City of Shadows
Authors: Pippa DaCosta
Contents
I crept into the mouth of the alley. My heart pounded hard against my ribs, until the sight of my target weighed it down with dread. I was too late.
The fae I'd followed cradled his victim's lower back with one hand, pulling her against him. The other hand was splayed against her pale face. The wind whipped his suit jacket back, revealing his deceptively lean figure, and swept his dark bangs into his eyes. Those tricolored eyes sparkled in the alley's half-light, and his lips pulled into a shallow smile. Like most fae, his catalogue-model looks were all part of the seduction. Dreadfully beautiful, he barely moved at all, just held her still. Held her close. The woman looked up at him, devotion widening her innocent eyes.
Bespellment
.
I'd only been seconds behind them. Seconds that could have saved her.
Fear trilled through me, chased by something darker, hungrier. A memory hitched in my thoughtsâa moment such as this one; a life in my hands, and with it came the terrible desire for more.
I inched forward.
The persistent wind pushed at my back, carrying with it snippets of laughter and catcalls from nearby bars.
Another step and the wind suddenly dropped, allowing a dense quiet to settle. Tension crackled across my skin, a sense of time slipping through my fingers. I was too late to save her, but I could stop him from harming others.
“
Hey!” My fingers twitched, seeking the daggers strapped between my shoulder blades. I could reach back and slide them free, but I didn't want this to escalate, for the girl's sake. The fae wasn't the most dangerous thing in the alley.
“Let her go!” My shouts echoed. “She didn't want this.”
He pulled his gaze away from his victim's, and for a few seconds confusion muddied his face. He saw only a silly American girl. Who was I to stop someoneâsome
thing
âlike him? He didn't know
what
I was, or that my ordinary appearance was camouflage.
His flat smile grew and opportunity gleamed in his eyes. He shoved the girl to the ground and bolted right for me. I fumbled over my shoulders for my daggers, grasping for the handles, but my fingertips slipped over their smooth surface, and he tackled me around the waist, slamming me against a wall. Breath whooshed out of my lungs, my head smacked against brick and needles of pain sparked around my skull. He bit meâsunk his vicious little pearly teeth through my jacket into my shoulder and crunched down. I let out a cry and, not for the first time, wished I'd listened to Reign.
He was right
â
I'm not ready.
The fae recoiled with a snarl. His upper lip curled. “You're not even real.” He swept a hand across his mouth and spat to the side.
I would have replied with something clever and kneed him in the balls, but the pounding in my head throbbed louder with every wheezing breath. It wasn't just the pain. I wanted to lash out, but I knew it wouldn't stop there. I wasn't even sure if I could be stopped once the quiet, hungry part of me broke free.
He smiled a salacious smile. “Are you fae?” He pushed off me while running his appraising gaze down my body. “You're weak.” His eyes narrowed. “I think you need her more than I do.”
His
senses were probably telling him that something about me didn't add up. Clearly, I wasn't just another silly girl, but I didn't look fae, so what the hell was I? He added a small, disbelieving laugh, but I got the impression that laugh was more for his own sake, especially when I caught his hesitation.
“I'm not like you.” I reached over my left shoulder and plucked a dagger free. “You were right with your first guess. I'm not real.”
Recognition flashed in his eyes. He was catching up. He snarled and staggered back a few steps. “No, you're not fae. You're worse.” He kept his gaze trained on me. Those beautiful eyes were filled with promises; the kind that killed, but now they also held a tight glimmer of fear.
He slid his gaze away toward the main street, and keeping me in the corner of his vision, he hurried away. If it wasn't for the pounding in my head, I'd have chased him down. But Reign's warning, and my own rattling fear, held me back. That fae would blend back into the London nightlife; a touch here, a touch there, and he'd hunt again.
I failed.
The wind whipped up the trash, tossing the sound of distant police sirens into the mix, and my head throbbed harder. What was I doing here? I'd failed and he'd bespelled a girl and walked free.
She whimpered, rousing me from my thoughts. The alley tipped and swirled when I moved away from the wall. I was hurt, but I'd heal. Unlike the girl.
On her knees in an oily puddle, she blinked up at me. Her eyes were vacant and glassy. Nonsense babbled from her lips. The fae hadn't used physical force. That wasn't their way. Beauty was their weapon. Sensual words, desirable looks, whispered promises, and seductive smiles. There wouldn't be any physical
evidence
of the assault. The damage was deep inside. He'd bespelled her and absorbed her
draÃocht
âthe life force the fae thrived onâall in the space of a few moments. Moments she'd never get back. Moments that would change her life forever.
I reached out a handâsome part of me too human to see her sufferâbut snatched my trembling fingers back before it was too late.
My touch was just as toxic as the fae's. “
You need her more than I do
,” the fae had said.
