I pull it out of the garment bag and hang it on the back of the door, giving it the chance to work out any last wrinkles. I love this dress. It’s a dove grey silk gown that slips off my shoulders and exposes my back before smoothly draping all the way down to my feet. It’s simple and gorgeous and gives that rare feeling of walking on air when you wear it. So I’m not going to let it sit in my closet. Besides, wearing it tonight might give me some closure.
At least I hope that it will.
I do my hair and make-up first, and there’s a calm that comes over me as I do it—an air of ritual that comes from years of doing my hair and make-up before performances. I miss that. My new everyday life rarely calls for me to look fancy, and when you’re making potions and charms, it’s usually better to have your hair out of the way. I curl my hair and leave it spiraling over my shoulders. By the time I get to the gala, it will have relaxed into my favorite kind of wave.
My eyes take a while—the smoky eye you learn to perfect early on as a dancer. This is a chance for me to be dramatic, and the colors I use are black and purple to make my eyes look more green and a touch of silver to play off the dress. I’ve always been good at this, and I love the way this looks. It’s a pity that Kent left already because I’d like him to see me look like this. Granted, I’d probably be a blushing idiot again, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.
The dress and the shoes are last, along with a light wrap. I poke around the shop for a few minutes. Partially because I am always ready too early, and partly because I’m still searching for a way to delay the inevitable. But there’s not a much that I can do in this dress—certainly no magic work—and I have to admit to myself that I’m just procrastinating. So I grab my little purse, take a deep breath, and lock the shop behind me.
The sun is starting to set, and the late summer weather is perfect. It’s warm enough to be beautiful, with just enough of the early fall chill that I’ll be glad to have the wrap later. One of my favorite things about New York is the fall, and I can just smell the beginnings of it on the breeze. It’s comforting.
I text Odette that I’m on the way, and head towards Lincoln Center, but I take the back way. Not down Broadway. There are fewer cars the way I go, and I get to sneak into Lincoln Center through Hearst Plaza with the trees and fountains and statues. It’s one of the places I love most in the city, and I still spend a lot of time there. I ate lunch there last week.
I know that I’m thinking about the little things to distract myself from what I’m walking into. This isn’t going to be easy. Plenty, if not most of the people there will be happy to see me. But it won’t be that. It’ll be the pitying looks and the whispers that are bound to follow me around the room. After all, I’m still the latest tragedy of American Ballet Theatre. Even if my friends don’t talk behind my back, the donors will.
Not to mention that I’ll see my former sponsors and have to know that they’re sponsoring someone else. This is going to be painful either way.
Once again, the thought enters my mind: I could call Kent and bail. There’s no doubt in my mind that he could take me to a party that would wipe away every sad feeling that I’m holding onto, and that’s incredibly appealing right now. But I would feel awful if I weren’t there to support my friends. Besides, I’ve just turned the corner and can see the back side of Hearst Plaza.
I’m almost there.
My phone buzzes, and it’s a message full of hearts and smileys from Odette, and it lifts my spirits for a second. I’m turning the corner behind the fake grass hill when I hear a voice behind me. “Excuse me!”
I turn, and a woman in a long black dress is coming down the block. She looks fancy enough that it’s possible she might also be heading to Lincoln Center. She waves a hand, and I stop. Does she need directions? It takes me a second, but as she approaches, I recognize my customer from earlier—the mysterious blonde I sold the overpowered potion to. She’s practically glimmering, and I wonder if she’s already taken it and there were bad side effects. Guilt and nerves twist in my gut. I hope nothing awful happened.
She comes closer, and when I think she can hear me clearly, I call out to her. “Hi,” I say. “Was there something wrong with the—”
She thrusts her hand out, and the magic hits me hard, a spear of crimson light straight to my torso. Pain erupts through my skin. Fire and fractures and screaming. There’s no air left in the world—I can’t breathe. Until the light disintegrates and I feel the magic crackle through me and to the ground like I’m a lightning rod. My lungs heave in a breath and I see that crimson light swimming across her hands. It’s the same color as the potion I sold her, and as I feel the ability to move come back, I know that I’ve very much misunderstood what’s happening here.
I need to get to people. Somehow, in the middle of New York, we’re alone on the street, and I need someone to see me. Just need to get around the corner. She’s staring at me with the same dead gaze, but now, in the reflection of magic, it’s sinister. She’s faster than I am, but I can’t just let this happen—I have to try.
And so I run. My limbs feel like they’re swimming in cement, and I’m unsteady on my feet. Magic connects directly with the skin of my back and pain ripples, triggers, makes me freeze and gasp. I should be screaming. Why can’t I scream? I can’t think.
My phone, I have my phone. It’s in my hand. The texts are open and Kent’s number is right there. He said I could call him for anything and this is everything.
Agony is all there is. I have to look down at my arms to make sure that they’re not splintering open. Shit, I think my bones are breaking. That’s how it feels, like being pulled apart a piece at a time.
I force myself to haul in air, to think through the pain, to stop myself from panicking as I see the tendrils of red magic curling over my skin, sinking in, burning. I’m being crushed and mutilated, even if I can still see that I’m whole.
