by J. N. Colon
King Lachlan Blackwood didn’t look a day over thirty, but those intimidating eyes held eons of knowledge marbled with a cunning edge that would make enemies think twice before crossing him. Glossy midnight strands swept away from his handsome, flawless face, and like Caleb, he possessed a pair of ridiculously full, pouty lips.
Stop thinking of Caleb’s damn lips!
I rolled my shoulders, jingling the thick chain between the magical restraints clasped around my wrists. The metal no longer glowed bright red, but the edges bit into my skin and rubbed it raw.
My teeth clenched. I hated these damn things.
“Stop moving.” The towering sentry behind me gripped my biceps with long, spindly fingers to keep me in place.
A wave of magic rippled faintly in my core. This fae would be lying on the ground by now if I wasn’t shackled. Caleb chuckled from his spot leaning against the navy wall toward the left, his foot pressed into the dark wainscoting. Apparently, he found my predicament amusing.
He’ll be really amused when I give him a bloody nose.
“That’s all right, Miles,” the king said, inspecting several glass bottles filled with various liquids on his desk. The soft light from the elegant chandelier gleamed on the rainbow of colors glittering inside small vials collected on a silver tray. “I’m sure Thorn has enough sense to know escaping would prove futile.”
“Yes, sir.” The sentry, Miles, took a microscopic step back.
I grimaced. His presence still lingered at my back like a malicious shadow.
“You did manage to evade several of my sentries earlier, though. And in my own club.” Clinks echoed as the king began mixing the fluids into a glass.
Was he making a poison capable of prying secrets from my lips?
“You even managed to give my son the slip.” His gaze ticked to Caleb and then to a painting across the room, his expression tightening.
The young male fae in the portrait had to be a relative of the king with the same fair skin, icy-blue irises, and full lips. Even the broader bone structure favored Lachlan more than Caleb’s sharper features.
“I got her here, didn’t I?” Caleb snapped, leaning off the wall as tension radiated through his body. “You would think I’d get a thank you for my hard work.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.
King Lachlan’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “You’ll get a thank you when the job is complete. And since we have many things to discuss, it’s far from over.”
Caleb’s fists curled tightly by his sides as if he’d like nothing more than to pummel his father.
Parental friction? I could definitely relate.
When the prince noticed me staring, his mouth thinned into a hard slash.
“Unlike Lorcan,” the king’s voice interrupted the heated stare-off between his son and me, “you can never seem to completely commit to things or finish them.”
The swirling tattoos on Caleb’s arms shifted as every muscle strained. Shards of ice crystallized in his eyes, ready to stab his father. The prince didn’t like being compared to Lorcan, whoever he was.
“How old were you when your death raker powers first emerged, Thorn?” Lachlan asked, tearing my attention away from his son again.
As my silence stretched, Miles shoved his knuckles into my back so hard I stumbled against the mahogany desk, the intricate ivy leaves carved in the edge biting into my restrained arms. I whipped around, scowling at the same air elemental faerie who chased me in the hall downstairs.
“Answer the king when he asks you a question,” he growled, staring down his hook nose at me.
A long sigh resonated out of Lachlan. “Thorn, answer the question. I really don’t like repeating myself.” His voice remained calm, but a thinly veiled threat lurked just under the surface.
“I was seven when my death raker powers emerged.” My curse reared its ugly head after my mother had already dragged us back to Illyria once the war had ended. I held back a shudder thinking about the worst day of my life.
The king poured an iridescent liquid from one of the small vials into the glass, stirring until the shimmers faded into a vivid green mixture. “And how old are you now?”
My molars ground as I hesitated. Why was that even important? “Seventeen,” I begrudgingly admitted before Miles could shove me into the desk again.
“Seventeen?” Caleb crossed his arms, his biceps shifting beneath the collection of tattoos. “You’re shitting me.”
I smirked. “Rethinking all those sexual innuendos you tossed my way?”