I stepped back and swallowed around the knot in my throat. “I'll get help.”
She said nothing, just gazed vacantly into the space where the fae had been.
Reign had told me his kind could steal draÃocht hard and fast, but the fae in the alley was the first time I'd seen one of them so blatantly flout the law. Some people asked for it, some paid for it. Othersâlike the girlâdidn't deserve it.
“
You're worse
⦔
The fae's words played over and over as I frowned at my bloodied and pale reflection in the mirror. Behind me the TV blared out news about the rise in missing persons cases across London. The reporter's words echoed around the vast underground chamber I now called home.
Despite the novelty fairy lightsâthe colorful tapestries depicting a world I'd probably never seeâthe pool table, and a half dozen couches, the place known as Under still felt huge and empty without the fae to fill it. They'd left almost three weeks ago, driven out by events at the Millennium Dome, when their spider-queen had revealed the truth: the fae weren't beautiful. They were monstrous.
And
the people of London had let them into their homes, their lives. They'd loved them. Wanted to be them. But not anymore. London had fallen out of love with the fae, at least officially.
I eased my jacket off my shoulder, hissing as it brushed against the bite.
A quick glance toward the door confirmed I was still alone. Echoes traveled far in these forgotten spaces. The shadows down here were deep. I wasn't the only one left roaming Under's tunnels, and I did not want to be interrupted while patching myself up from my disastrous hunt.
I popped open the first-aid kit I'd collected on my way through Under and spread its contents over the pool table. Selecting a handful of antiseptic wipes and gauze, I angled myself sideways to the mirror. A dark patch of blood had soaked through my top and run down my arm, where it had dried in flaking streaks. This was going to hurt. I pulled the neck of my top down over my shoulder, teeth gritted against the throbbing pain, and got a good look at the bite. The wound was clean but ragged; more of a tear than a bite. Angry welts crowded its edges. It looked as bad as it felt. One-handed, I tore open a wipe with my teeth and fumbled with the packet. It slipped from my fingers.
I crouched down, scooped up the wipe, and paused. A tickling sensation fluttered against my thoughts, pulling my attention toward the door.
I didn't need to look to know I was no longer alone. Reign was here, and it wasn't human senses telling me he was close. That same tickling tugged at something within me, like a spider testing a single strand of its web. It had been present since we'd killed the queenâa connection that had my insides knotting for all the wrong reasons. A lot of things had changed since the queen died.
As
I straightened, I avoided his reflection behind mine and focused on my shoulder. The wound wept a little blood. I wiped at it, smearing blood across my pale skin. This would have been a whole lot easier without him watching me. I briefly flicked a gaze his way. He was wearing a creased shirt, half-unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up, and low-slung black pants. He somehow managed to throw on clothes like he didn't care, revealing tantalizing glimpses of a physique that could stop a girl's thoughts on a dime, and he made it all look like some happy accident that he was so damn alluring.
He'd leaned his hip against the pool table and crossed his toned arms. A familiar little flutter skittered low. That too was a reaction I couldn't control.
Before the queen had spoiled it all, Reign had been the city's poster boy for the faeâlead singer in London's hottest rock band. Women wanted him; men wanted to be him. He hadn't lost any of his charm, or his confidence. But there was more to Reign than the spoiled rock-star persona he presented to the world. Behind those tricolored eyes, behind the quick smiles and the swagger, an ancient nightmare awaited. The queen had held his reins when she was alive. Now I did. And it wasn't something either of us was comfortable with.
I took another wipe from the packet and pressed it against the bite with a wince, then sneaked a look at his face. He had the kind of dark, thoughtful eyes girls swooned over. A mouth that was quick to smile, and lips that were equally quick to curl into a fierce snarl. At that moment, his expression revealed nothing. He'd probably mastered blasé centuries ago. I didn't stand a chance at reading him.
“Say something,” I said softly, once again intently focused on my shoulder.
“
I'm thinking,” he replied, his voice smooth and tempting, like silk running through your fingers.
“Don't hurt yourself.”
There was a time such jibes would have crackled with good humor, but now they fell flat. When we'd killed the queen, I'd believed everything would be fine. That we'd be back to normal. Whatever normal was for us. But in the last few weeks, while we'd hidden from the Fae Authority, I'd lost him somewhere among all the unspoken words.
He'd watch me while I had my nose buried in one of the fae's books, or when I studied the tapestries, trying to learn the way of the fae, but when I looked up, he'd look away, desperate not to catch my eye. We barely spoke at all, except for him to warn me what not to do or where not to go. “
Don't roam Under. Don't fight the fae. Don't do anything rash. Don't, don't, don't
⦔ I missed the Reign who had introduced me to chocolate cake, who told me to live, who once held me in his arms and said, “
We're all alone, Alina. But you and I can be alone together
.” Where was that man?