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

by Becky Moynihan

  “I have these friends . . . they’re pretty reliable sources,” he sneered, shoving me backward.

  My back met warm bodies. I spun around. Shifters—the ones who had been prepared to kill Tarik several nights ago—lurked in the shadows. And they had brought friends. Too many. These odds weren’t in my favor.

  I’m not going down without a fight.

  In my distraction, I missed the fist that flew at me. My body shook under the impact. Instinctively, I slid into a defensive position. I raised my hands to block another blow and a fist slammed into the back of my head. Damnit. I was completely boxed in. I dipped low and swept at the legs of the leader. He caught my foot, flipping me onto my back.

  My heart pounded in my ears as I glared up at him. “You don’t really want to piss off an Enforcer, do you?” Blood trickled over my lips.

  His responding grin chilled my core. “No, but we’ll gladly kill one.”

  I awoke to Callie batting at something on my chest. As she continued to swat, the object clattered and rolled, eventually smacking the cement floor with a jingling rattle.

  At the jarring noise, my eyes flew open and I bolted upright. Callie went tumbling and so did several white bottles. I frowned, blinking slowly, not comprehending. Glancing around my room, I half-expected to find Benji. Every once in a while, he brought his makeshift toys over and played quietly while I slept. That boy rose before the birds.

  But my apartment was empty save for Callie, who was now rolling one of the bottles across the floor. I plucked one off my blanket and inspected the label: calcium supplements. My frown deepened and I snatched up another one. And another. All were either vitamins or pain meds.

  I scrubbed a hand down my face, trying to jog my hazy memory. Last night had been a blur of fatigue and anger and guilt. So much guilt. I had lost my temper again, big time, and once more Reagan had paid the price. I had hoped that by squashing the image she had of me, she’d back off and be safer for it. Spending time with me would only get her hurt—or killed. Mordecai would make sure of that.

  And then I’d lost my mind. Instead of firmly pushing her away and erecting the necessary walls, I’d crushed her. Completely. Unforgivably. Something in me knew, just knew that I’d stolen a piece of her last night, one that could never be returned.

  Gaia.

  I kissed her.

  What had I been thinking? I hadn’t. I had been desperate, needing distance from her—and not just for her own safety. For mine. I couldn’t open myself up to that kind of hurt again, and she’d been awfully close to breaching my defenses. So I’d kissed her. Kissed her. Yeah, that made sense. Instead of saving Reagan, I’d ruined her.

  You’re bad luck.

  “I know,” I whispered. My gut clenched hotly.

  Despite the terrible way I had treated her, it was for the best. She’d heal. Live her life in relative safety—as long as she didn’t keep helping the Fae. Somehow, I needed to stop her from doing that.

  I had a few connections, those I considered friends—even if I’d avoided them for three years. There were too many painful memories attached. After that awful day when my life had shattered, everything they said and did reminded me of her. Their scent, their empathy . . . their hair and eye color. Surrounding myself with them had been unbearable, like sticking my head in an oven. The heat of shame burned me alive, and the only thing I could do was shove them away. All of them. After the way I’d shut them out, I doubted they thought of me much anymore.

  But I could send word and warn them about Reagan—they would discourage the Fae from accepting her aid. They would listen when I told them the price she would pay if caught.

  Because they all remembered like it was yesterday.

  Every single Fae in this city knew what happened three years ago.

  Such a heinous crime could never be forgotten.

  I rubbed my eyes, attempting to scrub away the haunting images that came unbidden at the thought of that day. I was tired, so tired of those flashbacks. Releasing a pent-up sigh, I stood from the bed and gathered the bottles, placing them in a bag that had been dumped on me as well.

  And that’s when I noticed the insignia stamped on the bag—a dragon wrapped around a shard of crystal. The same one found on doors in the mansion, the same one etched onto our hazmat suits, the same one branded on Reagan’s neck. Which meant that this medicine must be directly linked to Mordecai. But he would never give such valuable supplies to a Fae—especially not me. There was one shifter who had access to the mansion and who’d overheard Benji mention an ailing mother, though.

