I trailed behind them over the damp, cobbled road, moving silently. A light rain misted over my skin, curling my lavender hair.
Quickening my pace, I drew the hawthorn stakes from my hair, holding one in each hand like a pair of daggers. My pulse raced, heart quickening with the thrill of the hunt. I had them in my sights, and I wasn’t letting them get anywhere.
When I’d come up behind them, I crooned, “Hey, vamps.”
They whirled, and I slammed my stakes into their hearts. And just like that, the fight was over.
Baleros’s sixth law of power: Crush your enemies mercilessly.
Their eyes went wide, but within seconds, they had crumbled to piles of ash on the pavement. Rain dampened their blackened remains.
I pulled my stakes from the ash and wiped them off with a tissue from my bag. As I did, I lifted my eyes to the medieval fortress before me. Once, it had simply been known as the Tower of London. Now, people called it the Institute. It was the one place the spell-slayers hadn’t outlawed magic. Even from here, I could see its walls and towers brimming with sorcery. Pale blue light streamed from the stony spires into the skies, and a moat of golden light surrounded the entire structure.
The spell-slayers claimed they’d outlawed magic to keep the peace. They said that the apocalyptic wars twenty years ago—the ones between angels, fae, and demons—were forever at risk of erupting again. They said all supernaturals should remain segregated and locked in magical realms. Apparently, only the fae nobility were capable and worthy of remaining neutral among the human world. Everyone else was an animal, you see.
But I knew how the spell-slayers really thought. Magic was power, and they wanted it all for themselves. I hated them with an intensity that rivaled the brilliance of their gleaming spires.
I turned, walking back to the Spread Eagle. As I did, I tucked the hawthorn stakes back into my hair. I’d rid myself of that threat quickly enough. So why did I still feel that eerie sense of dread hanging over me?
When I slipped back into the bar, I found that another grim hush had overtaken the place, and my heart started to race.
I scanned the room until I figured out why.
When my gaze landed on a fae male in the corner, my blood began roaring in my ears.
I glimpsed a sweep of black hair under his cowl. The neon lights of the bar flashed over olive skin and vibrant green eyes. His broad shoulders took up half the booth, and an opening in his cloak revealed leather armor underneath. I had no doubt that every inch of his body was muscled and strapped with weapons. He held himself with a preternatural stillness, gazing at me like a snake about to strike. My stomach dropped.
Fae nobility, and a spell-slayer. Like so many of his kind, he was shockingly beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Under his stare, I felt uncharacteristically self-conscious in my bargain-basement miniskirt that was just a little too short. Of course, spell-slayers like him wanted everyone else to feel like crap. They lived to dominate and terrify. They’d mastered messing with people’s heads.
And right now, I was certain he’d come for me, even if I’d tried to be careful.
If I turned and ran now, it would confirm my guilt, and he’d be after me instantly.
My gaze slid to the bar, where Ciara was trying to act natural, although her hands were shaking as she pulled a pint.
Rufus, our boss, now stood by her side. The presence of the spell-slayers had unnerved him, too, and I could see sweat droplets beading at the edges of his graying hair. Ciara and Rufus weren’t even supernaturals, and the slayer still scared the crap out of them.
Rufus met my gaze, his eyes flicking wide open. The strained look on his face said, Get the hell over here. Now.
Swallowing hard, I crossed to him. I watched as he pulled our most expensive bottle of wine—which, let’s be honest, was something he’d picked up from Tesco, simply labeled French Red Wine. Staring across the bar at the spell-slayer, he poured a glass.
I cast a quick glance at myself in the mirror behind Rufus. Straight eyebrows, high cheekbones, amber eyes. The only thing that might have marked me as a supernatural was the pale lavender shade of my hair, but plenty of humans dyed their hair bright colors these days. My fae canines and pointed ears only emerged when I thought my life was in danger, which didn’t happen often. In other words, I could pass for human. Maybe he’d come for the vampires, instead?
