Confessions of a Dangerous Fae (The Supernatural Spy Files Book 1)

by Jenna Wolfhart

  Ugh, I hated it when people called me ‘love’ in such a patronising tone.

  “Lots of things. First, I think I’ll slam it against that pretty little head of yours,” I snapped.

  Her sword trembled in her hands, and it was my turn to laugh. She was getting blinding mad. Good. The madder I got ‘em, the more mistakes they’d make.

  “Your choice,” she hissed before turning to face her fellow traitors. “Kill the King. Don’t spare the girl.”

  With that, everyone sprang into motion.

  Another attacker rushed toward me, sword held high. Before he could reach me, I hurled the sign at his head. It smacked right into his face, knocking him to the ground. As he fell, I reached for his sword, but it seemed to vanish into thin air, along with the guy I’d just hit.

  Bollocks. They had some sort of sorcerer spell to get them out of here fast.

  I didn’t know what Lugh was doing, but I didn’t dare look. The next warrior was on his way.

  Skidding across the cobblestones, I flew toward the sign and grabbed it from the ground. But I didn’t make it in time. The warrior reached me first. He wrapped his hand around my shirt and yanked me away from the sign.

  But that meant he couldn’t use his sword. I whirled on him and slammed my fist right into his nose. He let go, giving me just enough time to grab my sign again. I whammed it right into his already bleeding nose and watched him crumple to the ground.

  Three down...seven to go?

  I turned to see Lugh had three more fallen fae around his feet, vanishing into the nothingness, but the female was bearing down on him. She’d slashed him with her sword, and blood oozed out of several wounds on his arms and chest.

  With my sign held tight in my hands, I thundered across the close. But before I could reach Lugh, two pairs of hands latched onto me. They grabbed my arms and yanked me back, while another snatched away my sign.

  Chest heaving, I ripped out of their grip. The three fae closed in around me. They were unarmed. So far. They’d been too busy grabbing me to unsheathe their swords. One held my new favourite weapon of choice—the sign, but he tossed it across the alley before I could try to get it back for myself.

  It fell with a clatter. Up above us, I heard the unmistakable gasp as the humans peered out their windows at the fight below.

  Great. Human onlookers, probably scared out of their ever-loving minds. That was definitely going to help the situation.

  I bounced on my toes. “You lot just going to stand there staring at me?”

  “No.” They drew their swords in unison.

  10

  Okay, so this wasn’t ideal. I’d taken on multiple enemies more times than I could count, but never without a sword. They all had weapons, and they’d been ordered to take me down, dead or alive.

  So, I did the only thing that anyone else would do when faced with impending death: I turned tail and ran.

  My feet pounded the cobblestones as I raced away from the attackers. They did exactly what I wanted them to do and chased after me. When they stormed my way, I took a sharp turn right and jogged back to where they’d discarded my sign.

  Grinning, I snatched it from the ground and held it before me. Sometimes, brawn really isn’t the way to win.

  When they saw I had the sign once again, two of the attackers forked away and headed toward Lugh to help their leader. Dammit. I’d been trying to draw them away. He had deep slashes all over his skin, and his blood painted the ground. As strong as he seemed, I could tell the wounds had slowed him down. His feet stumbled as he ducked beneath another blow.

  But my attention got dragged away from Lugh when one of my opponents lobbed spit at my boots. “That sign isn’t going to help you forever, love.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Oh yeah? Then, why don’t you come here and try to fight me, love?”

  It was kind of an empty threat, one my opponents were more than happy to call me on. They both rushed toward me, their heavy boots clomping hard on the stone. Gritting my teeth, I held the sign before me as their blades clashed hard.

  The force of their blows knocked me back. I slammed hard on the ground, my teeth knocking together.

  Before they could rush me, I jumped to my feet with my enhanced fae speed. I whirled the sign toward them, catching it on one of their swords. The weapon ripped out of his hands and skittered across the cobblestones.

  I looked at his sword. He looked at his sword.

  And then we both dove.