“Sexual innuendos? Please. You must be thinking of the demon you killed.” Caleb’s harsh tone yanked the smugness right out of me.
Asshole.
“Interesting,” the king murmured and then took a sip of the brew he’d been blending.
So, not poison.
He licked his lips while examining the contents of the glass. “What is such a young witch doing in Chicago, in fae territory no less, alone?”
“Who says I’m alone?” When the king pulled his attention away from his drink with an arched brow, I sighed. “I might have a few enemies of my own in Illyria, and I figured this would be the last place they’d ever search for me.”
King Lachlan stood and stepped from around his desk, bringing the drink with him. “Witches can be vengeful things.”
He would know.
“Have a taste of this, Thorn.” He used a straw to gather a few drops of the green liquid then held it toward me. “You’ll give an honest opinion.” His smile was suddenly so charming, you might forget the clever devil hiding behind it.
I huffed and then held my tongue out. Like I really had a choice. The tart green apple flavor trickled over my taste buds, followed by a sugary kick so intense it could give me a cavity. “Too sweet.” I winced. “But I guess it’s fine for fae.” They ate sugar by the pound.
“Yes, I’ll market the drink to fae.” He made a humming sound and then placed the glass on his desk.
My nose crinkled. He was making a new drink for the bar? And here I thought I was the main event of the night. The king seemed more interested in his alcoholic beverage menu than my powers. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Right. Back to business.” King Lachlan meandered across the room to the giant fireplace that looked more like a witch’s pyre than anything inviting.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the bones of witches could be found in the ash.
He turned his broad back on me while he examined the flames for so long, the tension heightened to unbearable levels. “I’m sure you’ve heard of this East Side Slasher.”
Who in Chicago hadn’t? “What does the serial killer have to do with me?”
“Have you noticed all of the bodies keep turning up in fae territory?” He peered over his shoulder, the firelight creating ominous shadows on his face. “Every single one of them.”
My brow furrowed as I thought back to a few weeks ago when the murders began. Now that he’d mentioned it…
“And this is not the work of a frail human.” The intensity of King Lachlan’s gaze yanked the air right out of my lungs. “A nightworlder is responsible.”
Droplets of ice slithered down my spine. A supernatural creature blatantly breaking the rules on multiple occasions? That didn’t bode well for any of us. “What kind? And why?” I glanced at Caleb, who had resumed his spot on the wall, looking bored.
“Exactly.” The king strode to his desk and withdrew a large folded paper from a drawer. With the flick of his hand, the air stirred, and the paper unfolded to reveal a map of Chicago.
And not just any map, but one displaying each territory of the four supernatural creatures in the city.
Once upon a time, there had been five.
The map flew to the wall behind his desk, where rough vines slithered from the floor and ceiling, capturing the edges in their fibrous grasp. Nightworld—as we called it—was divided into four equal sections with a small neutral territory in the center. Demons maintained
the northern part of Chicago with fae below them, then vampires, and finally shifters in the south.
The doors to the other realms—Illyria, Faerieland, and the Underworld—were located in the neutral center.
“Whoever is killing humans is purposely dropping bodies in my region.” King Lachlan motioned his hand toward the fae sector on the map, which also happened to be closest to the doors. “The culprits want it to appear as if we are responsible for these brazen acts, clear violations in the rules nightworlders have upheld for decades. Breaking these laws could be grounds for removal from the city—if the council agrees.”
So one of the other groups was making a play for fae territory. Karma’s a bitch. “And what do you want me to do about it?” The restraints stopped me when I tried crossing my arms, so I let them hang in front again.
“I want you to work for me and find out who’s behind this.” Lachlan folded into the oversized leather chair like it was a throne and clasped his hands on the expansive mahogany desk, his eyes never leaving mine. “You will partner with Caleb and use your special gift.”
