City of Shadows (11 page)

“It's perfectly safe, under controlled conditions. A clinic.” Safe? Nothing about the fae was safe. “The private kind.”

“Draíocht for money. Nice.” It was a low blow, but it helped to fall back on anger when nothing else made sense.

Again, a frown pulled at his lips. “It's consensual. Government monitored. The sessions are professional and timed. You and your donor are absolutely safe. I wouldn't suggest it otherwise.” He paused, taking a moment to breathe. Yup, my comment had offended his fae sensibilities, or perhaps he was convincing himself as well as me. “Allow me to show you.”

I did need draíocht, as sick as the thought made me. Summoning the dark in me and being beaten to within an inch of my life had pushed the limits of my construction. The sickness was creeping in. I had a choice. Give up or fight back. I hadn't given up yet, and I wasn't about to start now.

Samuel waited. Infinitely patient. Calm, measured. Controlled. Why was he even here, helping me? “Did Kael tell you to come?”

“No.”

I didn't believe him. “Then what do
you
want from me?”

He swallowed and briefly broke eye contact, but quickly reestablished it. “What they—what we did, it was designed to break you. But you didn't break, Alina.”

I felt pretty broken. “And?”

Finally a flicker of emotion passed across his face. “I'm trying to apologize.”

“You're lousy at it.”

He arched a brow. He'd probably never been called lousy in his long fae life.

Maybe
he was truly trying to help me, or maybe this was another one of the general's tests; send his pet Samuel to make friends and stick a dagger in my back when my guard was down. I wouldn't be making the same mistake twice.

“Fine,” I said, opening the door and marching through the bedroom with as much confidence I could muster around the aches and pains. “I'll meet you in the entrance hall in five.”

I needed to replenish my draíocht—
with
Samuel's suspiciously generous help. There was only one way to find out what the FA knew about Becky's disappearance, and that was by building alliances, and to do that, I had to get a handle on my control, even if that meant accepting the fae part of me. Just like Reign had said; I couldn't ignore it. The thing inside wasn't going away. I just hoped that replenishing my draíocht didn't make me any more of a monster than I already was.

Chapter Ten

Samuel couldn't “jump” from one location to another like Reign, which meant we were riding in the Range Rover again, but this time I was in the front passenger seat. I sneaked a few glances at him as he'd maneuvered through London traffic with surprising proficiency.

I turned my face away and watched London's patchwork streets blur by; the crooked and gnarled buildings of old blended with the steel and glass of the new, but not always in harmony. The streets looked calm. People strode along the
sidewalks.
Tourists dawdled, checking their maps and cell phones. But the fae were conspicuous in their absence.

I dragged a hand down the back of my neck and tried to stretch out tight muscles. My skin fizzled with an itching heat despite the air-conditioning blasting chilly air onto my face.
I need to do this.
I wondered about the lives of those people going about their business, because that was easier than wondering about someone whose draíocht I was about to absorb.

We pulled into a small parking lot outside the private clinic. The sign declared: PROFESSIONAL AND CERTIFIED SESSIONS.
Who certifies the taking of life?

Samuel climbed from the Range Rover. If it wasn't for the pointed ears, he'd have looked like any young London professional, especially now that the braid was gone. His hair was short enough to ruffle; which he frequently did. That thought roused a smile and earned me a raised eyebrow. But no words. We weren't really on speaking terms, and I didn't think Samuel made small talk.

He left the car and jogged up the set of steps to a painted black door. The clinic could have been someone's home. Discreet and gentile, in a quaint Georgian terraced house. Like rehab—the fae kind. I assumed I was to follow and tried not to wince and hiss climbing from the car as my body screamed in all the wrong places. I hadn't yet gotten a good look at my face, but considering the throb, I could bet it wasn't a pretty sight.

This was necessary. I had to refill my reserves, to heal, and get back to learning all I could about Kael to find Becky. Once I was thinking clearly, Nyx or Scaw might have more answers. Samuel too, might be a way in, if he could bring himself to say more than a few words to me.