  Reagan.

  I stared hard at the mess on my bed. The realization of what she must have done hit me like a ton of bricks.

  Gaia, no. What was she thinking?

  With a groan, I sunk to the floor, knees barking in protest as they slapped the cement. I dug my fingers into my hair and pulled, pulled until sharp pain bit at my skull. Air stuck in my throat and I gave up on breathing. Kneeling next to the evidence of her continued help, her caring, even after what I had done to her . . .

  I hated myself.

  If, by some miracle, she had forgiven me my horrendous words and actions, I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve her. I never would. Despite being brainwashed, she was pure. Too pure for this toxic city. But I didn’t know how much longer she’d stay that way, not with Mordecai gunning for her and Fae like me threatening her precarious position.

  Maybe I couldn’t personally protect her, but maybe my connections could. After my work shift this evening, I’d seek them out and plead my case. They had every cause to loathe Shapeshifters just as much as I did, but Reagan was different. Reagan was . . .

  Special.

  I blew out a breath and stood on trembling legs, shoveling the last of the precious bottles into the bag. The pills wouldn’t heal Haven, but they would help. Help. Reagan only wanted to help, to make a difference, and I hated that I’d be ripping away one more piece of her by asking the Fae to stop her attempts. But I couldn’t stand back and watch this city pick apart every good piece of her until there was nothing decent left, until she was shaped into—

  Gaia, I was such a jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d called her a “little Mordecai clone.” No wonder she’d attacked me. I touched the mark she’d left behind on my shoulder and winced. The spot was still sore, but I hadn’t healed the wound. I couldn’t. I wanted the memory. No. I needed the memory.

  The cost of getting close to me was scars.

  It was only fitting that I should bear some of them.

  —

  Rainy season was the worst.

  Not only did the whole city stink of wet dog most days—or shifter, more accurately—but the water dampened my mood. This evening was different, though. After my longest workday yet, I almost felt rejuvenated as the downpour plastered hair to my cheeks.

  I thought back to the day’s events, wondering what had changed my energy levels. I recalled how Jocelyn had said things would get easier, but I was certain she’d only been pacifying a disgruntled employee. No, something had happened. The only thing I could think of was the odd jolt I’d felt while handling the crystal before quitting time. I had picked up the green rock several times this past week without feeling anything, but as I’d hefted a rather large and sharp piece today, a current zapped me, like an electrical shock.

  Maybe the crystal had sliced a hole in the hazmat suit.

  At the time, I’d been too exhausted to care. But now . . . now I felt incredible, like I’d slept twelve hours straight—which never happened, not with Benji as a neighbor. Strangest of all though was the tingling at the base of my shoulder blades. Twin lines of incessant itching, right where my wings lay hidden. I had never felt such an intense burn before and wondered what they were up to.

  But I wouldn’t release them no matter how powerful the urge.

  I wasn’t that stupid.

  A few of my coworkers, including Holden, had agreed to help me with my Reagan problems. I hadn’t men
tioned her name, but they knew someone was in trouble and that was all they needed to hear.

  “We’ve got your back, Tarik. All you need to do is ask,” Holden had said without prying for details. The one thing my kind always did was look out for each other. My coworkers probably knew all about my sordid past, including my reputation at The Pit, but they didn’t seem to care. Wait until they caught wind I was trying to protect a shifter.

  The looks of utter shock would be epic.

  Currently, we were laughing about our newest guess as to what Jocelyn’s shifter form was. A spider. I mean, she was always in our hair and scuttling in and out of tight spaces. Fitting. But, if she morphed into a ten-foot-tall hairy arachnid, I’d never sleep again. I chuckled, envisioning eight high-heeled shoes on a spider that stumbled and tripped all over itself.

  So amused by the mental image, I almost missed the cry of pain.

  We were nearing the shifter warehouse district where The Pit resided. Cries of pain were common—male shifters liked beating each other up in the side alley. Stupid, testosterone-driven meatheads. I was about to tell the group to give the place a wide berth. We had much more important business, after all. Reagan’s life counted on this Fae meeting.