My blood chilled to arctic temperatures as I finally understood. The king wanted me to use my death power to interrogate suspects. One touch, and I could connect with their soul and see their secrets.
I might kill them. And I might not. It all depended on how long it took to extract that information.
“No.” My nostrils flared. “No fucking way.” I thought the king wanted me to hunt down one, maybe two, of his enemies and dispatch them. Not hold an investigation where I could kill dozens of creatures.
And he wanted me to partner with his son? That was almost bad enough by itself.
The king tilted his head to the side, his brow arched. “You’re refusing my job offer so quickly?”
This wasn’t a job offer. It was a possible death sentence for every suspect and a surefire way to blacken my soul until I ceased to exist.
A dribble of sweat leaked down my temple as my wrists twisted in the shackles. Caleb couldn’t have been more wrong when he assumed I never had magical restraints strapped on before.
“Nothing in this world or the others would make me take your offer, King Lachlan.” My magic bubbled to the surface and easily smashed through the barrier the cuffs had locked it behind, exploding out.
Violet electricity crackled over my fingertips as I yanked the restraints off, dropping them to the floor with a resonated thud.
Curses mixed with gasps bounced between the three fae in the king’s office. Not many witches could break out of those.
Miles grabbed my shoulders, but I ripped out of his grip and shot an energy ball into his stomach. The sentry sailed across the room, crashing into a wooden coffee table and smashing it to pieces.
Steel arms fastened around me, crushing my body into a hard torso. “You don’t really think you can get out of this, do you?” Caleb’s hot breath spilled down my neck.
“Actually, I do.” My elbow crushed his ribs, and I ground my heel into his foot until he released me. I whipped around, smashing my fist into his nose.
Caleb grunted before a stream of crimson trailed down his chin.
He wasn’t too amused with a bloody nose after all.
I pivoted, darting across the vast area rug depicting a tangle of lethal thorns crawling over the ground. My heart pounded as if at any moment one of them could burst through and ensnare my ankle.
The ornate French doors to the hall only stood a few feet away. I reached out, my fingertips brushing the cool metal of the doorknob.
A gust of air lifted me off my feet, stealing the breath right out of my lungs.
Shit. This is bad.
The gold coffered ceiling zoomed past as I flew back into the heart of the room. Large fingers curled around my neck, and moments later, I was slammed into the navy wall. Pain ricocheted over my skull while red spots crowded my vision.
“You’re even more impressive than I thought.” King Lachlan’s barrel chest wrapped in a tailored dark suit came into focus. “You and Caleb will make a terrifying team.”
Acid oozed up my throat at the excited pitch to his smooth voice. His dream team of Caleb and me would never happen.
My hand shot forward, latching onto his arm as my death powers bled through my veins like poison. If I could just incapacitate him for a minute, I should be fine—in theory.
King Lachlan easily pried my fingers off, tsking with a disappointed shake of his head. “You should know better.” He lifted an Arx talisman hanging around his neck.
A flurry of curses ran through my mind. He was right. I should have known better. If Caleb had one, of course the king would too.
Faster than I could blink, Lachlan whipped me around and pinned me to the wall, pain lashing at my cheek. A few more pounds of pressure and the bone would shatter.
His grip tightened around my throat again. “How did you get out of the restraints?”
I struggled in vain, sweat soaking into my clothes and hair. “I’ve built up an immunity,” I finally wheezed.
“How?” A disheveled Caleb appeared, wiping the remnants of blood from his nose.
“How do you think?” As part of my many lessons, Ellexia would strap the restraints on my wrists and force me to spend hours—sometimes days—trying to reconnect with my magic.
Something other than anger and annoyance flickered in Caleb’s expression before he shook it off. “What else have you built up an immunity to?”
If he only knew.
The king leaned in until the sugary sweetness of the drink on his breath swirled into my nostrils. “I’m going to ask you again. Will you work for me to discover who’s behind these murders?”
“I’d rather die,” I gritted out.