Samuel
signed me in at the front desk while I sat myself carefully on one of the leather couches. Three fae were already here, flicking through magazines, perched on the arms of the chairs. They raked their colorful eyes over me and then looked away once they noticed Samuel. One of them even bowed his head a little when Samuel looked up. He didn't sit with the rest of us, preferring to loom by the door.

I clasped my hands in my lap and listened to the wall clock ticking.

I'd been dying the last time I'd taken draíocht. And Danny Andrews had been the unlucky one to touch me. He'd touched me before. And that was the problem. The touches, coupled with my suddenly latching onto his life force, sealed the deal. I got a hit of Andrews-flavored juice, complete with his memories and feelings, and he got an addiction to the unreal construct.
Love.
It's a chemical reaction, and one the fae use to their advantage. I'd used Andrews. And now I was presumably about to do the same here. “
You need her more than I do
,” the fae in the alley had said when I'd stumbled across him feeding. That had only been a couple days ago, though it seemed longer.

“Alina O'Connor?”

A man dressed in a pale-blue uniform fixed a bright smile on his face and beckoned me forward. “Your first time?” he asked. I nodded, acutely aware of Samuel's presence behind me.

“Would you like to see your donor?”

I swallowed. “I, er …”

He opened a door and stepped inside a small clinical room. The lights were soft, but that only bred more shadows. A chair waited in front of a curtained
division.
Someone sat on the other side of that curtain. A normal person. A stranger.

I can't do this.

“I …”

Samuel closed the door. “It's probably best to limit her contact with the donor.”

I glared at him. “I can talk for myself.”

His lips twitched but otherwise his expression remained professional.

The nurse,
John
his badge said, frowned at Samuel. “Do you need to be here?”

Samuel leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. Clearly not going anywhere.

John scowled and then smiled brightly at me. “Take a seat. There's really no need to be concerned. Your donor is providing a valuable service to the smooth integration of the fae in London. She's happy to be here. The necessary forms have been signed. You have nothing to worry about. This is entirely consensual.”

There was that word again; “consensual.” It wasn't consensual, because I didn't want this. I didn't want to touch her knowing I'd drink down her life energy, and I'd like it. I didn't want to know her like that. Whoever she was. What if I took too much, like Andrews? What if I bespelled her?

I sat on the edge of the chair. John pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took my hand. He wiped an antiseptic wipe over my palm. The cuts crisscrossing my wrist stood out red and raw against my pale skin. He lifted his brow but was clearly too professional to mention it.

“We won't force you here,” he said. “This is a respectable clinic.”

Consensual.
I licked my lips.
I can't do this.
I was about to become intimately acquainted with the stranger behind the curtain.

“
What if I can't stop it. I—when I did this before, there was an accident.”

“Your touch is timed, and it will only happen once. Your donor will feel a slight tingling, like a numbness. Pins and needles. But that's all. It's perfectly safe.”

He didn't know who's draíocht I had in me. What if I was tainted? What if I did something to the donor? What if—what if—what if?
I can't.
I looked back to Samuel. He'd dropped his head back and closed his eyes, like he might take a small nap while I had a crisis. “Hey.”

He snapped open his eyes and looked questioningly down his nose at me.

“Can't I just take some of yours?” It was testament to how much I didn't want this to happen that I'd have gladly touched
him
instead.

“It wouldn't be enough. Fae taking from fae is inefficient.” A slight growl rumbled through his words. “The quicker you get it done, the quicker we can leave.”

Get it done. Right. I could do this.

John squeezed my hand, and this time his smile was real. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in days. A knot tightened my throat. I blinked a few times, clearing my vision.
Get it done. Get back in top form so I can play the fae at their own game. This has to happen.

“Hold out your hand,” John said.