  But the cry came again, louder this time, and I paused.

  Something about the cadence sounded way too familiar. The noise wasn’t human but rather a shifter in animal form. A shifter in agony. The pain-filled roar that came next froze my blood.

  “Reagan,” I breathed. I lurched into action, bare feet slapping against wet concrete as I charged toward that accursed alley. The alley that had caused me endless guilt and suffering. And now . . . now it was happening again.

  Shouts followed my pounding footsteps but I didn’t look back. Didn’t dare. The lion cries were growing frantic and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but getting to her.

  You’re too late. Too late. Too late, the voice in my head jeered over and over.

  I’m not, I inwardly yelled. I couldn’t be. I couldn’t do this again. I wouldn’t survive.

  When I slid around that final corner and saw the great winged lion—pinned, shredded, bleeding, and surrounded by frenzied shifters—my heart stopped. A giant male—half man and half wolf—wrapped a clawed hand around her neck. Without hesitation, without mercy, his other fist crashed into her jaw.

  She mewled like a crushed kitten, then sagged, her large form shrinking until her petite human body fell to the ground. Naked. Broken. Alone.

  For a split second, long blonde tresses replaced blue and black hair. A thin willowy frame in place of curves covered in colorful tattoos. They were one and the same in that moment.

  Suffering.

  Dying.

  Because of me.

  Through my shock and rising panic, I became aware of bodies crowding in close. I didn’t take my eyes off Reagan’s crumpled form, so vulnerable next to the monsters intent on killing her. Had they succeeded? I shoved the thought aside. I couldn’t lose hope like that. Not yet.

  First, I needed to end these pieces of filth.

  “We’re with you,” Holden said at my elbow.

  I nodded, knowing they were. Every Fae knew this alley’s history. What had been done here. To her. To me. This alley was death, the destroyer of innocence and happiness.

  But I prayed my coworkers wouldn’t die tonight. I couldn’t have them on my conscience too.

  When a burly shifter kicked Reagan’s unconscious body, a roar shook the alley. Mine. Wrenched from my lungs. Twin stabs of pain lanced my shoulders as wings punched from my back, tearing my shirt in half. I stood, shaking, filled with white hot rage and . . . and something else. Something glorious. I was going to kill them.

  Kill them all.

  Knowing this would hurt but relishing the pain anyway, I spread my destroyed wings wide. A few Fae inhaled sharply, whether from the fact that I’d broken the city’s number one rule or from the sight of my damaged wings—I didn’t care. Nothing mattered right now but ridding the world of the evil before me. I caught a glimpse of my wing’s dark tattered remains as I pressed forward, shouting, “You vermin are going to pay for what you’ve done!”

  As one, the shifters turned, furious expressions quickly morphing to shock, then horror. Yes, that’s right. Fear the scarred Fae demon. I didn’t wait for them to speak. Splintering agony shot through my raw wing muscles as they gave a mighty flap, air whistling between the featherless joints. Then I hurtled toward them.

  I aimed for the one I recognized: Wolf Man, the shifter who had started me down this path of no return. The path that had brought me to Reagan. I barreled into his gut and lifted him off the ground, slamming him to the cracked cement. He groaned, and I rammed my fist into his mouth, dislodging teeth.

  Two more solid blows to the face and he was out. I didn’t waste time wondering how I, a lowly Fae, had knocked unconscious a half-shifted wolf man one hundred pounds heavier. My thoughts switched off as I twisted and whirled, raining blows upon any shifter I could get my hands on.

  My wings, still razor-sharp at the tips where a spattering of feathers clung, sliced through flesh. Men howled and screamed, and I grinned wickedly. The whole alley was a bloodbath and I reveled in the pain. Bathed in it. Shifter blood was sweet on my tongue. All too soon, the fight ended. A few of the shifters, including Wolf Man, slunk away. But even more lay dead at my feet.

  I blinked, clearing away some of the red haze. Our feet, actually. My fellow Fae were still with me. They hadn’t dared release their wings, and a few had injuries, but none of them were dead. Once again, I pushed the shocking revelation to the recesses of my mind and searched the gore-covered ground.