  My shoulder hit the ground hard, and my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the weapon. Instantly, magic sang in my veins, lighting up my every nerve. New power swirling through my gut, I tossed the sign to the side and stood.

  I grinned and held up the sword. Every single fae in the close turned my way, even Lugh. “Oi, you wankers. Why don’t you try fighting me now?”

  The prat whose sword I stole stumbled away and disappeared around the bend in the close. I turned toward the one who had spat on my shoes. His expression was hidden beneath the black mask, but I could see his eyes. Unease churned through his green irises.

  The female—who I assumed was some kind of leader—and two of the remaining fae made steps toward me.

  I motioned with one hand toward the nearest attacker, and he took the bait. He sprang toward me. Without even thinking, I knocked my blade against his, ducked low, and then swung my sword at his leg.

  My weapon made contact, slicing right through his skin. He yowled, his scream echoing through the silent night. He crumpled to the ground, his face twisted in pain.

  “Bollocks,” the female muttered. She held her ground and motioned for the other two fighters to rush toward me.

  I risked a glance at Lugh. He’d fallen to his knees. Blood poured from his stomach wound. He needed help. And soon. Or this entire fight would be for nothing.

  But there was no time to think about that. I met the two attackers head on. One managed a swing. I ducked down and rolled to the side. He hacked his sword at my head, but it rang against the stone instead. I jumped back to my feet and levelled my gaze.

  He threw his weight behind his sword and sailed it sideways toward me, just as his buddy did the same. Drawing the magic of the sword in through my veins, I moved. My blade knocked against his, and it clattered from his hands. I swung fast and met the other. The force of my blow knocked him back.

  They both stared at me, jaws agape.

  “She wasn’t lying. Her skill is the sword,” the female muttered, casting a glance over her shoulder at Lugh, whose hands were splayed against his bleeding wound. “Let’s go now. He won’t survive that wound.”

  As they grabbed their wounded friend, I tightened my grip around the sword. The itch to fight burned through me like fire. I couldn’t just let them walk away from this. I couldn’t let them get away.

  But then Lugh’s groan cut through my thoughts. I twisted toward him and winced. He was in bad shape. If I went after the attackers, there was no way he’d survive. With one last look at the black-clad fae rushing out of the alley, I shook my head and jogged toward Lugh instead.

  He was a lot heavier than he looked. I hauled him to his feet and faltered on the cobblestones as I attempted to drag him down the long, winding close.

  “Don’t try to go to the castle. Go back to that place I took you,” he hissed. “I wasn’t lying. Safe...supernaturals.”

  I frowned. Go back to that place? Did he mean the end of the alley where he’d left me? Fine with me. Dragging him all the way up Castle Hill would have taken five million years, but I could probably get him to the other end of the close before he bled out completely. Gritting my teeth, I wrapped one arm around his waist and stumbled in the right direction.

  The heat of his body melted against me as we walked. His hand tightened on my shoulder; his fingers dug deep into my skin. I wet my lips and continued on, ignoring the rush of magic storming through my veins.

  When we stumbled into the shadows at the end of the close, I glanced around for som
e kind of answer. He’d mentioned a shop before, but I didn’t see one along the dimly-lit alley. All the windows were completely dark, save for one.

  “Lugh?”

  His eyes were shut; his breathing was shallow. Dammit. He’d passed out, and I had no idea where to take him. Grunting, I slid him off my body so that I could peer into the glowing window. It was dark inside, save for a single lamp that flickered in the back corner. It sat next to a tiny little shield propped on a table. On it was Lugh’s sigil.

  I’d never been so relieved to see that creepy hooded figure.

  But how the hell would I get inside? Frowning, I glanced down at Lugh. He’d had a ring of keys before. I knelt beside him and dug through his pockets, trying not to think about how close my hands were to his, um...ahem. Heat swirled through my veins, and I tried to shake wayward thoughts out of my mind.

  Ah, there they were! I grabbed the keys and held them up before me. One of these would do the trick. After trying several, I finally found the right key. The door swung open, and I grabbed Lugh beneath his armpits and dragged him inside.

