Fae Captive (The Mage Shifter War Book 1)

by Elle Middaugh

  "Yeah, he's a damn actor. Someone hired him to fuck with me." I rolled my eyes. "I know."

  "Then what are you doing?"

  "I'm gonna let him fuck with me." I grinned.

  Triton's face grew dark. "Why the hell would you do that?"

  "So I can figure out who hired him."

  "I'll pay him double to just tell us. Don't—"

  I held up a hand. "I could pay him double."

  "Then why—"

  "Because that's no fun."

  Triton grabbed my shoulders and squeezed, stopping just before he made it painful. That was part of the problem with Trite. He could never push himself to be mean enough, to be what I needed. "Aubs, don't. Please. My gut says something's off."

  I stared into his light blue eyes. He was worried. Really worried. And he never worried. Plus, he was begging. In that stupid, nearly irresistible British accent.

  I rolled my eyes. "Fine. But you're ruining my fun."

  He gave a sigh of relief. "Thank you." He took a step back toward the fae he was hitting on.

  "I’m still gonna let him think I’m going home with him," I warned.

  "What?" Trite stopped.

  I couldn’t stop my eyes from lighting up as I grinned. "The easiest way to pick a guy’s pocket is to let him put his arm around you."

  6

  Easton

  My nerves tingled and my fingers shook as I hurried back over to Aubry after grabbing my coat from under twenty others on the rack—this acting thing had me on edge.

  "One sec," I told her. "I gotta run to the restroom before we head out."

  She slid an arm around my waist and smiled up suggestively. My skin heated where her fingers touched me. Other parts of me heated up too. But that was just a natural response to any woman rubbing up against me. Nothing special, I told myself, as I walked off.

  I stepped into a rank bathroom stall and slipped my hand into my pocket so I could grab my phone—I had to tell Drake—but there was no phone.

  That bitch!

  I grinned. Shit. Drake was right. She’d picked my pocket just like he’d predicted.

  I shook my head, half full of admiration, half full of envy. Give me a weapon and I could picture all its pieces. I could pull them apart and put them back together in my head. I could design extra pieces to see if they might fit.

  But people?

  Drake could do that with people. He could pull them apart and see what made them tick. He could predict what they were gonna do next. It was how he’d survived so long. It was why he was our leader.

  It was fucking annoying.

  He better not pull this shit on me, I mentally grumbled, even though, I knew, realistically, there was no chance in hell that Drake hadn’t manipulated me at least once.

  Next to me, a toilet flushed and the awful stench in the room doubled. I waited patiently, trying to hold my breath until the bathroom was empty, then I snuck out into the rear hallway of the bar. I glanced to the front of the room, trying to see if Aubry was still there. Yup. She waited smugly by the stairs, probably assuming I’d be back any minute now.

  Who’s playing who now, Tinkerbell?

  I slinked down the hallway and up an emergency set of stairs before I snuck out the backdoor into the humid L.A. air. A homeless guy outside nodded at me and pointed left. His eyes flashed gold. Shifter.

  I nodded and handed him a couple bucks from my wallet before turning and walking toward the street. Drake was waiting behind the wheel of a black sedan. I didn't recognize the car, but then again, I never did. Drake’s operations were smoother than my cock. And that was saying something.

  I climbed into the passenger seat and said, "She took the bait."

  Drake checked the clock on the dashboard.. After nodding, he shifted the car into drive. "Good. Time for phase two."

  He pulled a cell out of his pocket and carefully hand-dialed each digit. He didn't say anything, but I knew he was calling Bodie.

  "She’ll be on the move soon."

  "Yup. Ready to follow." I heard the monotone response from Fuzzball before Drake lowered his window and tossed the burner phone into the street. Some lucky, or unlucky, homeless chump would pick it up and use the ten minutes left on the prepaid plan.

  My leg started to bounce when we got stuck at a red light. My hands turned clammy. I usually worked on the set up behind the scenes, not front and center during the actual jobs. I felt like I'd drunk three cups of coffee topped off with a couple shots of Redbull. "You sure she's not gonna fly—"

  "She has to go back to the precinct first. She wouldn’t carry around a magical tracer on her. Those things are too bulky. She’ll have to go back and trace the phone’s owner first. Then she’ll fly out."

  I nodded, feeling stupid and annoyed. I knew she’d trace the cell she’d stolen from me. That was why Drake had insisted I carry only a burner tonight. We'd registered it to a condemned apartment complex out in Santa Clarita. That was pretty far north of our normal territory, but Drake didn't want her getting suspicious of us. He didn't want her sniffing us out.

  Could fae even sniff?

  With those tiny little noses of theirs, barely a dot on their face, I doubted it.

  My fingers twitched and I brought them up to my lips, chewing on my nails. "Got any snacks?"

  "No."

  Shit. My stomach grumbled and my foot started tapping. I really wished I had a spare gun to take apart right now. Or something to munch on. Anything to occupy my nervous hands.

  I glanced over at Drake behind the wheel. He had a gun; but I didn't ask for it. You didn’t take a man's weapon from him. "You got a pen?"

  Drake cocked a dark brow in my direction but passed me one from inside his jacket nonetheless.

  Sweet.

  I twisted the tip and pulled out the cartridge of ink, carefully disconnecting the tube from the pointed nib to avoid spilling any of the dark fluid within. "What if she gets caught up with something else at the precinct?" I asked.

