Dawn till Dusk: An Urban Fantasy Romance (Genesis Crystal Saga Book 1)

by Becky Moynihan

  I wouldn’t know. He had strictly forbidden me from leaving Nathra City. I was the Night Enforcer and apparently too vital to the city to leave, even for a day. Seemed like another lie to me. He needed shepherds to tend his flock, to make sure his beasts didn’t devour his prisoners. Sneaking out wasn’t an option, either. Those traps of his weren’t ones you could fly over.

  A growl escaped my throat and I shook myself, bits of white mane fluttering across my vision. This wasn’t the time. The Fae needed bandages and I needed to focus. I couldn’t tell how much blood he had lost and, if the purple of his face was any indication, the shifters hadn’t spared a blow.

  The balcony outside my penthouse rose in front of me. I flapped once more, tucking my wings into my sides upon landing, and nudged the sliding glass door open with a claw. Across the hall from my own bedroom was an empty guest room. I sidled in, climbing onto the bed as gently as I could before I rolled to my side and bit through the belt. The weight of the Fae pinned my wing. I struggled to move him off, grunting softly.

  This Fae is a pain in my—

  He groaned. I stilled. I didn’t know what he would do if he woke and saw a winged lion sprawled on a strange bed beside him, but “nothing good” echoed through my mind. He didn’t wake, though, only shuffled a little. Enough that my wing slid free. Blood smeared the quilt and I grimaced. I had already replaced the damned bedding three times this month from stains I couldn’t steam out.

  With a final glance, I crossed the hall and shifted back. Swapping to human form was a much faster and easier transformation. I could rapid-shift, but the act was incredibly draining; I used double the energy to speed the process. In a day, I could only manage a small handful of them.

  I ducked into my bathroom, digging through my large stash of bandages and cleansers. After my arms were loaded, I moved for the guest room, halting only long enough to tug on a pair of thick gray leggings and an oversized cotton sweater. The Fae were always more appalled by my lack of clothing than the fact that I was a shifter.

  So strange, their level of discomfort around skin.

  The Fae was sprawled on his back when I returned. I scanned his body, taking stock of his wounds. His muscular torso was exposed, his lightly tanned skin scattered with the same freckles that dusted his face. Bruises blended with the tiny specks, a patchwork of purple across his flesh. The button on his pants was undone, and I didn’t recall seeing a shirt near him. Those shifters must have taken that.

  What the hell were they going to do to him?

  I grumbled in agitation. They always went for the tall ones too, as if their superior height made them more of a threat to shifter dominance. I snorted. More like a threat to their delicate shifter egos. Even if he had won tonight’s match, he didn’t win them often. One lucky night didn’t warrant a beating this excessive.

  The long claw marks that raked his chest seemed to be the worst of his injuries, so I set to work. I cleaned them gently before I sewed stitches along the deepest wounds, resting cloth strips in yarrow and honey over his skin when I was finished. A more natural healing method than I would use on myself, but I tried to make the Fae in my care as comfortable as possible. The mix was effective enough; the swelling would be reduced, as well as the risk of infection. I would have to change the bandages though, to keep them cool.

  My attention fell to his cheekbone next. I wiped away the excess blood, finally able to assess the damage. Fractured, at the very least. Another cold poultice went to the spot before I moved on. The rest of his face didn’t seem as damaged—a swollen left eye and a knot where his head had struck the blacktop—so I laid strips of cloth across them as well, wishing I could do more.

  An older set of scars ran down his right cheek, clipping off on his jaw. I traced a finger across the smooth, raised marks. Their spacing was too perfect, like a shifter had dragged claws down his face. The scars were mimicked in smaller forms across his arms and torso, over and over, raised marks that marred his otherwise smooth skin. My heart clenched.

  Were they from the cage fights? Another shifter encounter? His hatred for shifters was glaringly obvious, and theirs for him. Not that I could particularly blame him, especially right now.

