Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Fae Kissed
D.D. Miers
Graceley Knox
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
1
Alana was dead
Dead tired to be exact. After a grueling twenty-four hours, the phrase took on a whole new meaning for her. If she could die at all—at least from something as human as exhaustion—it would have been tonight. Barely able to stand upright, she stumbled into the one-bedroom apartment she shared with her younger sister, Taylor.
Correction, half-sister. Taylor always made sure to press that point. Sharing the same father didn’t entitle Alana to anything more than a place to crash when her irresponsibility had gotten her into trouble . . . again.
And oh boy was she in trouble.
She crept into the entry, pressing the door gently closed as she slid home the deadbolt. Taylor had warned her about blasting through the door after three am. If Alana did it again, she’d be out on her ass. That couldn’t happen. Every muscle ached in impossible ways and her mental burnout had reached maximum levels. She collapsed onto the beige sofa just before her legs gave out.
Beige.
Everything in her sister’s place was beige. Beige and white. Absent of color, chaos. . . or life. Alana’s blue-green streaked hair spread out along the smooth fabric like a wild peacock’s feathers.
Out of place. Not just in her sister’s home, but this world in general.
She grabbed at the zipper of her jeans and shimmed out, kicking them off at the ankles with her boots. Christ, she needed a vacation. She leaned back onto the floral down pillow and threw an arm over her eyes to block out the hallway nightlight.
A slow, rhythmic ticking drew her gaze. Mounted above the kitchen island, hung a double-sided antique clock, with large roman numerals branded on its face.
Tick . . . Tock
Tick . . . Tock
Tick . . . Tock
Time. It came in a never ending constant rhythm. And much like Alana, the clock never stopped going, stopped running.
It couldn’t. Too many things depended upon it.
Time was relative. Its significance based solely on which realm you lived in. For humans, time was of the utmost importance. They had such a limited amount of it, that they constantly referred to time as ‘precious’. For those who were. . . different, time remained less relevant.
Alana had never considered it much, at least not until three weeks ago.
Now her life only knew two certainties: The clock always kept ticking, and she could never stop running. Not from him. She was Fae Kissed, cursed and blessed, able to travel into every world, but fitting into none.
Alana closed her eyes and counted breaths.
Inhale. . . exhale. . . Inhale. . . exhale. . .
She counted until sleep claimed her.
Sleep—not rest.
Never rest.
His golden eyes blazed with rage.
“You make this choice and I’ll destroy you.” He spat the words out, violent wind swirling around, the only thing that held him back from striking her. “Not just you, but everyone you love. Everyone you touch. Everyone you look at.”
Alana grabbed tighter onto the orb in her palm, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She raised her right arm and commanded the storm to double in force. Lighting and a torrid current of air mixed with electricity slammed into Nolan.
He spoke through gritted teeth, “You’re not a hero, Alana. You’re a Reaver. A thief.”
“People change.” She said.
Titus looked to his brother beside him and laughed, “She thinks people change? We know better, don’t we, Reid?”
The other warlock hadn’t spoken since Alana and Titus began fighting. In fact, he didn’t even bother to defend himself when she cast Gale Magic on them both. Instead, he took every blow in silence. Why?
“This . . . is your . . . last . . . chance.” Titus said, each word forced out after the last.
The option to go back and change things had long passed. For the first time in too many years, she’d decided to ask questions. Now she knew the answers, the possible repercussions, she couldn’t walk away.
Alana placed the orb into her pack and raised both arms toward the sky. Her iris’s glowed iridescent as her element channeled through her. She focused all of her Gale Magic into a binding curse, an order to shackle Titus and Reid within Que Theran’s tomb.
As she climbed out of of the cavern and into the Fae’den jungle, she glanced back. Two figures, disappeared in the distance as a rift swallowed them up. A last declaration on the wind unsettled her.
“Today you sealed not only your death, but those of anyone else you loved.”
All beings, wholly mortal or not, needed sleep.
Alana had only succeeded in securing herself barely four hours. Nowhere near enough to feel rested, but just the perfect amount to leave you somewhere between delirious and crazed. Taylor’s voice echoed from the kitchen and she rolled onto her side.
Her baby sister stood in front of the coffee maker, hip resting against the counter. The perfectly ironed pantsuit and crisp white blouse matched her impeccable ponytail. “I don’t care if Deacon doesn’t agree. This is my case, my witness.”
When Alana rose to sit up, the couch creaked, and Taylor looked to her. She offered a single nod and turned back to her brewing chai-tea latte. A man’s stern voice murmured from the receiver. Whatever his response, Taylor didn’t look happy.
She grated her teeth—as she always did whenever frustrated—and waited for him to finish. “No— Yes sir— I understand.”
A second later, she hung up and slammed her phone down. Taylor kept her back to Alana as she rubbed her temples. Finally composed, she spun toward the living room—and Alana.