“Take these over to him,” whispered Rufus. “Tell him it’s our best wine. Tell him it’s on the house. Tell him we’ll give him money. Tell him—” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “You didn’t happen to see anything unusual tonight, did you?” He was still pouring the wine, and it spilled over the rim, pooling on the bar like blood.
I loosed a long sigh. I often found Rufus staring at the blank walls in his office, listlessly licking his yogurt spoon over and over. I honestly had no idea how someone like him had survived the apocalypse at all.
“Nothing unusual.” I gently took the bottle from his hand. Might as well not give the guy a complete heart attack.
“Don’t look him in the eyes,” Rufus hissed, his eyes wide.
My gaze flicked back to the spell-slayer, and my stomach leapt as I realized his eyes were still on me. My throat went dry. There was no way in hell I was bringing him wine.
I was quickly realizing there was no way out of this situation without fighting a spell-slayer. And I knew only too well how vicious they could be.
“Actually, Rufus … I’m not feeling so well.”
“You what?” He sounded incredulous.
“Lady stuff.”
“Oh.” He fell silent. Apparently, that topic was more terrifying than the spell slayer.
“Gotta run. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I cast a quick glance at Ciara as I headed for the door. She was the only one around who knew I was a demi-fae. Baleros—my former gladiator master—had once assigned her to tend to my wounds between matches in the arena. Ciara and I had slept in the same cage for years. She knew my dreams and my nightmares. She knew why the scent of roses made me sick. She knew almost everything about me.
Almost.
As soon as I’d slipped outside into the damp air, I shoved my hand into my bug-out bag, rummaging around until I found my iron knife, sheathed in leather. I hated having to use iron. It was poisonous to fae like me, but it was the only way to hurt a spell-slayer.
Then, I pulled out my mobile and called Ciara.
“Arianna,” she answered immediately, whispering into the phone. “He’s still here. And now there’s another one, with violet eyes. I’ve heard of him. He’s the one they call the Wraith. He moves like wind in the night and slaughters silently in the shadows. I think he’s the Devil himself.”
“Very reassuring, thanks.” She was always saying weird shit about the Devil. Pretty sure it was an American thing. Whatever the case, this was not wonderful news. “Just tell me when they’re leaving.”
“The Devil wears many faces,” she hissed.
“I know. Just simmer down, friend. Look, I might have to fight them both. Just text me when they leave.”
“Wait. Wait. If you make it home alive, put cat pee in front of your door, mixed with old cabbage.”
“Is that supposed to ward off fae nobility?”
“Dunno, but Aunt Starlene put it outside our trailer to keep the police away after she threw an alligator at someone in a McDonald’s parking lot. And she set bear traps.” She scratched her cheek. “Also, she might have shot them, so … that could have actually been the part that kept them out of our trailer.”
“Thanks, Ciara. Gotta go.” I shoved my mobile back in my pocket.
Dread bloomed in my chest.
Baleros’s ninth law of power: Don’t attack unless you’re certain you can win.
I’d been trained by a spell-slayer. I knew how they fought.
As a gladiator, I’d often fought multiple opponents at once, taking them out within minutes. I had been the only female gladiator, and my stage name
had been the Amazon Terror. The amount of blood I’d spilled had been more than enough to appease the crowds, and Baleros, because he was a complete prick, had fashioned special armor that emphasized my boobs. I’d been quite the attraction.
But spell-slayers were different than anyone I’d fought in the arena. They were ancient, disciplined, with centuries of exquisite training far beyond my own. My chances of winning in a fight against two of them were a little lower than my chances of sprouting wings and flying off to freedom. Before I flung my knife at them, I’d wait to see if they attacked first.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out to read the text.
They’re leaving.
Adrenaline raced through my blood, and I dodged into an alleyway. It’s not like I could really hide, though. Fae trackers like them would be able to smell me.
I quickened my pace, but I’d only gone a few steps before the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I could feel them watching me, and my pulse started racing out of control. A cold sweat dampened my brow.