The wall next to me comes closer. No, it’s not moving, I’m moving, falling. The grit of the stone under my palm brings me a moment of focus and I hit dial. I can’t get the phone to my ear, but I can hear it ringing. Please please please pick up. My hand slips, and I fall. The stones under my hand are wet. Did it start to rain? Is there blood? It’s my blood isn’t it.
There’s a soft, steady click of shoes on stone. She’s following me. Slowly. Unconcerned with me running or getting away. The only other sound is my heart is pounding in my ears, like the ocean is roaring around me.
“Hello?” A voice seeps through the ocean of sound and pain.
Kent. It’s Kent. “Help,” I say, but it feels like I’m choking. “I need help. Please—” and then I can’t speak, thick crimson smoke invading my mouth and clogging my throat. It tastes like bitter orange and ash and something rotten.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.
I’m on the ground, and I’m dying. I know this. The magic that’s slithering around me is pulling everything that I am away from myself. It burns. I’ve never felt anything like this before, like being tied to hot coals without heat, pain without impact.
She’s above me, I can see her now, hand extended, red tendrils flowing from her palm to where they crawl over me with a will of their own before being pulled back into her. And along those lines, I can see light. Lavender and sapphire and pure gold. I know in my heart that it’s me. She’s taking my essence, my magic, and my life and there’s going to be nothing left.
I can’t feel anything. Can’t react. Only stare at her face, which shows nothing. No remorse or acknowledgment that she’s killing me. She wears a mask of indifference, and it’s going to be the last thing I see. I wish it were anything else.
My lungs are bursting, but I can’t inhale. The world is blurry and fading. I can only hear as everything fades to white. There’s a scuff from her shoe on the pavement and the low, slick, sound of absorption.
Below the pain, is terror. This can’t be the end. It’s too easy. I should have fought harder. Should have done somethin
g—anything—to fight back. This isn’t the way that I thought that I would die. Please. I don’t want to die.
Stone cracks and flesh snaps. There are sounds of pain and a struggle, and maybe words. Every sense is searing with pain, but I blink, and I can see. The sky is a faded blue like the world has dimmed, but I’m not blind anymore.
A tiny gasp of breath makes it into my lungs. The pain relents a fraction. But I’m still dying—of that, I have no doubt. I close my eyes and let go. I let the pain fade into nothing as I fall into the dark.
I didn’t think that death would be so peaceful, that feeling the life being drained from my body would feel like easing from one state to another. I always thought it would be a sharp distinction.
Light and energy pour into my chest, and I gasp for air, my eyes flying open. The world looks normal. There’s color and sound, and my entire body is still on fire. I’m burning alive again, and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t even find my voice to scream.
She’s gone, but I’m not alone. Three men—three fae—are hovering over me. One is touching me, and I can feel pure white brightness emanating from his hand, cooling the fire, soothing the pain.
Who are you?
I try to speak, but my voice is nowhere. Pure pain spikes through the middle of my chest again and I crack open. Now I scream for real, and my world plunges into black.
CHAPTER THREE
________
BRAE
What the hell was that?
The remnants of dark magic crawl across my skin like a sickness. The fae who was the source of the darkness is long gone, and I would be tracking her down now if not for the human woman in front of me.
This is the last thing I expected. We rarely venture away from Allwyn, and a rare outing for pleasure turning into a nightmare was not the plan. But I couldn’t hesitate when I felt that magic. It was pungent and vile, raising the nausea I now feel in my stomach.
That kind of magic shouldn’t exist at all, let alone in the human world.
When we crossed the barrier into the human world, I felt a swell of magic, but this was not the source. That was different. Peaceful and calming. The magic I’m trying to control right now is anything but that.
I’ve never seen that fae before, but I won’t forget her face. Not now. She was stripping the magic and life from this woman—a stunningly beautiful woman—and we were nearly too late.
But she’s alive, and I can’t breathe because I can feel her.
Beneath the curse that’s killing her, there is something more. The magic under her skin resonates through me like a bell, and I know that the woman lying broken in front of me is about to alter my universe.
Glancing towards Verys and Aeric, I see the same look of astonishment on their faces. This woman is special, and we can all feel it. She’s calling to me in a way I already know, but don’t want to put words to. Because it’s impossible. Especially if we’re all feeling it. Can it be?
Who the hell is this woman?
I sweep our surroundings with my senses and get nothing. There’s no trace of the fae or her magic. I want to find her, but I can’t because this woman is still dying—I can feel that too—but I’m no healer.
There’s a pull deep in my gut. A terror that I’m choosing to ignore. She can’t die. I will not let her die. I can’t.
Nodding to Verys to keep watch, I reach out with my magic, trying to figure out what exactly has been done to her. The feeling is like a black hole in the center of my mind. It seethes and breathes and never lets up in its hunger. Everything that is in her is being drowned out and pulled away.
But there’s something else. Almost like an echo or an afterthought, away and to the side. It’s a tether.
“It’s connected to the human realm,” I say. It’s soft, but they hear me.
“What do you mean?” Verys asks.
