by Lauren Dawes
As soon as he hung up, he stalked back to me.
“I’ve called in the bomb squad.”
“The bomb squad?” I looked back at my truck, then at him again. “There’s a bomb under my truck?”
“Yes. Clearly, it didn’t detonate, but yes.”
“Holy shit.” I shook my head, my heart pounding. “Someone is trying to kill me. Not a new occurrence, obviously, but at least do it to my face. Damn.”
“It must be Kailon who’s done this. Maybe he sent the demi-fae in as bait, then tampered with your truck while you were… we all were… distracted.”
“I just don’t understand it. Why wouldn’t he just go the easy route and choke the air out of my body instead?”
“Kailon takes pleasure in psychological warfare. Hey, it’s okay.”
I jerked my head around. “I’m fine,” I ground out.
Sawyer wrapped his heavy, warm arms around me, pulling me close. “Are you sure about that? You’re shaking.”
And he was right. My whole body was vibrating violently. I guess I wasn’t as badass as I thought I was when it came to surviving murder attempts. I buried my face into his neck, breathing in his chocolate and whisky scent like it could save me.
“Why don’t you go back into the restaurant and sit down while I wait out here?” he suggested, talking into the top of my head. “Go on.” Unwrapping his arms, he gave me a little shove, and top points to Sawyer for not escorting me there himself. He knew I needed to keep some dignity in all this.
In a daze, I walked back to the diner and pushed inside. The place was empty now, and I grimaced at their loss of business, all thanks to me. One of the waitresses glanced over at me as I stopped at the counter.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied, swallowing. “Just needed to sit down for a little while.” I gestured to my stitched-up face.
“Of course. Would you like something to drink? Some water perhaps?”
“Sure. That’d be great.”
She hurried off to get me some H2O, and I slumped into one of the booths that looked out over the parking lot. Sawyer was pacing near his bike, his head bent as if he was glowering at the asphalt for simply being there. The lights of the lot bathed him in a sort of yellow light, a warm buttercup yellow that gilt his cheekbones and strong nose, his square jaw and brow. He was a gorgeous male, and because I knew what he could do with his body—how he could make me feel with his body—it was all the more reason to stay away.
He made me feel too good.
Like an addiction.
So distance was good.
That was the real reason I went out on a date with Mason. Mason didn’t have all the entanglements attached to him. He didn’t have any pussy-soaking whammy powers. He didn’t have the ability to tear down my sexual self-control with a single molten look.
He simply wasn’t Sawyer…
… and that was the crux of the issue.
“Argh.” I kicked my legs out under the table and crossed my arms. Of course, Mason wasn’t Sawyer, but I didn’t want Sawyer—not really—not in the ways that counted. Yes, okay, the sex was ah-mazing, but sex a relationship does not make. I needed someone who would be there all the time, not ducking out to feed on the lust of some woman down the hall—or worse, fucking the woman down the hall.
I needed stability.
I needed someone normal.
I needed human.
My head jerked around when someone touched me on the shoulder. It was the waitress. I looked at her name tag. Phyllis.
“Some water,” she said, putting the cup down onto the table.
“Thank you.”
She pursed her lips as she looked me over. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re awfully pale.”
“Someone just tried to blow up my truck,” I told her in a hollow voice. “That was after someone tried to kill me in the bathroom.”
I wasn’t going for the shock and awe effect, but it seemed my whole life was a battlefield of ducking knives in the back and dodging bullets. I sighed. “Thanks for the water.”
Phyllis bobbed her head. “Give me a yell if you need anything else.”
A life where I wasn’t on everyone’s favorite hitman’s radar! I wanted to scream, but I kept that to myself.
I’d done enough to ruin Phyllis’s night.
I highly doubted that Kailon would be the last supernatural to try and kill me, and didn’t that thought just fill me with delight. Maybe I needed to be a little more proactive in trying to figure out the why of it. Clearly, I attracted the notice of supes—and maybe not for the reasons I thought. Maybe they were drawn to me for another reason.