  I glanced around. Now what? The living room I’d found myself in was pretty basic. A two-seater sofa, a small coffee table with marble coasters, an old telly with an antenna perched on the top. There were no decorations, no picture frames of smiling faces. This was some kind of safe house.

  There might be a first aid kit somewhere, but as I stared at Lugh’s wound, I had a sinking suspicion that it would do no good. Nothing about the cut on his stomach was normal. It oozed blood in a frantic kind of way, like it was desperate to get out of his body. There’d been something magical about that attack, and a few bandages would do nothing to save him.

  We needed some help here, and I wasn’t sure what would do it.

  Shaking my head, I strode out of the room and found myself in a kitchen. Nothing much to see here other than a phone and a printed out list of numbers attached to the fridge with a magnet.

  I ripped the paper off the fridge and dialled the first number.

  A few moments later, an alarmed voice crackled through the receiver. “Who is this? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

  My shoulders sagged in relief. I knew that voice. “Saoirse, is that you?”

  “Huh?” A moment passed. “Wait. Moira? Why are you using the safe house phone? Wait. Are you okay?”

  Thank the Morrigan it had been Saoirse who answered the phone. If it had been anyone else, I might have had trouble explaining what had happened.

  “I’m here with Lugh. We got attacked in Barrie’s Close, and he’s...not in great shape. He’s bleeding everywhere, and he’s completely unconscious.”

  “The King is hurt?!” Her whispered voice rushed through the phone. “Wait, he was attacked? Did anyone touch his spear?”

  I frowned at the question. Why would that matter? “No, we were unarmed, which is how they got us.” Edging back toward the door, I glanced into the living room where I’d left Lugh passed out on the floor—I hadn’t been able to lift him onto the sofa. “Listen, he’s in really bad shape, and I’m not a healer. What should I do?”

  “There’s a kit in the bathroom in the cupboard above the sink,” she said quickly. “Apply the salve to his wound and put one of the bandages around it.”

  “Um.” I frowned at the gash on his stomach. “It’s a big-ass wound, Saoirse.”

  “Then use his shirt. Just get it covered until we get there.”

  The phone clicked in my ear. I held it away from me and stared before slamming it back on the wall. My heart thumped as I took another glance at Lugh. Help was on the way, but I hoped it wouldn’t be long. The colour had begun to drain from his face. I didn’t want to think too hard about what that meant.

  Scurrying into the bathroom, I found the cupboard and the kit inside. It had that same sigil etched onto the front, which was a good sign I’d found the right thing. When I returned to the living room, I dropped to Lugh’s side and grabbed a glass medicine bottle clearly labeled, “Salve.”

  When I unscrewed the top, I had to wrinkle my nose. Blimey, this shit stank like rotten eggs mixed with burnt plastic. Whatever this was, it was potent, which hopefully meant it would do the trick.

  I spread some across my hand, grimaced and then dabbed it against Lugh’s wound. Blood smeared onto my hand. Scrunching my nose, I continued dabbing the salve until I’d covered everything.

  The whole room reeked now, but it was done. I grabbed Lugh’s shirt and ripped off a strip of it, revealing more of his chiseled abs. Swallowing hard, I pressed the cloth against the wound, sat back on my heels, and waited.

  I’d done what I’d been told, but I didn’t think it was enough.

  Lugh hadn’t even flinched, and his chest barely moved as he breathed.

  He was dying, and for some bizarre reason I didn’t understand, the very core of me—my soul—felt scared.

  11

  Saoirse burst through the door, her dark hair floating around her shoulders as if she’d just been hit with a jolt of electric energy. Her eyes swirled around the room before landing on Lugh’s unconscious form spread across the floor. Her body tensed, then relaxed. She twisted toward the door and flicked her fingers.

  Several more supernaturals strode into the little hideaway. Two more fae, the ginger-haired warriors from the night of my trial, whose names I’d since learned were Warin and Boudica. They were twins. And a sorcerer. I sniffed, narrowing my eyes. I wasn’t a big fan of sorcerers. Every time I went near one, something terrible tended to happen. They sucked in drama wherever they went, like some kind of tornado of problems.