I hovered my hand out in front of me, fingers trembling. The woman on the other side pushed her hand through a simple round hole in the curtain and waited. She had smooth, manicured nails. A woman who cared about appearances. Soon, I'd know all about her. I swallowed and wished I'd let Reign teach me how to do this. Damn him for being right about … everything.

The
donor pushed her hand forward and when her fingers found mine, she grabbed on. Lightning snapped up my arm, and with it came a surge of pleasure, pain, cold, heat, and rippling shivers. All at once I could taste her, feel her, like I'd known her all my life. “Consensual” meant more than a word ticked off on a box. She wanted this to happen and it was too much—too good—all at once. Wrong, so wrong. Taking life, devouring it. I'd wanted more, everything, every little piece of her would fill me up and spill over—

I sprang from the chair faster than I thought possible and burst from the room before Samuel could block my way. He came after me. His boots beat hard against the floors, but I was out the door and running. A single glance back told me he'd stopped at the top of the clinic's steps, his frown a fraction away from a scowl.

I needed to get away from the FA—from him—from the fae—from that part of me I refused to acknowledge for fear it would gobble me up and I'd be Alina no more.

The sun had dipped behind Camden's apartment blocks, casting vast shadows across the street by the time I reached Andrews's part of town. It was easy enough to hop a fence and climb a fire escape onto a flat roof of a storage warehouse opposite Andrews's block.

I sat near the edge, not too close, pulled my legs to my chest, and rested my chin on my knees as I tried to figure out which window was Andrews's. Sirens wailed somewhere nearby, normal London life, from which I felt so distant and
detached.
So alone … but not for long. Kael would likely send his warriors after me. I couldn't stay away long, just long enough to feel free, for a little while.

I filtered out the background city noise and hugged my knees closer. After five minutes scanning the windows, I spotted the detective striding back and forth in his front room. He held a phone to his ear, and from his expression he wasn't pleased with whoever he was speaking to. He'd untucked his shirt and unbuttoned his collar. He'd always been so clean-cut. Now though, now he looked ragged and worn out. He looked like I felt. Beaten.

He tossed the phone down, pushed his fingers through his hair, and turned to the window. I froze. He couldn't see me, backlit by his lights as he was, but he appeared to look right at me.

I hadn't meant to hurt him. I'd have given anything to take back what I'd done.

He closed his blinds, loneliness hollowed out my chest, and my heart sank.

I dared not go to Under to face Reign's questions and betrayal.

I couldn't ask Andrews for help. It would be dangerous and selfish to go near him. I knew that, even when I knocked on his door, chewing on my lip because I was a damned fool and this was a terrible idea.

He opened the door. For a few seconds neither of us moved. His eyes widened. I'd forgotten the bruises and how I'd gotten them, but I touched them now, and with the touch came the memory of the assault. I tried to keep the pain off my face, but he saw it. He always noticed the little things.

“Alina?” He didn't move, trapped between indecision and fake loyalty.

I had no right to be there. No right to ask anything of him. I saw the hesitation on his face, the doubt in his eyes. He should send me away, and we both knew it, but neither of us would say it.

He
closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a breath as though to steel himself, and then stepped aside. “I suppose you'd better come in.”

“I can't say long.”
I shouldn't be here at all.

He mumbled something about the mess as he closed the door behind me. I inched around stacks of folders, newspapers, and fae reference books. Wherever I looked, evidence of his obsession collected dust. I stopped in front of the fireplace mantelpiece and picked up a framed picture of Andrews and his sister. He had his arm slung around Becky's shoulders and both wore the easy smiles that came with knowing and trusting someone so completely. She couldn't be much older than twenty. There wasn't much of an age gap between them. I could imagine her breezing about this very apartment. If she was anything like Andrews, she'd have been quick to smile and easy to laugh with. At least, that's how Andrews had been, before I'd gotten inside his head.

“Did Sovereign do that to you?” Andrews asked, gesturing briefly at my face but hardly meeting my eyes.