Goosebumps rose on my arms and the back of my neck. She spoke treason. I could easily report her and—I huffed, shaking my head. I was such an idiot. “You’re a spy, aren’t you.” I didn’t phrase the words as a question. No shifter would willingly trust a Fae. “What game are you playing at?”
“I don’t play games. Like I said, I do what I can. I see an injustice, I try to help. I’m in a position where I have that option, and we all know Alec isn’t going to save any Fae.” She moved closer to a motorcycle leaning against the far wall of the alley, street lights catching the vibrant blue paint. Glancing around as though checking for prying eyes, she leaned over the bike and dug into the saddle bags. Clothing. She had spare clothing. Thank Gaia. “Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. There are other Fae who do. But you seem to find the most trouble.”
She slipped a shirt and shorts on and faced me once again. My shoulders loosened, then tightened as light caught the arch of her throat. Twin marks ran lengthwise across her neck. Scars. Shaking my head, I replied, “You’d better believe I find trouble, because I see the injustice too and won’t sit back while shifters abuse our kind.”
“And you think The Pit—”
“Yes,” I interrupted her. “Because the cage fights help me!” Her eyes widened as she digested that blurted piece of information. I sighed, tipping back the beer bottle for one last swallow. I was such an idiot. “Here’s the thing, Enforcer: when your back’s to a wall, you’re willing to risk more. I didn’t choose this life, but nothing will keep me from that job interview tomorrow. A position like that is the only chance I have at bettering the crap life I’ve been forced into.”
I pushed off the wall and turned from her, beginning the trek back to Fae territory. I’d probably regret this conversation in the morning. We had both been too honest, too real.
“Reagan.”
I peered over my shoulder at her. “What?”
“My name’s Reagan, not Enforcer.”
Right then and there, I knew I was going to do something incredibly stupid. Probably the dumbest thing I’d ever done in all twenty-three years of my life. My traitorous tongue formed one word: “Tarik.”
I gave the stalker shifter my name.
Mordecai and Alec were in a particularly foul mood today. I trailed behind them, scuffing my boots across the asphalt, flicking the cap of my lighter with my thumb. A nervous habit. They hadn’t explained why they had requested my presence. Two Enforcers and the Great Dragon seemed like overkill for Fae matters, and I doubted highly that they cared about my fifteenth birthday tomorrow.
I glanced up, squinting under the bright sun. Whatever was going on, this was Alec’s patrol. He should be able to handle this without me.
“Keep up, Reagan, I don’t have all day.” Mordecai’s clipped tone broke through my thoughts. I wasn’t sure why he was seeing to this personally, either. He never left the mansion unless something went terribly wrong.
A chill ran the length of my spine, warning bells toning in my mind.
My lighter clicked open again. The urge to light a cigarette twitched through my fingers, tension tightening my shoulders. Each step we took toward the Fae district shot ice through my veins. This wasn’t standard procedure. I racked my brain, scanning the last week’s events for anything that might clue me in. Nothing. Nothing abnormal, anyway.
Except—
“So what’s this all about?” I asked, struggling to conceal the tremor in my voice.
“You’ll see soon enough.” Mordecai turned his head to grin at me.
The matching expression on Alec’s face sent my stomach plummeting. He had been a friend, once. My best friend. We had spent more hours than I could count working on his vintage motorcycles; hell, Alec taught me how to ride my own bike. But the last few years he was too much like his father. Power and ambition were his hobbies, and our friendship had fallen to the wayside. Doubly so when he started to think he was entitled to more. To me.
And now he was here, for whatever this was. I had a really bad feeling.
Only one thing had gone wrong this week. My back and hips still ached from the raw lashes I carried as punishment. I had already paid the price though. The mistakes were mine. Surely he wouldn’t . . .
My heart stuttered, then clenched. Mordecai stopped before a torn-down apartment building and led us up two short sets of stairs. Crumbling concrete rained from under our feet, bouncing down to the floor below. My breaths came in short bursts, the air fire in my lungs. The rhythm of my heart was a drumbeat in my ears.
He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
At the end of the hallway, he stopped before a door. A crooked “3” hung from beneath a caved peephole. Mordecai waited until I caught up, then slammed his boot into the door handle.
The weak wood splintered and collapsed under the force. A small Fae family sat around a table—a tall, slender woman with dark walnut-toned hair, her partner with blue eyes that glittered in the afternoon light, and two small children.
The eldest was almost six.
I only knew that because I had