  There.

  Reagan still lay where she’d fallen.

  I couldn’t tell if she was breathing and my heart twisted.

  I was afraid to check. If she was dead, I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t . . .

  With a heavy tread, my wings scraping the ground behind me, I approached. Carefully knelt beside her. After inhaling a shaky breath, I touched her neck. Thump. Thump-thump.

  Her pulse fluttered under my fingers and a rush of sweet relief coursed through my veins. I loosed a strangled exhale. Not caring if the other Fae saw, not caring what they thought, I gathered her into my arms and rose, cradling her to me as if she were fragile glass.

  Holden said something about hiding my wings, but all I could manage in return was a quick warning for them to get out of here. Then I was walking, not once taking my eyes off Reagan’s face. A face marred with cuts and bruises.

  “I’ve got you,” I whispered down at her, knowing she couldn’t hear me yet needing to reassure her anyway. “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.”

  The entire way back to my apartment, I stared at the delicate vein in her neck that continued pumping, letting me know she was still alive. I knew, at some point, I was going to crash. The emotions flooding my body were too intense, too raw and real, and I could barely contain them. But I held them in, suppressed them so I could get her to safety.

  I saved her. I saved her. I saved her.

  My inner demon, normally so cynical, remained silent.

  As I kicked open my apartment door, I lost track of her pulse. Panic flooded me. But then she twitched, eliciting a small moan, and I could breathe again. Ever so carefully, I placed her on my bed, grimacing when her right arm and left leg wouldn’t lay straight. Definitely broken.

  She didn’t utter a sound as I climbed onto the mattress next to her and gently laid my palm over her heart tattoo, beginning the healing process. I didn’t know how much energy I still possessed after that fight, but I’d use up every single drop of magic on her. Long, agonizing minutes later, her limbs finally straightened, snapping back into place.

  My magic should have been sapped at that point, but more streamed from my veins and into hers. Halfway through, as I was starting in on the cuts and bruises, she groaned. I froze, hand still splayed over her heart. Her lashes fluttered and, as h
er eyes cracked open, I did nothing but stare.

  She blinked at me, a line forming between her brows. And, even when her gaze ran down my bare shoulder to the hand that rested over her heart, I didn’t move.

  “Tarik?” Her voice was weak, tired. Her gaze flicked to where my wings were spread out behind me. “Oh. They’re beautiful.”

  A million emotions jolted through me at that word. I sawed in a breath, the action tightening my chest. “You almost died. I suppose anything would look beautiful right about now.”

  “I did?” Confusion pinched her expression. “Everything’s a touch foggy. But truly, you should release them more. You remind me of an angel. A dark angel, maybe . . . but I mean it. They’re beautiful.”

  I gaped, completely dumbstruck. My heart couldn’t take much more of this. And did she forget Fae weren’t permitted to expose their wings? Maybe she’d suffered a concussion. I allowed my magic to thread toward her brain, double-checking for damage, but she was fine. A swallow lodged in my throat. “Uh . . .” I raised two trembling fingers. “How many fingers do you see?”

  She chuckled softly. “Seven. You should get that checked.”

  I cracked a smile, relieved beyond measure that she was joking with me. Maybe she didn’t hate me then. Or maybe she was simply grateful to be alive, and as soon as she was better, she’d remember all the vile things I’d said and done to her. I slid my hand off her chest and reached for my blanket, covering her naked form. I didn’t need her making jokes about that next.

  Now that she was awake and becoming more aware, her gaze strayed to my apartment, taking in the water stains, peeling plaster, and overall lack of decor. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but a splotch of heat crept up my neck anyway. Careful not to jostle her body, I rose from the bed, angling my wings so they were less visible to her probing eyes. “You should, uh, get some sleep. You won’t be able to patrol tonight, not with the condition you’re in.”

  “Tarik—” Reagan adjusted herself so she could meet my eyes more directly. “I—You’re right, you know. About Mordecai. And I . . . You’re right. But please. Please, don’t go to work in the morning. There are things I need to tell you, things you need to know. Hear me out before you go back again.”