“Morning.” Taylor’s entire face screamed the exact opposite of the pleasantry she offered her sister.
Alana smiled and joined her at the kitchen table. “Bad day already?”
“More or less.” She shrugged, “What time did you get in last night?”
“About four.”
“Hmm.”
She never asked what Alana did for a job. Or if she even had a job. Taylor stopped asking questions years ago. Together, they ate breakfast in silence. Alana grabbed herself a bowl of crispy cereal while Taylor spooned yogurt from a small container. After rinsing dishes, Taylor slipped on her suit jacket. Alana watched her sister walk toward the door then spin on her heel.
“So, are we finally going to talk about it?” She asked.
“About what?” Alana knew exactly what Taylor referred to be but keeping her sister in the dark was imperative to Taylor’s survival.
“Seriously, Alana? You drop back into my life a week ago after a six-year absence, and you don’t think I’ll have questions?”
Six years to her. Only three weeks to Alana.
“I . . .”
How do you explain the impossible to your human sister? Half-sister. That you’re not some fuckup, but someone who had to hide.
Taylor sighed and shook her head, “I don’
t know why I bother asking. Why I bother letting you do this all the time.” She grabbed her travel mug and pulled a set of keys from her purse. “You need to grow up, Lana. Stop acting like some foolish teenager. This is it. It’s the last time I’m letting you stay here.” Key in the lock, she stilled. “You’re selfish and a user and a liar, and I refuse to enable you anymore. You need to be gone by the end of the week.”
The door slammed and Alana was left staring after her. More than anything, Alana wanted to tell Taylor the truth. To confide in the only real flesh and blood she had. But would Taylor even believe her? Highly unlikely.
Alana returned to the couch for an extended nap, when the phone on her hip buzzed.
Shit.
The only person who had this number, was the last person she wanted to hear from right now. Her plans to pass back out until the evening, were slowly evaporating. He couldn’t possibly need her back this quickly. She pulled the phone from her pocket and glanced down at the text message:
Briefing now. No excuses. Urgent.
Double shit.
2
Alana did have a job—but not necessarily one she could explain to her sister. Not without being committed to a psychiatric ward.
Her official title? Temporal Bounty Hunter. Technically Alana only consulted for the TBH. It was part of her probationary agreement. In exchange for clemency and a clean record, she’d devoted the equivalent of Five-hundred human years to them. A moderate sentence for someone in her predicament.
She pushed through the large glass doors and crossed the seemingly empty lobby. The silence was more deafening than usual, drawing her attention to the clock on the far wall. She’d done nothing more than yank on a pair of boots before rushing out the door, but traffic had been a bitch. Hopefully she wouldn’t be the last one to stroll into the briefing.
She was.
A handful of agents were already scattered around the unremarkable conference table. Barely sparing her anything more than a glance of disinterest, they spun back to their phones in the awkward silence.
It was precisely how she’d wanted it, how she’d needed it. Being close to anyone meant ignoring the warlock’s warning. She’d already done so in favor of her sister, and even that she questioned on the regular.
To the table’s end she slipped, pulling a lone chair out with an ear-cringing scrape of metal on tile. “Sorry,” she muttered, before sinking into the chair under Mason’s narrowed gaze.
“Nice of you to join us,” he dryly remarked while taking point at the room’s front. There was no telling how long he’d been part of the TBH, but Alana had always wondered. Even in the face of potential immortality, the man’s dark hair was tinged with stray grays that distracted her on the regular when their meetings turned dry.
“That’s everyone, right?” Mason asked of an unfamiliar face. Within seconds the door was shut, and the lights snapped off, leaving them all to stare at the mirrored screen of Mason’s laptop on the wall. “Numerous rifts have been reported within the last hour across the city. This first grouping contains an energy signature we’ve seen before, and shouldn’t be difficult to deal with.”
Across the screen he flashed several images. Locations where the rifts had been felt, along with a few shimmering images that looked to the untrained eye like nothing more than a lens flare.
They all knew better.
Alana shifted uncomfortably within her seat, uneasy by the still unspoken. It would be too much of a coincidence though, for the very rift she feared to be tossed into her lap to investigate.
The odds of it were unimaginable. Or so she tried to convince herself.
“This,” Mason continued with a click to the next photo, “is the site where the most reports came from.” There wasn’t much to go on, given the image on the screen depicted a derelict mansion. Onto the table, Mason tossed a rusted hunk of metal. Alana needed only flick her gaze once from the screen and back down to realize it was one in the same. “The energy signature still resonates in this,” Mason explained with a shove of it to the table’s center.
Long and hard Alana stared, cold and unmoving. She didn’t need to touch it to feel the power rolling off of it. Her worst nightmare was coming true, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Alana.”