How had they gotten here so fast?
I gripped the hilt of the knife hard, and I whirled.
A pit opened in my stomach at the sight of two cloaked spell-slayers standing just behind me. Frigid panic rippled up my spine.
Chapter 3
The green-eyed one from the bar stepped closer, his gaze flicking up and down my body, as if he were assessing my worth. I felt goosebumps rise on my skin.
But it was the other one who stopped my heart. Menacing shadows curled off him, like smoke from a funeral pyre. He was taller than the other, his shoulders broad and no doubt thickly muscled under his cloak. He gripped a dagger, red with blood that dripped onto the pavement. Drops of blood glistened on his cloak. Darkness breathed around him like a living thing, and I held my breath.
It was hard to look at him—the more I focused my eyes, the less distinct he seemed. The most salient thing about him was his piercing, violet eyes, which raised the hair on the back of my neck.
I took a step back. His magic was powerful—and unusual for a fae.
As they stared at me, I was mentally calculating the chances of taking them both on. It wasn’t good, and worse, even if I managed to survive, it would mean the end of my life as I knew it. A fugitive permanently on the run from the spell-slayers.
“Hello, gents.” I aimed for a casual tone, but it came out sounding strained.
“Hello, Arianna,” said the one with green eyes.
My heart skipped a beat. He knew my name.
I licked my lips. “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”
“Aengus, Knight of the Shadow Fae.”
The other one—the Wraith—said nothing.
Don’t attack unless you’re certain you can win.
The Wraith shifted, and I lost sight of him until he reappeared on the opposite side of Aengus. For a moment, the wind picked up his cowl, and I caught a better view of his eyes. His gaze held no emotion, just a cold detachment. And yet somehow, his glare slid through my bones. I felt like a pinned butterfly under his stare, completely helpless.
He shifted again, appearing on the other side of Aengus once more, before going completely still. Eerily still.
Whoever he was, he moved with a lethal, otherworldly grace. A shiver danced up my spine. He’d come out tonight for one reason and one reason only: to kill.
The Wraith’s unnerving stillness ignited the most ancient parts of my brain with primal fear. Even if I couldn’t see his face, his lethality was apparent. For the first time in years, real terror clenched my chest. I gripped my iron knife tighter.
I didn’t see him coming, didn’t catch the tensing of muscles that normally signaled an oncoming attack. Just the whoosh of wind, a blur of black, and the Wraith slammed my wrist against the brick wall behind me. The force felt like he’d cracked my bones, and I dropped the knife. He kicked it away, and it spun off down the alleyway.
So. This was going well so far.
The Wraith flickered away from me again, now behind Aengus.
Bollocks. The other knives were packed deep within my bug-out bag, and now all I had access to were the hawthorn stakes in my hair. Hawthorn wouldn’t kill them, but jammed in the right places, it would certainly slow them down. In the future, I’d be strapping iron knives all over myself.
Assuming I got out of here alive.
Aengus stared at me. “Arianna,” he said. “You’re a demi-fae. You’re supposed to be in a fae realm, but you’re not. You should have submitted to our laws long ago. Do you know what we do to outlaws like you?”
My blood ran cold. “What makes you say that I’m fae?” I asked.
“We can smell our kind.” Aengus’s brow furrowed. “If you can be considered our kind at all. Your fae scent isn’t noble, even if it is alluring.”
My entire body had gone rigid with tension, and I reviewed all my combat lessons in hyper-speed. “Two on one isn’t really a fair fight, is it?”
A half-smile curled Aengus’s beautiful lips. “Who said anything about fairness?”
That was all the warning I got before he lunged for me. In the next moment, his hand was around my neck, but I slammed my forearm into his, knocking his hand off my throat.
Baleros’s fourth law of power: Always anticipate your enemy’s actions.
My gaze darted to the Wraith, and I realized I had absolutely no idea how to predict his actions, because what the hell?
But Aengus was clearer. By the tensing of his muscles, I knew he was about to strike again.