  The shifters who attacked him tonight deserved far worse than being left to wander the streets. I clenched my jaw as my nostrils flared. Every single mark on his skin was unnecessary. I was familiar with his attitude and, even still, he had never said anything to warrant this severe a response. A corner of my mind dared me to get up, go back to The Pit, and kick the living piss out of all three of them. Reporting them to Mordecai in the morning would have to suffice.

  The Fae coughed, drawing my attention to the swollen spot on the right side of his torso. Almost certainly a broken rib. Not much I could do for that. He would have to stop fighting long enough for that one to heal.

  His bloodied knuckles were last, a mess that I cleaned and bandaged quickly. Split knuckles were child's play in my healing repertoire. Mordecai had taught me how to attend them early on. We healed no faster than humans, after all, and shifters were notorious brawlers.

  “And dicks,” I grumbled to myself. I cast another long look at the red-headed Fae sprawled before me, seeking any missed wounds. He seemed a bit more relaxed. Cleaner, at the very least. I shook my head and sighed, closing the door to the guest room as I strode out. He was going to be hell incarnate when he woke up.

  I jumped into a quick shower while I waited for the inevitable. Pocketing my phone from the kitchen counter, I grabbed a soda and wandered to the living room. As I flopped onto the couch, I clicked the television to a cheesy soap opera and settled in. Flipping the can tab, I snorted. Let him wake up and try to give me trouble. I would show him the meaning of hell incarnate.

  Snap. Whoosh. Snap. Whoosh.

  The sound boomed in my head—a head ready to burst. When the repetitive noise wouldn’t let up, I cracked my eyes open. Well, one of them anyway. The other wouldn’t work. Had someone glued my lids shut? No, that wasn’t right. My body tilted, moving against something warm and . . . furry?

  Blinking sluggishly, I peered down at what looked like fur of purest white. A sensation similar to caressing fingers feathered up and down my right arm. My vision grew hazy then, but I swore I saw wings. White wings. Almost iridescent like in the painting. Was I dreaming?

  Gaia, am I dead?

  An angel was winging me up to heaven.

  At least I wasn’t going to the other place.

  With that thought, my single-working eye drifted shut and my mind blanked. I hadn’t felt peace like this in a long time.

  —

  When I woke again, the first thing I noticed was a slight breeze on my bare skin.

  The second thing was white scraps resting on my chest. My naked chest. Was this my angel garb? I thought they wore floor-length robes. I lifted the cloth to find tiny black stitches holding my skin together. Then I saw the scars littering my torso. Was I to be cursed with these reminders even in death? Maybe they would be my penance for failing.

  I deserved to remember. I deserved the pain.

  Talking about pain, it was everywhere. I hissed between my teeth at the sensations flaring awake.

  Something tickled my face and I reached a hand up, dragging a sweet-and-spicy-smelling cloth from my left eye. Right away, I recognized the natural healing aromas, ingredients the Fae used far too often. My eyelids were still swollen, but at least I could crack them open now. Which meant . . .

  My brain slowly clicked together the pieces of last night: the disappointing fight, the alley encounter, the thrill of unleashing myself on those mangy fleabags, the angel dream.

  I paused on that memory. When had I ever dreamt of angels? And those wings. So white, so real. I could still imagine how they felt against my skin.

  My brain caught on a new revelation: morning light streamed through the transparent blue curtains covering a tall window. A clean window. Not mine. My eyes raced over the rest of the room. Pristine w
hite walls with blue and silver accent pieces. Definitely not mine.

  And not a hospital. At least not one I’d ever been to before, and I’d been to a few. I forced my battered body into a roll and landed with a dull thud on soft white carpet. At the sight, a rock settled in my gut. Fae couldn’t afford white carpet. They wouldn’t want it anyway since most of us walked around barefoot. The cleaning bill would be disastrous.

  That meant I wasn’t in Fae territory.

  Cursing, I stumbled to my feet, a groan sliding up my throat as my rib cage pulsed with pain. That’s right. I have a broken rib. Healing the bone would take a lot of energy, and my abilities didn’t work well when unconscious. As fast as my aching body would allow, I strode to the window and yanked back the curtains. Several swears flew from my mouth. How did I get up here?