I’d been told that my father and mother were from two of the strongest bloodlines in the fanatical supernatural killing group, Rogue Faction. Which made me a culmination of those bloodlines, but what I wanted to know was how I played into all that. I barely knew a thing about the organization since my parents lied to me and said they were only archeologists. The only thing they had provided me with was the black opal necklace dangling between my collarbones.
I had to figure out who and what Rogue Faction were and what my opal had to do with it all. The stone had remained cold while the demi-fae was in my presence. Why? Why was it play-acting at being a piece of jewelry when any other time it would heat up, pulse or glow like a freaking Christmas tree if there was magic being used, or I was in danger? Maybe Kseniya—the witch who’d stolen it from me—had tampered with it in some way.
I clutched at the stone.
Someone had to know the answers to all these questions, and there was only one person I could think to ask—Mrs. Brown.
But the woman who had practically raised me, the woman who I’d found out was a Brownie, was missing. I’d gone to the Palatial where she worked as the night-shift manager and been told she was on vacation. When I asked for how long, they’d said she didn’t say. I found it odd that she’d take off not long after we were reunited. She said she’d answer all my questions. She said she’d help.
Now, I had no idea where to go to get that information.
I sat up a little straighter in the booth when I saw a white van roll into the parking lot. The chassis was a Ford E-450 Cutaway with a dry van body. On the side were the words ‘Buxton Bomb Squad,’ just in case someone didn’t know. The vehicle pulled to a stop about twenty feet from my truck-turned-murder-machine, and a man got out.
Taking a sip of water, I swallowed like it could give me courage, then got up too. When I pushed my way outside, the cold air slapped me in the face, helping to drag away some of the stupor still squatting in my body.
Sawyer clapped palms with the guy like they knew each other, but their expressions were pinched.
“How are you, Taylor?” the bomb squad guy asked.
“I’m all right, Lecky. How are you?”
Lecky shrugged. “Can’t complain.” Gesturing to my truck with his chin, he asked, “What happened?”
“It’s my partner’s brand new truck. She got in, turned the ignition and heard a clicking sound.”
Lecky whistled. “Damn. She’s lucky it didn’t detonate if it is a bomb like you said.”
Sawyer noticed me standing there and waved me forward. Stumbling toward them, I eyed my truck like it was going to explode on me anyway, just to spite me. Breathing shallowly through my mouth, I clutched my opal and refocused on Sawyer.
“Is this your vehicle, ma’am?” Lecky asked in a business-like tone, although I did notice his eyes darting up to the bandage on my hairline, then away again.
“Yes.”
“Are the keys still in the ignition?”
I nodded, startling when I felt Sawyer’s fingers brush the base of my spine, his hand settling there.
“Why don’t you and Sawyer stand over near my van while I assess what we’re dealing with here.”
“How can he be so calm?” I hissed quietly as we walked away.
“It’s his job, pussy cat. Let
him do it, then we can get you home.”
Four
Sawyer and I arrived back at the apartment a little after midnight. My truck hadn’t exploded. The bomb had been removed and disposed of, and Sawyer hadn’t stopped running a critical eye over me since then.
“I guess this’ll teach me to go out on a school night,” I said with a yawn.
“Can I get you anything? Some tea?”
I made a face and he laughed. “All right, no tea, but also no coffee for you at this time of night.” His chastisement was gentle, and I knew he was right. If I added caffeine to my bloodstream right now, things would go south, but I was already planning on not sleeping, so it wasn’t like it mattered.
“Why don’t you take a hot shower, then come back out when you’re ready. I can’t imagine you’re in any mood to sleep right now.”
“Yeah, two assassination attempts in one night is a little above average for me.” Turning, I trudged into my room, shutting the door with my foot behind me. Shucking my shoes and socks, my feet sunk into the plush carpet. Next to come off was my jeans and jacket, then my shirt. In the bathroom, I flipped the lock just in case Sawyer decided he needed to be in here with me too, then started the shower.
