Gaia.
I kissed her.
What had I been thinking? I hadn’t. I had been desperate, needing distance from her—and not just for her own safety. For mine. I couldn’t open myself up to that kind of hurt again, and she’d been awfully close to breaching my defenses. So I’d kissed her. Kissed her. Yeah, that made sense. Instead of saving Reagan, I’d ruined her.
You’re bad luck.
“I know,” I whispered. My gut clenched hotly.
Despite the terrible way I had treated her, it was for the best. She’d heal. Live her life in relative safety—as long as she didn’t keep helping the Fae. Somehow, I needed to stop her from doing that.
I had a few connections, those I considered friends—even if I’d avoided them for three years. There were too many painful memories attached. After that awful day when my life had shattered, everything they said and did reminded me of her. Their scent, their empathy . . . their hair and eye color. Surrounding myself with them had been unbearable, like sticking my head in an oven. The heat of shame burned me alive, and the only thing I could do was shove them away. All of them. After the way I’d shut them out, I doubted they thought of me much anymore.
But I could send word and warn them about Reagan—they would discourage the Fae from accepting her aid. They would listen when I told them the price she would pay if caught.
Because they all remembered like it was yesterday.
Every single Fae in this city knew what happened three years ago.
Such a heinous crime could never be forgotten.
I rubbed my eyes, attempting to scrub away the haunting images that came unbidden at the thought of that day. I was tired, so tired of those flashbacks. Releasing a pent-up sigh, I stood from the bed and gathered the bottles, placing them in a bag that had been dumped on me as well.
And that’s when I noticed the insignia stamped on the bag—a dragon wrapped around a shard of crystal. The same one found on doors in the mansion, the same one etched onto our hazmat suits, the same one branded on Reagan’s neck. Which meant that this medicine must be directly linked to Mordecai. But he would never give such valuable supplies to a Fae—especially not me. There was one shifter who had access to the mansion and who’d overheard Benji mention an ailing mother, though.
Reagan.
I stared hard at the mess on my bed. The realization of what she must have done hit me like a ton of bricks.
Gaia, no. What was she thinking?
With a groan, I sunk to the floor, knees barking in protest as they slapped the cement. I dug my fingers into my hair and pulled, pulled until sharp pain bit at my skull. Air stuck in my throat and I gave up on breathing. Kneeling next to the evidence of her continued help, her caring, even after what I had done to her . . .
I hated myself.
If, by some miracle, she had forgiven me my horrendous words and actions, I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve her. I never would. Despite being brainwashed, she was pure. Too pure for this toxic city. But I didn’t know how much longer she’d stay that way, not with Mordecai gunning for her and Fae like me threatening her precarious position.
Maybe I couldn’t personally protect her, but maybe my connections could. After my work shift this evening, I’d seek them out and plead my case. They had every cause to loathe Shapeshifters just as much as I did, but Reagan was different. Reagan was . . .
Special.
I blew out a breath and stood on trembling legs, shoveling the last of the precious bottles into the bag. The pills wouldn’t heal Haven, but they would help. Help. Reagan only wanted to help, to make a difference, and I hated that I’d be ripping away one more piece of her by asking the Fae to stop her attempts. But I couldn’t stand back and watch this city pick apart every good piece of her until there was nothing decent left, until she was shaped into—
Gaia, I was such a jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d called her a “little Mordecai clone.” No wonder she’d attacked me. I touched the mark she’d left behind on my shoulder and winced. The spot was still sore, but I hadn’t healed the wound. I couldn’t. I wanted the memory. No. I needed the memory.
The cost of getting close to me was scars.
It was only fitting that I should bear some of them.
—
Rainy season was the worst.
Not only did the whole city stink of wet dog most days—or shifter, more accurately—but the water dampened my mood. This evening was different, though. After my longest workday yet, I almost felt rejuvenated as the downpour plastered hair to my cheeks.
I thought back to the day’s events, wondering what had changed my energy levels. I recalled how Jocelyn had said things would get easier, but I was certain she’d only been pacifying a disgruntled employee. No, something had happened. The only thing I could think of was the odd jolt I’d felt while handling the crystal before quitting time. I had picked up the green rock several times this past week without feeling anything, but as I’d hefted a rather large and sharp piece today, a current zapped me, like an electrical shock.
Maybe the crystal had sliced a hole in the hazmat suit.
At the time, I’d been too exhausted to care. But now . . . now I felt incredible, like I’d slept twelve hours straight—which never happened, not with Benji as a neighbor. Strangest of all though was the tingling at the base of my shoulder blades. Twin lines of incessant itching, right where my wings lay hidden. I had never felt such an intense
