Warrior Fae Princess

by Breene, K. F.

  Don’t let him call the shots, bro, Steve thought at Devon. Don’t let him take your power. Make him drop his eyes, or make him challenge you. Don’t let this go. Roger wouldn’t.

  Steve knew from experience. Roger didn’t take kindly to other shifters pushing their weight around, something Steve had learned the hard way.

  One by one, Devon’s muscles flexed. One by one, Dale’s fingers curled into a ball. The air between them sizzled with magic, the two shifters pushed to their limit. Any moment one or both would explode—

  Fiery magic tore through the air, biting into Steve’s body with an invisible spray of ghost needles. He jerked backward, startled by the unexpected pain. Dale did the same, bumping into a grunting Cole and throwing a hand up to protect his face.

  Devon didn’t so much as flinch.

  Andy flew sideways, as if Charity were a bomb and the explosion had burst out through her right side. The unlucky sod tumbled through the air like a flailing rag doll, hitting the ground with a thump.

  “Oh crap!” Charity exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth.

  “What the hell, Charity?” Andy hollered when he came to a stop. “What’d I do to you?”

  “Sorry!” Charity called over Rod’s laughter. She rushed toward Andy, probably to help him up, but Dillon stepped in the way, blocking her. “I was trying to keep my magic in so I didn’t blast it out toward the new guys. It accidentally leaked out the side.”

  “We talked about this, remember?” Andy pushed to standing and dusted himself off. Rod laughed harder. “If you feel one of those surges coming on, you walk away. Remember when we made that deal? Right after you blasted me into the refrigerator? You feel the surge and you walk away.”

  “I know, I’m sorry! This was just a tiny surge, so I thought I could keep it in.” Charity scoffed at Dillon. “Would you move?”

  Another surge of power punched Steve. He took a step back with a ladylike gasp. Fire ants of pain crawled along his skin.

  The blood drained from his face. This was a tiny surge? Steve hadn’t even been her target, yet it felt like his face was being sanded off.

  For the first time in a long time, Steve’s beast did not want to emerge and fight. Unbelievably, he felt like running. Not to mention, elves could sense magical beings. If this magic went haywire anywhere near one of them, even a lesser-powered elf would notice. Traveling off the beaten path didn’t matter a whole helluva lot when you were being followed.

  They needed to get to the Flush, pronto.

  “Charity, get in the car.” Devon’s voice was a whip-crack of command, his alpha magic rattling Steve’s bones. The three new people, so damn confused they looked like clowns staring at an empty circus tent, swiveled to look at Devon.

  The alpha had arrived.

  “It’s fine,” Charity said. “Honestly, it’s mostly under control.”

  It was a long fucking way from being mostly under control.

  Devon turned to her. His power struggle was no longer with a slack-jawed Dale, but with a power-oozing warrior fae. His shifter magic boomed, making Steve wonder how he’d blasted that much out without changing shape.

  As if she were a dog reacting to a silent whistle, Charity snapped her head toward Devon, staring at him like he was a rival magic holder competing for dominance. A beautiful fluidity took over her lithe body, and a strange glow emanated from her skin. The fingers on her right hand twitched, as if wrapping around an invisible sword.

  A flash of brilliant blue eclipsed her focused brown eyes and a lovely smile tickled her lips. A strange music drifted in on the breeze, like cupids singing of battles and death, killing and mayhem. Magic rolled from her in thick, gooey waves.

  “Are you done?” Devon asked in a low, rough voice.

  How he withstood that onslaught of magic without at least half cowering—like everyone else—Steve had no idea.

  Blue flashed over Charity’s eyes again. “I’m just beginning. Can’t you feel the thrill of it?”

  A shiver flash-froze Steve’s body, but strangely, his cock hardened. He was man enough to admit that this whole situation scared the shit out of him. Yet, strangely, he’d still take her—or one of her kind—to Pound Town. Exhilarating.

  “Enough of this,” Devon said, his body brimming with controlled supremacy. “You have to learn to master it until we can get you training. You’ll end up hurting yourself or one of your own.”