  I was pretty sure they liked it that way.

  This guy, though, reminded me nothing of the sorcerers I’d met before. He was built like a tank, his hair buzzed short. It highlighted his thick neck covered in elaborate tattoos. Dark ink crept up the side of his face to his hairline. I drank in his clothes. Dark jeans ripped at the knees. Black boots. And a heavy metal band t-shirt.

  Sorcerers—unlike fae, vampires, and werewolves—were human. They just happened to be gifted with magical abilities from the power that had seeped from the fae realm and into this one. It didn’t run in bloodlines, and it didn’t matter where you lived. It just showed up, unexpectedly. Many sorcerers spent their entire lives never knowing what they were, just thinking they were freaks.

  “Axel,” Saoirse said, waving emphatically at the sorcerer. “Take care of Lugh’s wound. You two,” she said as she swivelled toward the warriors, “keep a look out in the close, just in case the attackers come back.”

  “I don’t think they’re coming back,” I said quietly. “They got what they came for.”

  “We can’t be too careful,” she said in a snap.

  “Hey now.” I held up my hands. “Don’t take this out on me. I’m only repeating what one of the attackers said. They wanted to take Lugh out, and they did.”

  Her expression softened. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried. He hardly ever leaves the castle without a spear, and so I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  She was scared, worried for him, just like I’d been. It was inexplicable for me, since I kind of hated the guy. He was a traitor and a cocky arsehole making my life miserable. I shouldn’t have cared. I’d been wracking my brain while I’d waited for the others to arrive. Why had I fought so hard? Why had I gotten his literal blood on my hands trying to save his life?

  It didn’t make any sense. And yet, when I looked at him wounded on the floor, I felt that twinge deep down inside of me again. The urge to help. The desperation to keep him alive.

  Maybe that was his power. Maybe it wasn’t skill with a spear at all.

  Maybe he was able to command unwavering loyalty and devotion in his subjects. It would explain why he’d made his own court.

  “Axel, what are you thinking?” Saoirse asked the sorcerer, who had knelt beside Lugh to examine his wounds.

  The sorcerer gave her a grim smile. “Unfortunately, Moira was right to be
concerned. Whatever was used to cut him has been doused in magic. It prevents healing, so there’s no way to stop the blood or close the wound.”

  My heart hammered against my ribcage. “So, you can’t fix him?”

  “Oh, I can fix him,” Axel grunted. “I can counter the magic with something of my own, so that he can begin to heal normally. But if you hadn’t called me in...”

  I glanced at Saoirse whose face had gone pale.

  “Right,” she whispered. “Do what you can for him, please.”

  “And I’ll get my payment?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes flashed as she stared down at him. “Have we ever not paid you?”

  He shrugged. “Nope, but I have to check. I’ve been stiffed by others enough lately that I can never be too sure.”

  Interesting. So, this sorcerer took on a lot of work. “You happen to be hired to make a blue smoke bomb thingy lately?”

  He cocked his head in confusion.

  “Sapphire,” Saoirse added. “She got hit with one.”

  He grumbled. “No, I don’t touch that shite. You’re probably looking at Jezebel for that kind of thing.”

  Jezebel? Arching my brows, I turned back to Saoirse. If we could track down the sorcerer creating the smoke bombs, maybe she could lead us to the traitor inside the court.

  Wait a minute. What was I thinking? I wasn’t here to help the Court of Wraiths. I was here to take them down.

  Who cared who made the damn Sapphire when that mysterious cauldron was out there, waiting to take down my Queen?

  Saoirse gave a quick shake of her head. “We already looked into that. Jezebel loves making Sapphire, but she’d never sell to a fae. She hates us.”

  With that, Axel snapped open a leather bag he’d brought along with him and extracted a grimoire. “Worry about your Sapphire problems later. I need to get to work.”

  While the sorcerer did his thing to Lugh’s wounds, Saoirse dragged me down the hallway so that we could have some privacy. “Tell me what happened.”