He swung for me. Despite his speed, I managed to catch his fist in my palm. I twisted his arm, then gripped him by the back of his hair, driving his face down hard into my knee. Crack.
Crush your enemies completely.
I yanked out a stake, ready to plunge it into his back, but he was up again within moments.
Unusually strong, even for a fae.
His fist slammed me hard in the jaw, dizzying me. It had been a long time since I’d taken a hard hit, and I was out of practice.
Still, I recovered fast enough. Before he got the chance to hit me again, I thrust my stake hard into his neck. Blood spurted. It wasn’t iron, so it wouldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.
I pulled the second stake from my hair, ready to take on the Wraith.
Except—he wasn’t there anymore. I didn’t even see him moving for me, I just felt the force of his body twisting my arm, spinning me in the other direction. He slammed me into the wall of the alley. The cold stone bit into my cheek. He had me completely pinned, his powerful body pressing against mine. Before, I’d sensed something like indifference from him. Now, given the ferocity of his grip, it was a little more like cold-blooded wrath. Firm muscles pressed against me, completely rooting me in place.
I wasn’t used to anyone being able to dominate me, and hot fury—mixed with fear—gripped me. Maybe the Wraith really was the Devil himself.
This was it. Baleros had no rule to describe this situation, because I was never supposed to let myself get pinned like this in the first place. My mind raced wildly as I waited for the pain that would usher me into the afterlife.
But instead of an iron blade severing my jugular, I felt the searing pain of magic at the nape of my neck.
Then, the force of his body disappeared.
When I whirled around again, both fae were gone. I stared only at the shadowy, cobbled street. I put my hand to my heart, catching my breath. And as I did, I realized I was clutching a piece of paper. I wasn’t even clear how I’d gotten the paper, but as I unfolded it—with shaking hands—I found a note inscribed in unexpectedly feminine looping letters.
We will return for you. You will join the Shadow Fae, or you will die on the execution block.
What in the name of seven hells?
Exhaustion burned through me. They’d left me alive, and I’d survived the fight—but I had no idea why. Fear scratched at the back of my mind. Somehow, the myste
ry of whatever they had planned for me was more unnerving than the idea of death itself.
I crossed out of the alleyway, shaking all over.
The sight of the Institute’s blazing spires sent a shiver of admiration up my spine. I hated my reaction to the place. It was a symbol of oppression, of domination and conquest, and I couldn’t help but be awed by the vibrant display of magic.
And now—for reasons I couldn’t fathom—they wanted me to join them behind its walls.
Chapter 4
I woke curled in a ball on top of a pile of laundry and lollipop wrappers, certain I’d just snapped out of a terrible nightmare. It was still night, and a quick glance at my phone told me I’d only been asleep for a half hour. In fact, I was still wearing my rumpled miniskirt.
I rubbed my eyes, flicking on my phone’s light.
It took me nearly a full minute to remember what had happened earlier, and then it all came crashing down on me like a storm wave. The vampires, the spell-slayers. The disturbing and unfamiliar feeling of being helpless, my body pinned against a wall. The threat that I could either join them or die.
Something about the night—maybe the magical spell they’d applied to my neck—had exhausted me so much that I’d just collapsed as soon as I’d returned home to my East London shithole, completely disoriented.
I scurried over to my bug-out bag, rifling through my last medical supplies and road flares until I found an iron knife with a leather sheath. I strapped the sheath around my thigh.
Now, adrenaline pumped in my veins, and I yanked open the door, heading for the communal bathroom. Rufus didn’t pay me much, and until I saved up, I was squatting with ten other people in an abandoned apartment.
I shared the bathroom with all my house-mates, including a fifty-year-old man who called himself Uncle Darrell and a woman who permanently wore a bathing cap and asked anyone within earshot if she could borrow hand lotion. I donated a bottle to her at least once a week, though I’d rather pull out my own teeth than learn what she did with it.
Institute of the Shadow Fae Box Set Page 2