  Like a balloon popping, the painful prickles and tiny punching fists dissolved. Her posture lost that breathtakingly lethal edge. She looked like a fallen angel, unsure, worried, and vulnerable. Steve’s heart squished.

  “Get in the car,” Devon said softly, not yet letting go of his magic.

  Heaving a sigh as she turned, she muttered, “I hate this weird magic.”

  Steve let chuckles relieve the tension. Now he understood why the young pup had transformed into such a strong alpha. Devon had needed to gain strength, power, and control to combat the unbalanced and unpredictable magic of the budding warrior fae. Roger had mentioned it, but he couldn’t have prepared Steve for the experience. Steve had heard that her kind were mostly gentle and loving, but if roused, they’d rip the world apart. Devon had risked his own safety and well-being to help her control the uncontrollable. He was a good man, but what a trip.

  Note to self: bed only trained warrior fae.

  “This is the control you have over your pack?” Dale asked as everyone started toward the vans.

  “Dave, give it a rest, would ya?” Steve said before Devon could turn around. He ran his fingers through his hair.

  “My name is—”

  “I agree,” Cole intoned. “Give it a rest. At least until the fae has calmed down. That wasn’t…pleasant.”

  “Neither is the volume of your voice,” Steve murmured.

  “Never enter a library with him,” Barbara said, breaking off to go in the front van with Devon and Charity. Steve grinned, mostly because she wasn’t kidding. Also because she’d rather ride with an unpredictable fae than Loudmouth Larkin.

  “I get the feeling the girl and Daddy dearest don’t get along?” Dale whispered as they neared the rear van.

  “From what I gather, he was an abusive prick,” Steve said, climbing into the van beside Andy. Rod glanced back from the driver’s seat, but Macy, in the front passenger side, ignored them.

  “A drunk, abusive prick and the reason her mother left her,” Andy added as Cole swung into the rear, followed by Dale. Andy nodded at Steve. “Hey. Good to have ya.”

  “How’s your face?” Steve replied.

  “Why? Do I have scratches all over it?”

  “You can’t feel the road rash?”

  “Not over the throb in my shoulder, no.”

  “If she can’t control her magic, traveling through the Realm will not be…easy,” Cole said.

  “Neither will being in confined spaces with you,” Macy murmured.

  Steve huffed out a laugh while he rubbed his temples. “You’re both right. Let’s hope Emery is as good as everyone says. Otherwise, we’re not going to get very far.”

  Chapter Two

  Devon exhaled slowly as he took Charity’s hand. His eyes darted up to meet Dillon’s in the rearview mirror. They exchanged the same silent message they’d pinged back and forth on multiple occasions these last couple weeks, waiting to finish the quarter so Charity wouldn’t miss any school. We’re running out of time.

  It had initially been agreed that Charity could get through the spring quarter, but Devon worried they’d waited a month or more too long.

  The van turned down yet another decrepit street, badly needing roadwork and clearly ignored by the city. This area of town had no end of them. Charity curled up to his side on the seat and dropped her head to his shoulder. Warmth unfurled in his middle, easing the anxiety that threatened to strangle him.

  He’d known he would run into dominance issues with the new and more experienced pack members, but he hadn’t realized it
would come so soon. Dale hadn’t even given Devon half a chance to lead before he’d challenged him. Given that Dale was ten times more experienced, Devon wasn’t sure he could take the grizzled veteran. He knew for a fact his pack couldn’t handle all three if they decided to band together. The new shifters were hardened. Savage. If it hadn’t been for Charity, this journey would’ve taken a bad turn before it had even begun.

  “I wouldn’t give you this role if you didn’t have her by your side.”

  Roger had said that after the battle with Vlad.

  “Fighting is awfully hard when you’re being flung through a window.”

  Devon stroked his thumb across Charity’s smooth skin. Roger must’ve known this would happen. He must’ve known Charity would be willing to help Devon. Willing, and more than able.

  A sudden surge of pride turned immediately to fear. She was wobbling. Hard.

  Her power earlier had been sharp and biting. When it hurt even Devon, he knew it was blistering through her, sapping her energy and draining her resources. If the surge had been any stronger, she might’ve passed out.

