotion. Perhaps one day we'll discover what's hidden beneath there." He places a hand on my chest. A warmth spreads through but doesn't touch my re-hardened heart.
I pull his hand away. "Perhaps."
Col sits beside me, hand on my arm, and I rest my head on the back of the sofa as his magic soothes the human aches and pain. I rarely feel at peace unless I obliterate my thoughts with alcohol or sex, and the only physical contact I have with men is for that reason. Everybody but Col. Is this how people feel when they’re with someone they care about?
I open an eye and catch him watching me. The concerned pinch to his brow drops and is replaced by a warm smile that pushes at my heart. But what’s the point? Col doesn’t feel that way about me. Should I be insulted considering his varied sex life? He subscribes to my view life is for living, and I’ve never seen him with a partner longer than a couple of weeks. He tells me he doesn’t want to get attached, which makes sense for an immortal. Perhaps there’s an immortal girl out there for him who can take away the loneliness I sense in him sometimes.
Hell, he must be lonely if he lets me invade his sanctuary from the world.
"Better?" he asks in his whispered tones. I nod. "Physically, anyway, right?"
"I always bounce back."
He strokes a bruise on my cheek. "Yes. You do. I think you need to rest and then tomorrow you can explain more about these Dwellers and this mark."
"Do you think you can help?" I ask.
"I’m unsure, but I will do everything I can, you know that." He stands and gestures above. "I have things I need to do. Sleep, Syv. Tomorrow we can discuss why you haven’t spoken to me for months."
"Me? This was a mutual ignoring, Col."
Col inhales and closes his eyes, and I wait for a response. He says nothing.
I place my fingers on my cheek where his tips just were. "I will sleep, but I need to head out. I have something I need to do first."
He opens his eyes again and nods at the table. "Not finish the bottle, I hope."
I laugh. "No. I’ll save that for when I come home again."
"Home? You see this as your home?"
"Shit. Sorry. Habit. I call wherever I’m staying ‘home’." I hope he can’t see my hot cheeks.
He chuckles. "I’m always happy for you to call this place home."
With a last smile and nod he leaves the room, his bare feet quiet on the polished wooden floor. I watch after him for a moment and dismiss the desires that grow whenever we’re close. Why do I feel this way? Maybe because Col’s the only guy I’ve spent time with, month after month, without sex as the basis of the relationship.
Either that, or we need to get the sex situation out of the way, because whatever charges the air between us when we’re alone grows stronger each time.
I pick up my phone from the table, where I’ve left it screen down for the last few hours. My stomach flips in disappointment when there aren’t any messages from the Dwellers.
Time for a trip to the pub.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Before I left Col's, I tied my hai
r back and swapped my leather jacket for a soft blue hoodie to cover my face. Someone else could follow me, so I don't change everything—a dagger remains in my pocket.
Thanks to our trip to the mausoleum, the night grows late. The bar I head to when I stay at Col’s never closes—hence why it’s my favourite. The night is muggy and warm, so my hood over my head looks unusual. I drag it back down again and veer around a couple on the street. On high alert, I walk swiftly across the street toward the bus stop. I hate public transport but can't be arsed walking.
The half-full bus arrives and as the doors hiss open, I climb aboard. I scan my card and find a vacant seat before resting my head on the window, and the cool soothes my head. Someone approaches and sits beside me, which pisses me off considering there's a row of empty seats in front of me.
"Syv."
I detect him before he speaks, the moment his solid thigh touches mine and his arm rests against my shoulder. He takes up too much room—I'm lucky to still have a few inches to myself. I swallow down angry words as his eyes meet mine, and I'm transfixed again by the strangeness of the orange flecks.
And by the weird, primal thing he has going on that stirs things that should remain unstirred.
"Are you stalking me again?" The bus jolts as we move back into the traffic flow.
"I was worried about you." His mouth turns down. "I know you were at the Collector’s but I suspected you’d leave. Maybe for a trip to another pub?"
I shake my head with a wry smile. "Sure. How did you guess?"
He chuckles. "I’ve watched how much you enjoy pubs and bars. I thought I'd watch if somebody else followed you. I waited outside the house."
"Because you're so inconspicuous," I say sarcastically.
"I know you're pissed off with me, but I want to apologise. I overreacted."
"You should’ve knocked on the door and introduced yourself to my fae friend." Although I’m unsure how either guy would react.
"I’d rather keep away from non-Dwellers."
"You're paranoid about that, aren't you? I don’t think everybody is out to kill you."
Dex shuffles down in his seat and studies me from beneath his curled fringe. "I've lived most of my life in fear of people, Syv."
This huge guy, scared of people? The one who shifts into a huge-ass dog that can rip people to painful, bloody shreds? I point at his scars. "You said you uh... served people."
"I was under someone's control—a person who could end my life like that." He snaps his fingers. "So, if anybody states they want me dead, I take their words seriously and keep my distance."
"I wouldn't let people hurt you." My words cause us both to smile. The slight, human-demon girl telling the guy who's three times the size of her when he shifts, that she can keep him safe. "I did once before."
"And I'm indebted to you."
"And that's the only reason you followed me?"
Dex rubs a finger across his bottom lip, and the intensity in his expression matches that from the library. My stomach lurches. The bus stopping, not an emotional reaction. Honest. "Come back to the Institute."
"No."
He blinks at my immediate, vehement response. "Why? We want to help you."
"Morgan doesn't."
Dex sighs. "He's touchier about the situation."
"Everybody in the scenario has trust issues. This won't end well."
"Cillian trusts you. He believes you can help."
"Yeah, he said. More level-headed."
"Or more taken in by your alluring self." Dex grins. "Understandably. You're one hell of a girl, Syv."
