Fae Kissed

by Graceley Knox

  For something she’d taken from them.

  Entirely violated by the intrusion, Alana stepped in further, releasing her boot’s grip on the door. It swung shut and slammed hard, sending another stack of plastic lids tumbling off of the kitchen counter.

  Fucking great. If there was anyone lying in wait, they knew she was there now.

  Cautiously, she crept through the apartment, checking behind every large piece of furniture, and behind the swing of every door. No one was there, but they had been entirely thorough in their search. Nothing was untouched, not even Taylor’s once-pristine bedroom.

  Filled with an anger that brought her boots down hard on the wooden floor, Alana stepped back into the apartment’s living space and shoved her fingers into the thick of her hair. She had no idea where to start or what to do, she only knew she needed to do something.

  Something though, was calling to her from the center of the dining room table.

  How she’d missed it on her way in was a mystery all on its own. It was a rectangular box, beige, just like the rest of the apartment save for a colorful bow settled right on top. The blood red curls of ribbon cascaded down and across the table, making it a definite blight in the monotone space.

  Hesitantly, Alana flipped open the lid.

  “The fuck…” Inside lay a bouquet of flowers, all white, save for a single red bloom. Her brow pinched as she plucked the ribbon-tied bouquet free and searched it for a card to no avail. The meaning of it eluded her, if it had one at all.

  In a fit of upset, she threw the flowers to the table, only for something to skitter out from the spread of leaves. Across the table the creature raced, its upward curled tail and clicking feet too akin to a scorpion for Alana to waste any time at all.

  Afraid to take her eyes off of the creature that ducked beneath a pile of magazines, she stumbled into the kitchen with her eyes glued on the last spot she’d seen it. All movement on the table ceased, but she refused to look away as her hands waved wildly across the counter. There’d been a knife there, she was sure of it, and if she got cut finding it -- Oh well.

  Across the scattered objects her hand pat, shoving aside forks, cups, and spatulas until finally her fingers curled around what felt to be the handle of a knife. Snatching it up into view, her lips fell at the sight of the screwdriver.

  “Fuck it. It’ll work,” she grumbled before charging back to the table. Reaching carefully for the haphazard stack of magazines that had created a hiding spot beneath, she flung them free and stabbed straight down without hesitation. Straight into the wood the tool dug, marring up her sister’s flawless piece of furniture, and hitting nowhere near the escaping creature.

  After it, she lunged, driving the screwdriver down into the floor before it finally swung back on her. Its heightened tail reared back, filling her with a sense of outright dread. The thing was born of magic, she could feel its intent to kill.

  With two hands she yanked the screwdriver free of the floor, before realizing she had a better option. Pushing herself up off her knees, she lifted her boot and slammed it straight down onto the dangerous creature.

  The vicious thing crunched underfoot, leaving the sole of Alana’s boot slick with the crushed remains as she went to step away. All the way back to the table, her footprint followed, only adding to the outright mess of the apartment.

  There was no time to dwell on it, given the key that slid into the door and turned without a solid click. Plastered with a look of surprise, Alana didn’t even bother trying to come up with an excuse as Taylor shoved the door open.

  Immediately, the girl’s jaw fell open. “Lana! What in the hell happened?”

  Somehow, Alana had forgotten her sister came home for lunch each day.

  “Um…” There was no time for explanations, not when hell had clearly broken loose.

  “Did you leave the door unlocked again?” Taylor looked absolutely out of place in the chaos in her perfect pant suit. “You couldn’t have made this mess yourself! Right?” Her eyes narrowed on Alana, whose jaw clenched tight. There was so much at risk, but it sure as hell wasn’t the damn apartment she was worried about.

  “Look, there’s no time to explain, I just need you to-”

  “No!” Taylor’s hands flung up in the air, silencing Alana’s attempts. “Look at this place! It’s a goddamned disaster! When are you going to get your life together, Lana?”

  The insinuation left her teeth grinding together so hard the ache shifted up behind her eyes. “I need to go.” It was the best she could muster, and all she could say as she forced herself out the door.

  Taylor needed saving, and if Alana had to get to the damn warlock first, then so be it.

  It didn’t take long to reach the old abandoned warehouse that often proved useful for tearing open rifts. It wasn’t really the type of skill that was great for public performances, not to mention the TBH really frowned on that sort of thing.

  Especially since this rift wasn’t entirely sanctioned, either.

  With a shift of her hips, Alana settled her feet flat and solid against the ground. Up at her front she swung her hands, palms out as she focused on the threads of energy that surrounded her.

  While timejumpers needed no spells, or artifacts, or specific locations to display their strength, not all places were created equal, either.

  Somehow, she’d been lucky enough to discover the hideout that boasted an odd abundance of magical force. It made tearing open rifts all that much easier and made the hangover the next day a bit more bearable.

  A bit.

  Though no wind blew through the building, her hair whipped forward, shrouding her vision as the very air around her began to crack. It started small, a pin-sized hole through space and time that she tore open with a distant pull of her hands. Wider and wider the crack spread, until a shove of fingers through her hair cleared her vision enough to see what she could already feel.

