Damnit. I couldn’t stay. I swallowed hard. “I thought you didn’t want a personal stalker.”
The warmth from his body touched my back as he said, “Maybe this stalker thing is growing on me.”
“I don’t know. I mean, I am a pushover Enforcer after all.” Despite myself, I laughed quietly, the sound clipped by a small hiccup.
I felt a soft tug on my hair. Then, “You are, actually. But maybe I’m okay with that too.”
My laugh was more genuine this time—still airy, but warmth sparked in my chest. Only for a moment. I stared at the dimming skyline, exhaling slowly. “I have to patrol. I can’t make you any promises, Tarik. But, if I can, I’ll find you in a couple days.”
“Oh, I have faith in your stalker abilities.”
“You haven’t even had a taste.” I grinned and turned around, still finding that my eyes wanted to look anywhere but at his. I tugged his shirt over my head. “Here, you need this. I have to shift. Sorry if it’s . . . disconcerting?” My eyebrows pulled together. “And . . . thank you.”
I stepped away from him and closed my eyes. Felt the pressure, the tingle, the savage crack of bone. I bit back the gasp that tried to escape when my ribs widened. Why couldn’t I be a cute, small shifter? I tucked in my wings immediately, finally looking up to meet Tarik’s eyes.
He squinted, peering into my face as if— “Can you hear me, Reagan? How many fingers am I holding up?” He lifted two digits in the air.
I huffed, a puff of air escaping my nose. Then I growled, two throaty rumbles that bounced off the walls of the alley around us.
With a slight grimace, he whispered, “That’s gonna take some getting used to.”
I stepped closer, slowly, tentatively. Lowering my head, I tried to make myself seem a tad smaller. I wasn’t kidding anyone—even for a lion I was massive. I stopped in front of him, bumping his side with the top of my head.
“Whoa,” he said, the word vibrating through my skull. His hands latched onto my ears and I shook my head, swatting at him. “Okay, okay.” He backed up, palms facing outward. “Good . . . kitty?”
A small hum vibrated up my throat as I circled him, then nudged him backward. He moved without too much effort—wary, like he thought I might hurt him still—and when I had the space I needed, I spread my wings, stretching them to their full glory. I watched Tarik’s jaw drop and growled with satisfaction before I sprang down the alley and shot into the sky.
—
Could I escape Nathra City? Leave Mordecai and Alec behind?
I spent a lot of the evening pondering the conversation I’d had with Tarik. In my gut I wondered if I should have told him so much. Spoken so poorly of Alec and Mordecai. Guilt clawed at me, gnawed at the parts that still felt the relentless tug of blind loyalty. Still, I couldn’t deny there lay a certain relief in dropping those words into the world. Letting them fade away into the night air.
What he had said about abuse, though . . . the words stung. I knew he was right. Maybe. I mean, I knew the rules. Right? My chest tightened. I hated that I wasn’t sure what could actually be termed abuse. Did the same terms apply when I knew the rules? If I committed an action, knowing the consequences, and was then punished . . . That couldn’t be abuse, right?
As much of a challenge as Tarik was, I secretly enjoyed our spats, in a weird way. The challenge that being friends with him presented.
And underneath, there’s a good man. I can feel it.
I closed my eyes, releasing a breath. Feeling so much, wanting to feel so little—I hated every second. His encouragement was the push I needed to keep me on the right path, though. But to do that I needed to find out exactly what I was saving him from.
Nevaeh and I spent an entire day gathering schedules from around the mansion. The Fae worked fairly long hours, but Mordecai almost never oversaw them himself. Nevaeh’s rat form was incredibly useful for this type of work—she was sneaky, and clever enough not to get caught—and the information she extracted was helpful.
When we had gathered all the intel we needed, we formed a plan. A day later, we set it into motion.
And even though I was reluctant to lose sleep, to leave the warmth of the sunshine above for the dark, unsettling mines, that’s exactly where we were. Currently Nevaeh was perched on my shoulder, digging her claws into my shirt as payback for the cracker I was dangling above her. She was always hungry in rat form. Always. Torturing her with snacks endlessly entertained me.
She clamped her teeth around a strand of my hair, tugging sharply. My grin grew, but I relented, passing her the snack. Her eyes remained narrowed as she munched. Crumbs littered my shoulder—the rat shifter was intentionally making a mess. Karma, I supposed. Her fur caught a bit of light, pale lavender to match the color of her hair, a neat little trick I had always envied. She had been a rainbow of colors over the years, but the lavender suited her round, black eyes.
We crept down the staircase and into the shadowed edges of the mine’s first cavern. There didn’t seem to be anyone wandering around out here; lucky, given that we had chosen working hours to sneak down. We hoped the extra bodies would create distractions . . . but they came with added risk. I glanced at Nevaeh. She cocked her head at my silent question, her ears twitching as she listened ahead. Faint voices echoed from a chamber near us. The Fae must be in there. Nevaeh