I lock eyes with him. “I mean I think that we have a chance to save her, but it’s not here. She has to be in Allwyn. We have to get her to Urien. Now.”
Verys shifts his eyes back to her still figure, and nods. Aeric isn’t looking. His eyes are on the empty street around us. “We need to go.”
He’s right. We’ve been lucky so far, but that may not last.
There’s a harsh click behind me, and Aeric turns too late. “You’re not going anywhere.”
There's a gun pointed at Aeric’s head, and I stand, seeing the human man that’s holding it. I can sense his emotions from here, even though he’s keeping them visibly in check. He knows this woman—is terrified for her—and he hates faeries.
Even if I couldn't sense his emotions, the sneer on his face makes that clear.
He's drawn the wrong conclusion, and I can understand why. Walking up to three fae males over an unconscious woman isn’t an image that inspires a lot of confidence. “She was attacked,” I say, “but not by us. We felt the attack and came to stop it.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” the man says, tone dripping with disdain. “I’ve heard that before. You are all the same. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to overpower the poor human.”
The gun he’s holding isn’t an ordinary gun. I’ve seen one before. It’s soundless and doesn’t fire metal bullets. No, those bullets are made out of ash wood, and he’s about to fire.
The sound the gun makes is soft, but Aeric is already moving, ducking under the shot and pinning the man to the ground. The sound of his flesh hitting the ground isn’t pleasant, but it’s necessary. I reach out and bind him with my power. I can feel him recoil from the sensation, and I realize I’m breaking a cardinal rule of our travel here: never to use magic on humans. But we have no time.
“Listen to me,” I say as Aeric removes the gun from the man’s hand and tosses it into the nearby bushes. Anyone slower than Aeric would have been dead from that bullet. “I can feel that she’s important to you,” I say to the man who’s fighting my hold with everything that he’s got. “I’m not a healer, and she is dying. The curse she was attacked with is draining her, and if we don’t take her to Allwyn now, she’ll be dead in less than an hour. If you don’t believe us, that’s too bad.”
I lean down and gently place my hand on her chest. The breaths that I feel under my palm are shallow. Barely there.
The expression of her face is peaceful, but I’ve seen this kind of peace before, and it’s death and not sleep. Still, she is beautiful, her fiery red hair spread across the pavement like a bloody halo.
Closing my eyes, I pour magic into her, directly into that void. It’s raw and unshaped, but it’s the best I can do while she’s unconscious. The curse will feed on that for a little while, until we can make other arrangements.
Standing again, I look at the man, still straining against the magic. The look on his face screams murder if I touch her again. My magic is weakening, waning with what I gave to her and keeping him still when he’s fighting to break free and kill me. “What’s your name?”
“Kent Williams,” he grits out. “And you’re not taking her anywhere without me.”
“What’s her name?” I ask calmly.
“Kari Taylor.”
I lean down so I can look him in the eye. “Do you want her to die?”
I can see the impulse to hurt all of us in his eyes, but it fades with his answer. “No.”
“And you understand that if we don’t take her now, she will?”
“Yes.”
Aeric puts a hand on my shoulder, voice incredulous. “You’re going to let him come too?”
“Do you want this fight right now? I can’t let her die.” I shove down the terror again, and what it means. No matter how impossible.
“Neither can I,” he says, like the words are pulled from him unbidden.
“I’m going to let you up,” I tell Kent. “And then we have to go.”
Releasing the magic all at once, he shudders with the energy that he put into fighting stillness. But then he’s on his feet. Every inch of his body speaks to the fact that he wan
ts to kill us, but his eyes are on the woman. Kari.
I nod to Verys.
Slowly, he picks her up. He’s gentle with her, and when he looks at me, I see my own terror written in his eyes. “You ready?”
He nods.
I look at Kent. “We’re going to have to run.”
CHAPTER FOUR
________
KARI
I loved to float when I was a kid. In the pool, when everyone else was always jumping and diving and swimming, I would float. On my back, ears under the water. I liked the peace of having everything blocked out and letting the flow/ of the water move you. The motion I feel right now is like floating.
But this has to be a dream, because I’m being carried by an angel. Pale skin, white hair, and a face that could be on any cathedral mural. I died. That fae female attacked me, and I died, and now an angel who’s gorgeous enough to make me swoon is carrying me to heaven.
Pain rises up from the fog and seeps along my limbs, filling them up until everything aches. It’s an ache that feels deep, like I’m rotting from the inside out. I didn’t think that death would be this painful. I try to move one of my hands, and I find that it weighs too much for me to lift. Not only that, but the effort sends splintering fire up my arm and into my shoulder. It’s agony, and I gasp. I would scream, but my voice seems to be elsewhere.
The angel looks at me and notices that I’m awake. “Brae,” he says, in a voice that’s deep and rich. That’s not a word that I know, but I can’t even ask because I can’t speak. He lays me on the ground, leaning against a tree and there’s commotion from behind another one. The angel is crouching in front of me, looking at me. Even his eyes are silver, and they’re beautiful. I’d be smiling at him if everything wasn’t on fire.
Fevered: A Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance (The Carnal Court Book 1) Page 2