  He was terrified that one day she wouldn’t wake up.

  The van slowed to a stop. Charity looked beyond him and out the window, then grimaced. The disgusted expression crumpled into worry. “We’re not going to find anything in there related to magic, Devon. I grew up in that house. If there was something as interesting as magic, trust me, I would’ve known.”

  He ran his thumb over the small dimple in her chin. “We’ve been over this. Whether or not we get answers, we’re going to the Flush. We’re going to get you help.”

  She sighed and shook her head as Dillon got out of the van. Yasmine joined him before sliding open the side door.

  “This is going to be a bad joke if I’m not warrior fae,” Charity mumbled, waiting for Devon to get out of the car.

  “Vlad has put a lot of effort into trying to capture you,” Dillon said, standing beside Yasmine. “If a vampire that old thinks you’re warrior fae, then you’re warrior fae. He wouldn’t make a mistake that big and end up getting barbecued for his efforts.” He smiled supportively. “We’ll get you help, no problem.”

  “I have to agree with the boy,” Barbara said, climbing out after them.

  Dillon scowled at her, clearly not impressed with being called a boy.

  The sticky warmth of the humid late afternoon wrapped around them. Garbage littered the cracked and worn cement, and potholes peppered the street. Trees leaned over broken fences and weeds strangled the run-down and forgotten yards.

  The tiny, ramshackle house crouched in front of them, its paint peeling. One of the windows was covered with graffiti-scrawled particle board, and another had a ripped screen.

  Yasmine picked up her shoe and glanced at the bottom. Her mouth twisted in distaste. She put it back down gingerly, trying to find a patch of cement that wasn’t stained or splotched. Good luck.

  Andy strolled over from the second van, somehow not at all bothered by the tension with the new pack members.

  “So this is where you grew up, huh?” he asked Charity, stopping on Devon’s other side. He probably didn’t want to get tossed again. “A little spot of paradise.”

  Charity huffed out a laugh. “At least we owned our own home. That was kind of a big deal in this neighborhood.”

  As Devon took in the crime-riddled surroundings, noticing a used needle on the curb and a discarded little baggie commonly used for drugs up the sidewalk, his stomach twisted for Charity’s stolen childhood. There was no playing in these streets, no friends having tea parties or football games on this front yard. Hell, she couldn’t have felt safe crouching behind the tiny dwelling’s bar-covered windows. The empty bullet casings twinkling in a patch of weeds by the van tires said as much.

  He took a deep breath and smoothed over his expression. She’d lose her shit if she thought he was pitying her, and get all kinds of embarrassed if she sensed his disgust for the ramshackle house. This wasn’t her fault. She’d had no control over this. And the fact that she’d made it out alive told him she could make it through anything. He was damn proud of her, when it came down to it—something he would tell her when they were away from the broken crack pipes and human feces. At the moment, he didn’t trust that sadness wouldn’t leak into his words. His childhood had sucked, but compared to this, he’d grown up in Wonka’s chocolate factory.

  “Is that a chalk outline?” Rod took four steps down the sidewalk and bent down to take a closer look. “It is. Holy shit.”

  Dillon and Cole both peered at the cement.

  “I didn’t realize they did chalk outlines—I thought that was only in the movies,” Steve said, leaning up against the van with one ankle crossed over the other. His pose said boredom, but his flicking eyes, touching each window in every decrepit home surrounding them, said he was on high alert. He felt the danger of this place, and the lion in him was securing the territory.

  Charity’s eyes hadn’t left the weather-beaten front door. A strange rigidity had crept into her body. “They do it when it’s a homicide. If they feel like looking into it, that is.”

  “Let’s get this done.” Devon lightly grabbed Charity’s arm and directed her along the disheveled walkway toward the blackened front stoop.

  “Is it always this quiet?” Cole said.

  “Not when you’re present,” Steve replied.

  Charity looked at the sky before letting Devon lead her forward. “At this time of the day it usually was, yes. Later in the afternoon it’ll get busier, then the evening and night will see the most action. I was always behind a locked door at that point, not that it would’ve helped if someone had decided to come in.”

