Seconds become minutes, and still, no blood has been drawn.
“Let’s hurry this along,'' the Daemon says. The words are garbled as long fangs lower from his gums. He rushes towards me and kicks out his legs, sliding on the wet cobblestones. I jump away from him, but something blocks my fall. I land on my back, pain rippling as I scramble backward.
My heart is pounding in my chest as adrenaline rushes through me.
Raising my gun, I narrow my eyes and aim where I think his heart should be. The Daemon lifts his taloned claw, presumably to rip out my throat, and I know I only have seconds left if I’m going to do anything. The female Fae has begun screaming. Her screams are ear-piercingly loud and distracting.
Adding to the growing cacophony of the night, my finger presses down on the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the alley. For a long moment, I don’t know if my bullet hit true.
Then, the Daemon roars. The sound is unlike anything I have ever heard before. His taloned fingers grasp at his chest as black, sulfuric blood leaks from the wound.
Well, there you have it. I’ll be sure to leave a good review for the bullets.
The dying male screams, but instead of collapsing, he lurches towards me with frenzied movements. I scramble backward, but a crate blocks my escape. A searing pain rips through my shoulder as I roll away from the Daemon before my fingers brush the cool metal of my gun. Raising the weapon, I unload the magazine into the male’s chest. My ears are ringing from the gunshots.
Pushing myself to my feet, I stand over his body. My heart is pounding, and every breath feels too shallow as black blood covers the ground around me.
Eventually, the female stops screaming. The Fae says something to me, but her words are muffled. It's as though she's underwater, and I am disappointed that I won't be able to throw the Daemon to the water's salty embrace, too.
I lift my gaze to her, but suddenly, everything feels wrong. There’s not just one Fae in front of me anymore but two, then four, then eight. They’re reaching out for me, their voices muffled as they point at my shoulder.
One touches my skin, sending a searing pain through my body. Someone screams before a thick liquid is forced down my throat.
Darkness is calling me, and I give in to its welcoming embrace.
22
Sleeping On Benches
HELENA
Voices are swarming around me, pushing past the quiet of the imageless dream that has taken over my subconscious. Suddenly, I’m awoken by a small Were child poking my nose. I jolt up and stare at his furry face. There is a peak in the middle of his hairline, and his brows are furrowed in a darling way.
Ian and Giselle cross my mind as I study the boy. My brain is a minefield, and Erik has given me the wings to fly over the dangerous thoughts that threaten to explode on a whim. I squint in the scorching sunlight and swat at the child, trying to get him to go away.
“Mommy!” he squeals. “She’s all right, I checked!”
A bewildered Were mom rushes over and grabs her son's arm. She looks mortified as I sit up on the bench and rub at my face.
“Sorry, miss,” she says before dragging the child away. She whispers, “What did I say about talking to people on the street?”
My mouth twists into a grimace, and I try to adjust my appearance to make me look less haggard.What in Hell’s Sweet Gates am I going to do?
It is still early morning, but people are crammed into every square inch of the square like sardines. Every muscle in my body protests as I stand up and stretch. Yesterday, no one so much as glanced at me, but today, people shoot me dirty looks with unveiled disgust.
I bare my teeth at them in a silent snarl.
My attention travels back to the King’s Tower. It is only a matter of time before that traitor Erik reports back to my oh-so-dear Daddy Phelix, and my father sends his Elite Mer after me. If they catch me, the death I will suffer at their hands will be neither quick nor kind. I shudder, smoothing out my wrinkled clothes.
Knowing my father, it is likely that when his men are done with me, there won’t be a spoonful of my soul left to go to the After Life.
I knot my hair behind my head and force myself to focus. One of the main problems with my last attempt to get to my uncle’s tower was that I looked like a dead shrimp. If I look the part of a princess, I will get through those gates.
The thought takes hold, and I nod, a small smile creeping on my face. Yes, this could work. A plan forms, piece by piece. To look the part, I will need to shower. Perhaps a dusting of cosmetics… maybe luxury clothes.
The thought sends a thrill through me. Before my imprisonment, I was very stylish in Aqualis, but there are some designer brands I’ve never had the privilege of using. I long to see the inside of Le Baba Morgaine Couture.
Emboldened by my plan, I head into the city. Thoughts of Erik threaten to creep into my mind, but I shove them aside.