  I was a good ten stories off the ground, and in the ritzy, high rise section of the shifter district, no less. Exiting through the window wasn’t an option. Maybe I could bulldoze my way out of this place, catch my kidnapper unaware.

  Solid plan.

  On silent feet, I crept to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. What was going on? Now wasn’t the time to question my luck. I jerked the door open and was met with a hallway. My head whipped right, then left. I went left. Although I walked with purpose, my steps were whisper soft on the snowy carpet.

  I hated myself for the thought, but the plush floor on my calloused soles sure beat hard cement. The hallway dumped me into a large open-plan living area. I slunk past a sleek dark kitchen counter-top-top, snatching an orange from a bowl along the way. The apartment’s main door—my portal to freedom—was only a few steps ahead to the right, but I made my first mistake.

  I glanced left.

  And that’s when I saw her.

  Asleep on a white leather couch was the Night Enforcer. Dressed so casually, so normally, I almost didn’t recognize her. But the blue and black hair spilling over the couch’s edge gave her away.

  Oh Gaia, not her! What in all blazes was happening? Was this her apartment? My second mistake was not seeing the small table with a blue and white vase perched on top. My thigh bumped the table and the vase swayed. I lunged with the hand that held the pilfered orange. And missed.

  Crash!

  I skid to a halt, gaping in shock. The carpet had given way to tile, and now the mosaic was covered in broken ceramic bits.

  “Really? You’d think someone who loves to fight would have a little more grace.”

  The annoyed voice came from her, and I made my third mistake, the worst of them all: I faced her and opened my stupid mouth. “At least I know how to decorate. What a dumb spot for a table with a fragile vase.”

  The little spitfire flashed hands on hips before retorting, “It’s Feng Shui.”

  I stared, slack-jawed. Fae worried about a room’s energy, not shifters. I shoved the random thought aside, muttering, “I don’t have time for this,” and nimbly navigated the mess I’d made.

  When I was two steps away from the door, she said, “You’re welcome,” before adding a mumbled “Ungrateful prick” under her breath.

  I paused. Heat slowly crawled up my neck. Walk away. Walk away and don’t look back. I turned, scattering pieces of ceramic as I marched up to that glaring upturned face.

  “For what?” I snarled, holding nothing back. “For driving my kind to the edges of your precious city? For beating them up when they step out of line?”

  Her two-toned gold and sapphire eyes darkened. “I don’t—”

  “Of course you do,” I spat. “You’re an Enforcer. And I’m supposed to thank you?” I pressed nearer to her, trying for intimidation. It was high time she got a piece of Fae malcontent up close and personal. But she didn’t budge. She had balls, I’d give her that. “You’re what’s wrong with this city.”

  Before I swiveled on my heel, I saw her mouth pop open. Saw her hands curl into fists. If she were male, I would have stuck around. Seen what kind of damage we could wreak on this expensive waste of space. I wrapped my hand around the door handle right as she barked, “Stop!”

  And, Gaia help me, I did. What was wrong with me? Now was not the time to pick a fight. Not with her. I looked over my shoulder at the five-foot-nothing slip of a girl. And when I saw the scowl she was giving me, like she could twist my balls off with one hand, my body flushed cold. Then heated. Make up your mind. “Yes, almighty Enforcer?”

  She prowled toward me with feline preciseness, hips swaying. What was with female shifters and their hips? “You’ll never get to Fae territory without being seen.”

  I snorted. “I’ll survive.”

  She finally stopped a foot away, brow furrowing as she reached toward my face, gliding her fingers over my swollen cheek. “They’ll find you again and this time you’ll die.”

  I jerked away from her touch, the blood in my veins simmering. “They can try. Haven’t succeeded yet. And what concern is my safety to you? Don’t they follow your example?”

  Her hand, still raised in the air, formed a fist. I waited, expecting her to bash me in the face, but she was frozen. No, not quite. Her chest rose and fell sharply, like she wanted nothing more than to hit me, but was trying not to. I wondered why she didn’t. “I’ll take you where you need to go.”