  The circular rift spun through the air in a turbulent flash of blue, with a center no brighter than the center of a black hole. The first time Alana had stared one down, she’d been certain jumping through it would equate to her death.

  It hadn’t, but the cactus she’d landed on top of nearly had.

  The trauma from that had well-worn off, and fearlessly, she jumped into the rift’s abyss. Head over heels she tumbled through a weightless hell, devoid of direction or time. As far as she knew, she’d been there for only seconds, but when one meddled with temporal boundaries, there was always the potential for a fuck up.

  Weight. It’s such a tangible thing, and something taken for granted when gravity exists. Upon feeling that her body held weight again, Alana’s arms and legs flung out in search of anything to grab. Down she plummeted, into the dark Underworld she’d focused on.

  Water became her savior and her curse as she plunged into a chilled pond, foregoing broken limbs or punctured skin, but instead taking part in a gasp of air that pulled water straight into her lungs.

  Against the shallow depths her boots hurriedly dug for purchase, flinging her out of the water in an instant. Her hand pounded at her chest, heaving the water out in deep-seated coughs that rattled her lungs.

  “Fuck.”

  She’d come to the Underworld where the warlocks most often lingered in search of Damon, but with squeaky boots, sneaking would be off the table.

  All around her a city rose up in dark and dingy stone. As a silhouette, the skyline was stunning, with steepled towers and curled smoke, but Alana knew better than to expect anything good to come of the Underworld.

  Flecks of white fell from the sky, blanketing the shadow in a crisp coat. Yet, the air was warm and dry with a tinge of smoke and fire. For it wasn’t snow that fell in droves, but pure ash.

  If only she’d remembered to bring a scarf.

  Further into the city she crept on foot, hurrying across the nearest bridge with great urgency. She knew the place, as she’d been there before when Damon had hired her in the first place.

&
nbsp; Oh, how things could change so quickly.

  Rounding the bend of his property, she’d just looked to a disturbing flash of light in the sky when a voice to her right startled her into a half-spin.

  “Come to spy on Damon, have you?”

  Her eyes narrowed at the unknown voice, but she couldn’t make out a single one of his features in the dark. “Going to tell me something interesting about him?”

  “No, but I can do you better. Come with me.”

  Every rule in the book told her not to follow, but Alana was anything but a proper rule follower. In the man’s wake she walked, following him into a nearby building that flooded her with warmth and draped her in the sweet scent of wine. Swiftly as the man had led her, he turned around and vanished, leaving her alone in an empty room.

  At least, she thought she’d been alone.

  “You really thought coming here would be a good idea?”

  On her heels she spun toward the deeply purred voice. The man who stood before her was built like a brick house. His shoulders broad, and his arms and thighs thicker than tree trunks. Everything about him screamed sex animal, leaving Alana to wince at the thought. He was a shifter, and a warlock, meaning he’d probably blow her mind and leave her panting for more.

  She took in his chiseled face, dark stubble shadowing his jaw, with his emerald green eyes constantly looking around the room. Alert and ready. He dragged a hand through his chin length hair, the dark strands moving through his fingers with ease.

  Alana had seen him before, once, when she’d sealed Damon and this, his brother Jaxon, into Que-theran’s tomb.

  “Apparently, I did,” she said with a lingering gaze that refused to quit. Already she was imagining just how much he could wear her out. Preferably, on her back.

  “I’d give you my name,” he said with a commanding curl of his lip, “but I imagine you remember hearing my brother say it.”

  She knew she should be upset, but he was so damnable distracting. “I guess it’s a good thing I came here to find him and not you then, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, ouch,” he teased with a step closer that washed her in the heady scent of him, “and here I thought there was something between us.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  Again, he stepped closer, effectively stealing all space save for a few inches between them. Her chin was forced up to meet the line of his gaze, and though she considered both lunging for him and at him, she instead stood her ground.

  “Just air,” he exhaled, “too much space, if you ask me.”

  It was too much space for her, too.

  “But, what I really wanted to tell you,” he continued, “was that you haven’t a clue what’s truly going on, and I wouldn’t suggest trying to figure it out.”

  “So, you just want to throw me off the scent, then.”

  His lips curled into a devilish grin. “You’re always thinking the worst, aren’t you? But no, that isn’t it at all. Ignorance isn’t always bliss.”

  It certainly wasn’t for someone like Alana Creed, who always expected to wrap up her problems in no time flat. Unfortunately, the tight-lipped, incredibly sexy Jaxon had apparently finished talking and wasn’t about to give anything else up.

  Alana had one thing left to do: Go home.

  4

  Mornings were always a bitch.

  They were even worse after a time jump, and the one from the day prior had been a doozy. One of her legs stretched out straight, knocking something off of the couch’s arm with a bouncing thud. The sound echoed through the small apartment, leaving Alana to shroud her ears with a lift of her hands.

  It took a moment for her to recognize where she was when first she dared crack an eye open.

  The apartment was still a mess, and when she’d stumbled in late in the night, she’d barely managed to clear off the couch before falling onto it. It was easy to tell now, given the ache in her back. Rolling away with an uncomfortable, backward curl of her arm, she snatched up the remote control and a deck of cards and chucked them unceremoniously to the floor.