He sighed and then turned to his son. “Go get it.”
Caleb nodded and stomped away, the door slamming shut so hard the room shook. Miles finally picked himself out of the demolished coffee table and marched in our direction.
“Shall I retrieve another set of restraints?” Miles seethed while he brushed pieces of wood from his short, coffee-colored locks. “Maybe two will hold her.”
“That’s all right, Miles.” The king ticked his head toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Bring one of those over.”
The sentry complied like a good little dog and grabbed a chair, placing it a few feet away.
Lachlan loosened his grip around my throat before I passed out. “I really hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Thorn. I don’t like such messy situations, but you gave me no choice.”
The door opened, and Caleb dragged a thin, pale figure behind him. Dirt smudged a pair of jeans, and a torn Yoda T-shirt hung off a bony shoulder.
My heart plunged to the bottom of my boots, and all the fight drained from my body as I caught sight of those fearful hazel eyes.
They had Aiden.
Chapter 7
A frigid sheet of ice wrapped around my chest, stealing the breath right out of my lungs. No. Not Aiden. Why did the fae go after Aiden?
But a sick twist in my gut told me exactly why.
Caleb roughly pulled their hostage across the room, his fingers clamped on the teen’s left bicep in a bruising grip.
Fire spilled through my muscles, and I shoved the king off. “Leave him alone!”
Unfortunately, I only took half a step before Lachlan’s hold returned to my throat, and he slammed me into the wall. Pain exploded across my cheek, shooting starbursts through my vision.
Son of a bitch. That would definitely leave a welt.
“Don’t even try it, Thorn.” His low, measured voice prickled my flesh while a wave of power pulsated around him to show who was in charge. And it wasn’t me. “I didn’t want to go this route, but you’ve forced my hand.”
Was the Seelie queen—residing in Faerieland—as manipulative and calculating as Lachlan?
Muffled protests caught my attention as Caleb shoved my innocent, sixteen-year-old neighbor into the glossy wooden chair Miles ha
d brought. The leather cushions squeaked as Aiden shifted, his terrified gaze peering through strands of sweaty blond hair.
A vise grip tightened around my heart. I’d seen this look of fear on him before, but it had never been so gut-wrenching. The fae only went after Aiden to get to me.
How could I let this happen?
“What do you want?” I hissed, wincing through the sharp throb in my cheek.
The king tsked. “You know what I want, Thorn.” His fingers loosened on my neck, resting there like a threat. “And if you don’t comply with my wishes, I’m afraid this naive human will pay the price with his life.”
My nostrils flared, and I wanted to lash out, but Caleb’s hand landed on Aiden’s shoulder as a warning. One wrong move and my friend would be hurt—more than he already had been. His clothes were torn, and angry red scrapes stippled his arms. How many royal sentries had chased him down?
“Let him go. He has nothing to do with this.” I should have known befriending anyone, especially a human, would paint a flashing, neon target on their back.
Fine tremors racked Aiden as sweat collected on his brow. He probably wished I’d picked some other dump building to move into instead of his.
The king ticked his head toward Aiden. “Remove the gag, Caleb.”
The prince rolled his eyes as he hooked a finger in the strip of material tied around my friend’s mouth, yanking it down. “He doesn’t talk much.”
He wouldn’t, not when terror had him in a tight grip.
Aiden licked his dry lips before he opened his mouth to speak and then slammed it shut, his attention pulled to the binds around his wrists. The delicate skin had already been rubbed raw from the coarse ropes.
Sharp needles punctured my sternum, turning my breaths shallow. “Aiden, are you okay?” A lump clogged my throat when he remained silent. I squirmed, fighting the urge to break free of the king. “Look at me, Aiden. Please.” I hated the tremble in my voice even more with these three fae bearing witness to my vulnerable side.
Never show weakness.
My lids clamped shut as I tried to force the memories of my childhood away. Dwelling on the past would do no good.