  “Don’t bother. You’ve done enough.” At that, her lips thinned, the action wrinkling her pert little nose. The look was almost—Nope. Not going there. Not ever. “Because of you, I’ve probably lost my job. So, if you don’t mind, I’m leaving.”

  I finally wrenched the door open and stuck my head into the hallway. All clear. But before I could make my grand exit, having said my piece, she muttered, “You’re alive because of me.”

  One last time—I swore this would be the last—I looked at her. “No.” I shook my head, putting as much loathing as I could behind my next words. “I’m dead because of you.”

  —

  I hated that she’d saved me last night.

  Why couldn’t she have left me to my fate? Then this nightmare I couldn’t wake from would be over. And maybe, just maybe—Gaia willing—I’d see her again. She had been the exact opposite of the spunky little Enforcer. Tall and willowy, not short with killer curves. Long blonde hair that glittered in the sun, and a bright smile that never failed to punch me in the gut.

  My heart throbbed. I had to stop and focus on my breathing. I leaned against an alley wall strewn with shifter propaganda—some old news about the Great Dragon Mordecai, their lord and savior, freeing them from oppressive Fae control two decades ago. Apparently, the first Fae who had settled in this city forty years ago were explorers. With their pointed ears and raven-like wings sharp as any blade, they’d been revered. Many thought them to be guardian angels.

  But they were different than the Fae of modern day. They held a strength greater than the strongest Shapeshifter. And that wasn’t all. With a single touch, they could perform miracles. At least, that’s what humans and shifters used to think. After a while, there were whispers of dark magic. Witchcraft. Those Fae who had risen to power were seen as evil mind manipulators, so they’d been executed. War ensued.

  But then something happened. The Fae began losing their strength, their abilities. Shifters saw this as a sign that their gods had cast them out. So Fae became the outcasts. When Mordecai rose to power, he said we were a blight. That we didn’t belong in this realm. You would think he’d let us leave, then, but no. Not that any of us even knew where to find our ancestral land if we had the freedom to choose.

  In Nathra City, we were simply guests. Permanent, unwanted guests meant to serve our hosts. The Shift, they called the segregation of our two races.

  A bunch of crock, the whole ordeal. Mordecai was a warmonger, plain and simple.

  I dug a finger underneath the edge of a poster and ripped the lies off the wall. If only my actions made a lick of difference. Still, I enjoyed crumbling the paper and chucking the ball down the street.

  That Enforcer—Reagan, I’d hear
d her called—would ream my hide for tearing off the poster. Not that it would hurt. How much damage could a girl that size do? Her lion form must not be very substantial either considering she’d never shifted in my presence when I’d been making trouble. I grunted and mentally punched myself. Why was I still thinking of her? Despite what she’d said, she hadn’t done me any favors. And now? Now I was late to my job for the third time this month.

  No way would I be given grace again, but I had to try—after I grabbed a shirt, of course. And healed the worst of my injuries.

  An hour later, I was jogging toward Smithfield Press where I’d managed to hold down a job for six solid months. A record for me. I had depleted my small well of healing magic, focusing a steady stream on my broken rib—now mended but still aching—and my left eye. Call me vain but a black swollen eye socket was gross to look at.

  The stitched scratches on my chest had been free of infection—the Enforcer’s rudimentary administrations might have had something to do with that. All in all, I didn’t look too bad considering how close to death I’d been twelve hours ago.

  Behind me, the pattering of little feet distracted my train of thought. I knew who they belonged to without turning around. “Get lost, kid.” I jumped over a broken crate discarded on the sidewalk.

  He continued to pursue me like a lost puppy. “You’re late for work. Where were you last night? I could hear Callie meowing all morning, dude. You forgot to feed her again.”

  “I’m serious, Benji, get out of here. I’m not in the mood for your questions. Catch.” I tossed him the orange I’d snatched earlier, knowing he needed the sustenance more than I did. Curly blond hair fell over his eyes as he whooped and hollered, like I’d gifted him a toy from his Christmas list.