At his hips hangs a belt that’s home to all kinds of daggers and throwing knives. Some blades wear traces of fresh blood, and my spine shivers at the sight of the crimson smears gleaming in firelight.
Chain-link armour—so fine that it appears to have been made from silk threads—clings to a black-leather vest he wears. Paler than moonlight, his skin is scarred all over. His arms, muscular and strong, are ribbed by these strange scars. They aren’t bumped like the scars that scatter my arms, but pale and jagged not unlike stretch marks. They climb up his neck like claws, and stop just before the strong jawline.
His face steals me.
I’ve seen some dark fae from a distance before, and up close and personal today. They are all beautiful in the most dangerous of ways, like deadly cobras or lethal panthers. But this one… he’s something else.
His sleek dark hair falls to the side and brushes over his raised eyebrow. His eyes are pits of nothingness, just pure black. As I take in his face, I think fleetingly of our old world and the likes of Henry Cavill and Matt Bomer.
Only, this guy is no pampered actor. He’s a warrior, and his onyx-black eyes are fixed on me. There’s nothing friendly about the way he looks at me, either. I get the gut-churning feeling he’s about to skin me alive.
Suddenly, the dark fae let me go and I’m not given a moment to catch myself before I slam to the ground. Cobblestone hits me hard for the countless time today, and a weak groan of pain whispers out from my clenched teeth.
I roll onto my side, keeping a wary eye on the dark fae approaching me. As he draws nearer, I see the wink of black circling his head—a diadem of sorts that sits on his head like a crown. Some dusty black material, like a metal coated with charcoal.
He’s their leader.
I feel like a damn fool for taking this long to realise it. But that’s why the dark fae didn’t kill me when I stood my ground. For some reason, they took me to him—and suddenly, my mind flashes with reminders of the human prisoners with the dark fae army. The ones who are guarded heavily out in the street.
My veins run cold and a chill trickles down my spine. Fear clutches my heart and squeezes.
That familiar cutting sound of their language slices through my thoughts. I force myself to sit, and look back at the dark fae who dropped my legs. A blond one with eyes like pearls and cutting cheekbones. He talks to the leader as he comes to a stop an arm’s reach from me. Then, they both turn their stares down at me.
I suddenly wish I could shrink into a withering flower, then blow away in the fire’s hot winds. I wish I could I turn to ash.
The leader speaks. I don’t know what he’s saying, but he’s looking right at me. Then, a sharp pain erupts at the back of my head—the blond fae grabs my hair and twists my head away.
I face the ground, my bloody hand pressed against it, as it sinks in. My neck is exposed to the leader. Whatever it was that they saw on my neck earlier, whatever it was that urged them to bring me to their leader, they’re showing it to him now.
But all I have on my neck is some freckles. That’s all. No scars from hurting myself, or war wounds, no tattoos or brand-marks. Nothing that stands out.
So I can’t even imagine what all this interest is about.
The leader takes some steps closer to me. I clamp my mouth shut and force myself to stay silent. As he reaches for me, I cringe against the ground. His grip coils around my neck. He holds me for a beat, then he yanks me up to my feet and throws me against the wall.
I grunt, though the impact didn’t hurt too bad. Not as bad as falling off the wall.
Now, I’m drenched in the fiery light from the street. Now, he can better see me, I realise.
I keep the weight off my ankle by leaning against the wall, and warily watch the leader advance on me. But there’s no murder in his dangerous eyes. He’s focused on the side of my neck as he peels hair off my skin, one strand at a time.
Instinctively, I cringe away from his touch. But that doesn’t stop him. Instead, it gives him a better view of my neck.
His sharp, black fingernail drags the final strand of hair away from my neck. Then, he runs his fingertips down my skin to my collarbone. He’s silent for a while, studying whatever it is he sees on my neck.
Most of the dark fae who crowded me before are gone. Now, only three of them remain with us in the alley. The fires still rage on—their crackling and roars singing through the village. But all I can focus on in this moment is the dark fae leader, touching me.
My skin shivers. Little bumps prickle along my arms, and I fight the urge to shove him away from me. But in reality, I daren’t move an inch. My muscles are seized up, frozen beneath my skin, and even my breath stays trapped deep in my throat like a lump of coal.
He’s so close, I can feel his hot breath