  Through her aggravated groan, Taylor’s voice lifted from the opposite end of the kitchen. “Hungover, again?”

  Alana’s closed eyes rolled. “I guess you could say that.” It seemed a safer bet to be seen an alcoholic than to spill the truth.

  Unfortunately, that also came with the disappointed sigh that was forced from her sister’s lips. It was unavoidable, but it still stung.

  With a swing of her legs off the couch, Alana cradled her head in her hands and willed the swaying motion to subside. It felt like she was on a cruise ship, without the endless buffets and tropical weather. In an essence, it sucked.

  Across the room, the telltale sound of Taylor’s coffee lid being snapped into place drew Alana’s attention upward. Even in the midst of chaos, Taylor looked put together as ever. “At least make an effort to clean up a little,” Taylor urged her before striding out the door without a goodbye.

  At least they were on speaking terms.

  With another groan, Alana pushed herself to her feet, intent on taking a long, relaxing shower when her damnable cell phone rang. Around she spun, her eyes narrowing toward the sound, but there was too much of a mess. Rather than cleaning anything up, she made things worse as she flung plastic cups and books from the coffee table on her short-lived hunt.

  “Alana,” she answered with a slide of the phone up to her ear.

  “It’s Mason.” Obviously, since she still hadn’t shared the number with anyone else. “I need you to go to the Order of Magique.”

  He couldn’t have picked a worse destination if he’d tried.

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” he demanded with a heavy sigh. “These rifts are dangerously powerful, and completely unsanctioned. They need to be informed of what’s going on, and we may need to be calling on them for aid.”

  “Sure, I’m on it.” It wasn’t as if she had a choice.

  The line went dead, and with a stark frown, she shoved the phone deep into her pocket.

  The Order of Magique was the last place on the planet that Alana wanted to go. It was where the most powerful magic holders of all the races gathered together, to form some semblance of control over the sometimes uncontrollable.

  Like pissy warlocks.

  That was all reason enough, but her history as a Reaver, and the fact that her ex was spearhead of the mages and would certainly be there really put the icing on the cake. Unfortunately, orders were orders.

  Pomp and circumstance never had been one of Alana’s favorite things. It was all too common within the Order of Magique, where modernity seemed to be forgotten in favor of the old ways. Or, maybe it was just their smug attitudes that convinced them they could solve everything with a bit of magic.

  It was maybe true that they could, but it didn’t make her hate their arrogance any less.

  “Alana Creed.” She’d know the deep, rumbling voice from miles away, but in this case, he’d somehow snuck up on her back. In an instant, she spun around and found herself staring straight up into the eyes of a man she’d dated— if one could call fooling around on the regular dating.

  “Miss me, Nolan?” She questioned with a smug slip of her arms across her chest.

  “Always,” he answered with a motion that set the pair of the heading down the nearest corridor, “but mostly at night. So, I assume this is a business call and not a personal one.”

  Her lips pulled into a devilish smirk, “sorry. It’s business.” Even if it hadn’t been, it probably wouldn’t have been quite what he’d wanted. Handsome to a fault, and terribly charming, it was a wonder she’d never been able to get past just a bit of fun with him. Her heart never had followed her more carnal desires, and at the time, she’d been fine with that.

  He hadn’t really complained much, either.

  Not that she wouldn’t have given him an outright no to another night. After all, a glance at him from the corner of her eye reminded her quickly of the ri
gid cut of his jaw and perfection of his muscles.

  To the side his own eyes drifted, catching her in the act.

  “Are you reminiscing?” He asked while pushing open a set of double doors behind which she swiftly followed.

  “No, of course not,” she scoffed before the room’s grandeur had her slowing to a halt. “Okay, maybe.”

  It was their grand chamber, where all of the delegates met, once a month and upon the call of any special need. Within a horseshoe shape their engraved seats were situated, and along their backs placards listed their names. It didn’t take her long at all to find Nolan’s among them.

  “Isn’t it… some kind of honor to be invited in here?” She asked him, leaving her voice to echo across the empty chamber.

  “Sure, but since when have you cared about anything like that?”

  “Well, I don’t, but I’m not blind to it.” Nor was she blind to his towering figure that stepped near enough she could smell the mint on his breath. “Are you trying to impress me, Nolan?”

  His smile pulled a breathy laugh free of his lungs. “If I was going to do that, I’d push you against that wall over there and remind you of just how much fun we used to have.”

  “Ahh,” she nodded with a quirk to her own lips she was unable to subdue. “Rather than talking about the unsanctioned rifts with me?”

  “I mean, or we could do that.”

  She had to admit, his smile was charming, and had she not had death knocking on her and Taylor’s doorstep, she may well have given in to his challenge.

  Instead, she shared with him everything she knew about the rifts. Well, almost everything.

  By the time she’d finished, Nolan looked anything but happy. “The frequency and power of the rifts had already increased far too much for the Order’s liking. They won’t be pleased to hear it’s getting worse.” Shoving some fallen hair back from his face, he swiftly added, “whatever assistance you’re in need of, let me know.”