  Devon barely kept from rubbing her back in support. From the sound of her voice, she didn’t need it. This had been her reality, plain and simple. She probably recognized the horror of that, but she clearly hadn’t given in to it. His pride rose in tandem with the sadness.

  “A couple people looking out their windows,” said Barbara, sounding like a SWAT team member.

  “They won’t bother us. It’s the guys loitering or strolling up the street you have to worry about.” Charity stopped in front of the door. “I hate being here.”

  “It’s okay,” Devon whispered. “A quick chat and we’re gone.”

  Charity’s smile held no humor. “I don’t think this is going to go how you think it will go.” She rapped on the door. “You all will want to clear to the side. He’s got shit aim, but that won’t stop him from trying.”

  “This is a level of crazy I wasn’t prepared for,” Rod said in a wispy voice, stepping off the walkway and onto the mostly dirt yard.

  “Real sensitive, dick,” Andy muttered.

  “This isn’t the half of it,” Charity said before rapping again with hard, angry pounds. “You haven’t met my old man yet.”

  “What the fuck do you want?” came through the door.

  “Open up or I will bust this door down, Walt,” she hollered.

  “You don’t call your dad ‘Dad’?” Andy asked.

  “He didn’t do a lick of fathering—why should he get the title?” Charity rapped again. “Last chance, Walt.”

  Tinkling sounded before a deadbolt turned over. The door opened a crack, revealing two long barrels.

  “I’ll take that.” Fast as sin, Charity rammed the door wider with her shoulder, grabbed the end of the gun, and yanked it toward her, wrenching it out of the old man’s hands. She kicked the door, catching the side of his face on its trajectory toward the wall.

  The man in the doorway had ruddy cheeks from years of drinking and a shiny bald head surrounded by tangled gray hair. His spindly arms and thin, slightly bow-shaped legs didn’t match the round gut half hanging out of a stained and ripped white T-shirt. Jeans hung too low, and his fly gaped open.

  His bloodshot eyes narrowed when he saw her. He surveyed Devon next, then glanced behind them. “Get off my yard,” he rasped.

  “
Good to see you, too,” Charity said. “Now move. I need to get some stuff.”

  “I ain’t got nothin’ of yours here,” he said with a sneer. “Get outta here, you little whore.”

  “Someone needs to enter this guy in a Miss Congeniality pageant—he’d clean up,” Andy murmured, probably to Rod.

  Devon clamped down on his rage. It would rile Charity up, and she didn’t need any additional distractions.

  “I’ll leave when I get what I want, not before,” Charity said with fire in her eyes. “Where’d Mom go?”

  His lip curled. “You tell me.”

  “If I knew, I wouldn’t need you, now would I? Where’d she go?”

  “Get out of here. You don’t think I got another gun? I got another gun. Get off my property before I go and get it.”

  Charity tossed the shotgun into the yard. “Answer me,” she said, her voice low, her tone wobbling. A sheen covered her eyes, emotion leaking through her hard exterior.

  Walt saw it and laughed, of all things. Rage pulsed hot in Devon’s middle despite his desperate attempts to keep it at bay.

  “Fuck that bitch, running out on me. She was a worthless whore, just like you.”

  Charity’s jaw clenched. “Did she ever mention anything about magic, or her family?”

  Walt stepped into the center of the doorway, staggered, and reached out to steady himself on the doorframe. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and already he was blasted.

  “Her family?” His lips curled off his brown teeth, a sick smile filled with gaps. “Sure, she mentioned her family. Her deadbeat dad who couldn’t kick down a damn dime. Her useless mother without a pot to piss in. Yeah, she mentioned them a time or two. But you know what she never did tell me about? Your family. Disgusting whore. She weren’t no virgin, I knew that already, but preemies don’t come in at nearly eight pounds. I knew something was susp’ious about that. I always did. That asshole who came knocking a couple weeks ago knew it, too. Perfect strangers know you’re nothing but a bastard. See? Makes sense why I never did like you none. You were always such a prissy little bitch, just like your mother.” He looked at Devon with foggy eyes before pointing at Charity. “You with this little bitch? Because if you are, you better be careful. Her and her mother are just the same; they’ll fuck anything—”