Before I stepped foot inside, I leaned over and peered down the drain in the center of the stall. Two weeks ago—I was starting to sense a theme—a Grindylow had crawled up out of the drain with a warning. Ever since then, I checked the damn thing because here’s what I’ve learned about the supernatural world.
It’s scary AF.
Like, every conceivable monster you can think of, exists. I’d already met some of them, and I wasn’t foolish enough to think that working for PIG was going to make me immune to their horrors.
When I was sure nothing green and tentacle-y was going to crawl out of the drain, I got under the spray, letting the water slick over my hair and sluice off the general ickiness of the day. Forgetting about my stitches, I ran my fingers over my hair and yelped when I got a stab of pain.
“Cat, is everything okay?” Sawyer called through the door.
“Yeah,” I yelled back frantically, covering my breasts with my arm. “Everything is fine.”
I waited for some sort of retort that never came. When I was sure he was gone, I finished my shower and stepped out, wrapping one big fluffy towel around my body and rubbing another through my hair. With my forearm, I wiped the steam from the mirror and blinked at my reflection. Bruising was already starting around the perimeter of the bandage, dark blues and purples creeping up to my hairline on either side of the stitches.
Jesus, I was a mess. It seemed like I couldn’t go a week without getting attacked by something. Last week, it had been pixies. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Pixies are cute little things. WRONG! They’re vicious creatures with razor-sharp teeth and an appetite for toes.
Sawyer and I had gone to investigate a report made by a bowling alley owner. She said she’d called the police to report that her customers were complaining of bites on their toes after their shoe hire, but they hadn’t believed her. Then, she’d called PIG, and we swooped to the rescue.
After trying to flush the little bastards out of the shoe racks and behind the machinery for the lanes, I was lucky to walk away with all my toes still attached. The same couldn’t be said for the owner, who lost her little toe in one last-ditch effort by the gang of pixies.
Making sure I was completely dry, I brushed out my hair, tied it into a knot at the top of my head, then got changed into my pajamas. Tonight’s selection was a flannelette number with unicorns carrying trick-or-treating buckets in their mouths because candy collection from strangers was always a winner in my book.
When I pulled open the bedroom door, the scent of popcorn wafted in the air, and my stomach rumbled. Clutching my hand over my abdomen, I tried to remember if I got to finish my pie at the diner and realized I probably hadn’t. Following that delicious smell of butter and salt, I found Sawyer on the couch, blankets piled high around him. His Netflix home screen was on the TV with his selection of…
“Historical romance? What the eff, Sawyer?” I plopped down onto the couch beside him and gestured to the screen. “Since when do you like historical romance?”
“Since I lived it,” he replied dryly.
Sawyer was born in the 1860s, so that was a legitimate claim. “Okay, so what are we going to watch?”
He selected a series that featured a fresh-face young woman who was the eldest daughter of her family, learning to navigate the London marriage market all the while looking for true love along the way. The guy she would totally marry in the end—called it!—was a fine specimen of a man with short, dark, curly hair, chocolate skin, and dreamy dark eyes.
“Feel free to wear those breeches anytime you like, Sawyer,” I told him, snuggling under one of the blankets. It had unicorns on it, naturally.
He chuckled, the sound of his delight working through me like a balm. I doubted many people got to see this side of Sawyer—this playful side. He was known for his intensity, but once you made it into his inner circle, he showed all the different facets of himself.
For example, the blanket currently draped over me? He surprised me with it a few days ago. He said I needed to be surrounded by what made me happy, and unicorns were what made me happy.
“I think I might still have a pair somewhere.”
I sat up, the blanket falling off me. “Please tell me you do.”
He arched a brow. “I didn’t think that would do it for you, McKenzie.”
I figured anything to do with Sawyer, would do it for me, but I didn’t say that to him. Settling back into the couch cushion, I draped my kick-ass unicorn blanket back over myself and watched the young Victorian-esque woman on the screen fumble her way through love.