Up her head snapped, and from her face the color drained. Everyone was staring at her and had been for a long while as she’d zeroed in on the hunk of trash. “What?”
Mason’s lips pulled into a thin line. “You’re on this last rift,” he said with a point toward the object she’d wanted to recoil from. “We’re stretched too thin with too little resources, you’ll be on your own for now. We’ll send others out as soon as possible.”
In slow motion, she nodded. “Yeah, got it.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
It was enough of a dismissal as any. With nausea settling in, Alana lurched from her chair and rushed out the room as fast as her legs would carry her. Over her mouth a hand slammed, forcing back the inevitable.
Down the long corridor she hurled herself, while mentally cursing the architect who’d thought placing the restrooms so far away was a good idea. Then, things only got worse.
Behind a vanishing figure the women’s door slammed shut, and down the empty corridor the lock’s click echoed. Fear and guilt clenched in a tight wrap around Alana’s stomach, driving her to slam shoulder first into the men’s door without a second thought.
To her knees she fell, and grasped the porcelain bowl with every bit of strength she had. The pit of her stomach clenched, hurling up her sugary breakfast in an unrecognizable mass.
All she saw in the murky water, was her downfall. All this time she’d been lucky, but now? Her luck had run out.
Ripping off a wad of tissue paper, she wiped at the sides of her mouth before flushing and making her way to the sink. The face staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t even one she truly recognized. She was hard, and confident, maybe even a bitch sometimes, but this woman? This pale, terrified face?
It was someone else, and if she wasn’t careful, everyone would notice she had something to hide.
“Get your shit together, Lana,” she whispered while rinsing away the acrid taste in her mouth. Letting them in to the truth would be just as deadly as stepping into it herself.
She wouldn’t escape Damon alive a second time.
Drawing in a settling breath, she freed herself of the men’s dingy restroom, grateful to find no curious eyes or resistance awaiting her outside. There was work to be done, and whether she wished to tempt fate or not, she couldn’t renege on her job, not when it was the only thing keeping her from spending much of her life behind bars.
She’d just need to find a balance, somewhere between truth and a lie, to keep herself out from the rift that would surely be her death.
Forcing her chin up, she left the building and made her way to the mansion from Mason’s briefing. Gravel crunched beneath her boots, and every hair on her body stood on end. She wasn’t even certain one needed to be Fae kissed to feel the remnants of outright danger on the air.
Creeping along with a healthy dose of fear, she paid mind to the tales of her body that alerted her to the very spot in which the rift had appeared. It assaulted her senses, drowning her mind in a wash of confusion, and setting her skin ablaze with a tingling unease.
Across the ground at her feet, a giant gash lay in the cracked pavement. At a crouch, she reached for the earth’s ragged cut, only to recoil at the force that pushed her back.
Damon.
The very warlock she’d effectively banished had come back. It was the only reasonable explanation, and there was one reason in particular she could think of for why he’d be on the prowl.
He wanted what was his, what she’d taken from him, and that which she would never willingly give back.
“Shit.” Overcome with dread, she knew there was nothing left for her to do. Not here, and not the way Mason would want it to be
done. She couldn’t investigate fully, not when opening the rift meant putting herself directly into it. Though, if Damon had already escaped somehow…
Taylor. At a skid, she set off running. She and her completely mortal sister were as similar as they’d ever been. They were both detectives, even if their focus was vastly different, and now they’d both be in equal amounts of danger.
There would never be any amount of forgetting Damon’s threat, and the repeat of those words set her on a collision course for Taylor’s apartment.
Everything Alana had ever feared coming true—had.
3
Every rustling branch and passing face set Alana on edge. The smallest of signs could be the only warning she’d get, if she got one at all.
Up the apartment’s front path, she stalked with her head set on a steady swivel. A lump caught in her throat, slowing her forward motion. Around the building’s side a rugged figure walked off with nothing more than a single glance over his shoulder. Was he looking at her?
Was it him?
Within her chest her heart hammered in outright fear. It was one thing to bring danger upon herself, but Taylor wouldn’t see it coming. It seemed an impossible feat to make her mortal sister understand that the world as she knew it wasn’t the true world at all. Hell, she’d barely believed it herself in the beginning.
Swallowing down her worry, she bolted for the apartment’s door and paused with her hand gripping the knob. It turned, too easily, and without any resistance at all. Requiring no key, she nudged it open with an eerie creak.
Within the doorway she remained in total shock. The beige dream within had turned into a nightmare. For the first time, Alana missed the dreary cleanliness.
The kitchen counters were covered with cracked dishes and a mountain of plastic lids that tumbled onto the floor. The living room beyond wasn’t any better, with nearly every book having been pulled from the shelves, and movies tossed all over the floor. It was pure disaster, and clearly whoever had done it was on the hunt for something.
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