"I've been told." I look back to the window and into the dark streets.
The bus continues the journey away from Col’s suburb. Do I stay on the bus to visit my favourite bar, or turn back? Dex is with me. I could do what I persuaded myself not to.
"You want to protect me?" I ask Dex.
He nods.
"Then you can help me with something." I sink back in the seat and cross my arms. "It won't take long."
Dana's shop looks different by night. Metal shutters are pulled down over the shopfront window, as they are on the buildings either side. The street has changed from bustling and vibrant to dark and nondescript. Dex doesn't comment until we reach the closest street corner. He halts in the shadows.
"Why are we here?" he asks gruffly.
"I want to talk to Dana."
"You should wait until morning. Come on." He inclines his head back to the bus stop.
"Um. No. Tonight. I was going to ask Col to come with me to visit Dana tomorrow, but this saves time." I jab a finger at the mark on my arm. "You guys might not want to help, but I’m not waiting."
Dex’s mouth thins. "I’m glad I found you and that you weren’t stupid enough to come here alone. You’re in danger."
I sigh in a deliberate, loud way. "Do you think I’d survive if I ran straight into dangerous situations? I’m not that dumb. I learned a few years ago to think before I act. Near-death experiences as a stupid teen."
"I know you can protect yourself." He smiles.
"Exactly. Which is why I’d decided to wait. But now, you’re here, I can do this tonight. One of the demons earlier told me there wasn’t a cure. I need to ask Dana if she’s bullshitting me."
"You never told us about the demon’s words." Dex’s mouth parts in surprise.
"I never had a chance. Did I?" I arch a brow.
He blows air into his cheeks. "Fair point, but I think this is a bad idea. It’s 2 a.m. Normal people don’t like late-night visits."
"Are you saying you don't think we're capable of talking to one warlock alone?"
"If she's alone."
"I'll check before I walk in." I wave a hand at him. "You could shift and help if needed?"
His eyes narrow and the glow to his irises sets hairs on my neck. "No. I don't randomly shift in the street. I plan."
"Apart from at the side of roads, in broad daylight?"
"That day was different. You were in danger."
"Fine. Do you have powers in your human form?" We walk around the rear of the row of shops and I gaze up at the window. Dim light shines behind the curtains in the room we stood in yesterday. Yes, she’s home.
"I'm strong, but not the same strength as when I'm shifted." He rubs his nose. "My saliva isn't poisonous in human form either."
"Good to hear, because I worried what might happen if you drooled all over me. Which I don’t want, by the way."
"Don't you?" When I don't respond, he adds. "We'll be fine, I'm sure."
I force a smile. "Cool."
"I'll wait here a few minutes and you go ahead and check."
"Why?"
"In case there's someone following, of course." He steps back, into the dark.
I creep around to the rear of the building, hood back up to obscure my face. I spotted security cameras on the main street, but Dana's building is camera-free. I place a hand on the rear door and close one eye. Warded, but thankfully not pain-inducing runes. I knock but there’s no response. What if she isn't home?
The lock on the door is easy to break, and the wards don't affect me. I half-expect an alarm to sound but nothing happens. I'll take a good look around her shop. I bet there are items on sale that would interest me and my contacts—and my bank account. I want to find that spell book she read the ingredients from too.
I step into a narrow hallway leading to a kitchen, and a set of stairs to the left lead upwards. The curtain dividing the home from the shop hangs nearby. Pausing, I listen again. The place stinks of whatever incense she burns, and the smell turns my stomach more than rotting garbage. As I move forward, a thud arrests me and I spin around.
Dex, blocking the exit by taking up as much room as a door in the frame.
"Crap, you make too much noise." I point at his large, booted feet. "You should stay downstairs. Watch for someone coming."
He ignores me. "Now I know that nobody followed, I’m here to help."
&n
bsp; "Please wait here, Dex. I'll shout if I need you, but I’ve taken on worse than her." I point at the ceiling. "I’m headed upstairs."
He grumbles a protest as I move further into the house but stays as I walk away. I place my hand on the stair rail and take slow steps up the carpeted steps.
Another sound. This time not downstairs, but from the room ahead. I slide my hand into my jacket and curl my fingers around the carved dagger handle. I store my more unusual weapons at Col's, and I’m happy to have this one tonight. The intricacy in the wrought handle and the thin blade attracted me, as did the fact several other people wanted the same item. He gifted me this on my birthday, two years ago.
The day he gave me this hit me straight in the feels—that’s the first time Col hinted I was more than his hired help. The squishy happy feeling retreated to an awkward evening as I worried he might want something in return. Turns out I didn’t need to worry, as he had someone else to ‘entertain’ that night. Still, I have one of the best weapons I’ve ever come across, and that makes me feel safe. Usually.
A second scraping sound comes from the room. Do I kick the door down and make an entrance or sneak in? Frighten Dana into giving me more information? No, I should sneak—Dex would probably run up here in seconds if he heard a bang. Dagger primed in one hand, I pull on the metal handle and push the door open.
I step inside and adjust my eyes to the semi-dark room.
The semi-dark, trashed room. The broken furniture and upturned table suggest a struggle rather than a break-in. The curtains hang haphazardly where the pole has been torn from the wall on one side, and the pictures I admired last time are now shattered frames on the floor.
A man sits on a high-backed armchair facing the door. Light from nearby candles flicker across his long face, giving his sunken cheeks and thin-lipped smile an eerie look.
"Good evening, Syvonne."
Chapter Twenty-Five
My name rolls from his tongue, the full version I never use. Unusually, his pronunciation is correct. Following years of teachers calling me Syv-on rather than Syv-ahn, I dropped the second syllable altogether.