I reached for my opal on impulse, running the pad of my thumb over the smooth surface of the rare black stone. Unlike with Kseniya Chernov and her band of merry monsters, it hadn’t reacted to the demi-fae at all. I’d become used to the stone giving me a warning of impending death—I just hadn’t realized how much I’d come to rely on it.
“What are you thinking about, pussy cat?”
I glanced at Sawyer. His intense gaze was fixed on me, not the screen. Releasing the opal, I sat a little straighter and told him.
“Nothing?” he asked. “Not even while you were being attacked?”
I shook my head. “Or before it. I got nothing. No warning whatsoever.”
He furrowed his brow. “Has it ever done that before? What about with Kailon?”
Twisting, I turned my body toward him. Fuck, he was a gorgeous man. Shaking my head to clear my lusty thoughts, I said, “Nothing. No heat. No glow. It’s the first time it’s not reacted to a supernatural being or a power being used… whether I’m the target or not.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. “I wonder…”
I never found out what he was wondering as my phone started to ring.
I looked at the device balanced on the arm of the chair.
Then I looked at Sawyer, who shrugged and made a motion for me to pick it up.
It was edging into way-past-midnight territory now and nothing good ever came from picking up a phone this late.
“Hello?” I answered.
Static filled the line, a buzz of white noise that peaked every so often.
“Hello?” I asked again. Pulling the phone from my ear, I hit the loud speaker button and let Sawyer listen in too. “Hello?”
“Hello?” came the soft reply. “Is this Catherine McKenzie?”
I shivered. “Yes?”
“My name is…” more of that static, so loud this time that I missed the first few words, “… speak with you.”
“I’m sorry, you cut out. What did you say your name was?”
“My name is… Queen of the… Court.”
I flashed a look at Sawyer, whose brows were drawn tight.
“Can you repeat that? There’s a lot of static on the line.
”
“Astri—” the woman said. “… Seelie Queen.”
The phone fell from my hand, landing face down in my lap. I looked at Sawyer, hoping to God he knew what to do because I’d heard this name before. I’d heard this title—from Kailon.
Flipping the phone over, I asked in a shaky voice, “You’re the actual queen of Wonderland?”
“Not currently…” static, “… is reigning at the moment.”
“Avi? It’s Avi’s turn?” I asked loudly because somehow talking more loudly will cut through static. Jesus.
“Ye—” Again, her words were cut off.
I let out a breath. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to do about it.”
“I need your…” static, “… help.”
Automatically, like a Pavlovian response, I began to shake my head. There was no way I was helping the fae. “Sorry, your majesty, but I have no interest in getting tangled up in fae politics.” I hung up before she could speak again and tossed my phone gently across the other side of the room.
Sawyer raised his brows questioningly. “Was that necessary?”
“Look, it was either that or stuffing it into the freezer, and I’m too lazy to get up right now. I don’t want to be getting involved in fae business.”
“I think that might be the first smart thing you’ve said,” he replied.
Digging my hand into the bowl of popcorn, I tossed some kernels into my mouth and chewed. “I did the right thing, right?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied in a measured tone. “Receiving a phone call from the Seelie Queen of Spring and Summer isn’t something I know how to navigate.”
“Oh, so you’ve never had the privilege?” I deadpanned. “Why did she call me, though? Surely there are other people who can help her better than me.”
His eyes darted down to my opal. “Perhaps not.”
Five
It had been an hour since Sawyer had bid me goodnight and gone to bed. Me? I still couldn’t sleep, and figured I wouldn’t any time soon. The phone call from Astrid had rattled me. Sawyer’s comment about my opal rattled me even more. Before he went to the land of ZZZs, Sawyer told me about his library, which was tucked away in his office. I hadn’t ever realized he’d had an office, and considering I’d been living with him for almost a month, that was pretty sad.