  "She won't." Drake looked out the window. He was so calm. So collected.

  Meanwhile, my pulse was racing like a horse at the Kentucky Derby. I blew out a breath and nodded to no one. Because no one was looking.

  I unscrewed the other end and removed the pen’s barrel. There was a spring inside to activate the clicker, so I plucked it out and set it meticulously next to the other disassembled pieces. I licked my bottom lip. Then I chewed it. What if Aubry did show up? Then what? We had a plan for her capture, but beyond that, we couldn’t seem to agree.

  I suddenly realized my scent was filling up the car. I'd put on a bit of cologne for my "date" with Aubry, and coupled with the heat of my current nerves, the spicy aroma was now intensifying. I took another calming breath and started putting the pen back together. It was too easy, though. It wasn’t enough to hold my focus and keep my thoughts from straying.

  Aubry's face kept popping up in my mind. That smile. The thick hair that trailed to her waist like a waterfall and made me wanna touch it. The way her voice tinkled like a bell when she laughed. There was just something about her.

  Nope! Nope. That bitch had wings. She was a damned wasp, and I did not need to get stung to know that it was true. Honey bees, I'd dealt with—being a bear shifter it came with the territory—but wasps? They were real fucking dicks.

  The light turned green and we were once more accelerating through the gilded streets of downtown L.A. After assembling and disassembling the pen at least five times, all I could do was stare out the window, not actually seeing anything. Traffic lights blurred and pedestrians smeared like oil paintings in the background. I was tired. It'd been a long night, and daylight crept toward us. Just a few more hours and the sun would be up, and we'd lose the protective cover of darkness.

  We needed this to go down without a hitch.

  But could we pull this off? Could we really go up against the Chief Enforcer and win? I didn’t want to piss Drake off… but even a genius like him was bound to fail sometime.
>
  I hoped it wouldn’t be tonight.

  Don’t let it be tonight, I begged the universe. Then I tried to smack myself for visualizing defeat.

  After a while, we crossed into Santa Clarita. Like most other cities, there was a bustling downtown area and some nice clean suburbs, but there were also the neglected outskirts. That's where our little apartment was located—right at the edge of an abandoned warehouse, across the street from an old railroad station that had long been overgrown with tall grass. The station's windows were busted out and graffiti covered every available wall space. Every once in a while, a couple of homeless shifters would shuffle in for a few days, but they never stayed. It was too far from the inner city where they could actually make a living off of begging. Out here, they'd starve to death in weeks.

  Drake cranked a hard right and our car was thrust into the darkness of an old loading bay at a warehouse across from the apartment complex where everything would go down. He killed the engine and cut the lights, strolling around back to dig through the trunk. Taking a deep breath, I followed, helping him carry the ropes, chains, and medical kit. It wasn’t for tending wounds, but for drugging the princess on the off chance the iron chains didn't do the dirty work for us.

  We desperately needed this win, but it kinda made me sick to my stomach. Smuggling illegal drugs, weapons, and raw materials into the country was one thing. This was something else entirely.

  Drake and I slipped from the warehouse over to our apartment and deposited the supplies on the table. A cell phone buzzed, and he pulled yet another burner phone from his pocket. "Yeah?"

  I couldn't hear what Bodie was saying on the other end of the line, but based on Drake's, "Perfect. We'll be ready," response, I had to guess the fae was officially on her way.

  Shit.

  I’d never really cared for adrenaline spikes, and I definitely didn’t love the rush that flooded me when Drake hung up the phone. It felt like spiders crawling under my skin.

  Drake's eyes glowed yellow and scales crawled up his forearm as he partially shifted and crushed the little phone into dust with a clawed hand. "Let's get to work."

  About an hour later, after we'd set up every trap known to man, and about a hundred that weren't known, Bodie slipped in through a hidden trap door in the kitchen floor of my fake apartment.

  "She's here," he whispered, before darting off to find his position.

  Go time.

  I ran into the pantry and cracked the door, then removed my handgun from my holster and ejected the mag, counting my ammunition one last time before slamming it shut and racking the slide. I slung some iron chains across my chest. Blood thundered in my ears. Am I seriously prepared to shoot the girl I was just flirting with at the bar? I guess I was about to find out.

  I leaned back against the wall, glancing through the crack to try and peer out the kitchen window. I started to sweat bullets. I had to swipe a hand across my forehead to stop the sweat from getting in my eyes. Then, suddenly, a salt-haired head bobbed just beneath the pane, assessing our perimeter. My eyes fell shut and I took a deep breath.

  She really is here. Fuck. All right, Easton, you got this, I pep talked myself.

  I mean, my hands weren't clean. I'd fought and killed before—more times than I cared to admit. I didn't exactly lose sleep over it, either. So why was my stomach churning?

  It's for your three-man pack, I reminded myself. Together, Drake and Bodie meant more to me than the pack I’d been born into. And they wanted this. No, we wanted this. It's for shifters everywhere.

  Minutes passed, and I started to worry that she'd only look around instead of coming in to inspect. Then a set of wings fluttered outside, hefting her up so she could peer in through the windows.

  I'd hung the jacket I'd worn to the pub over one of the kitchen chairs, hoping she'd recognize it. Drake assured me she would, but what if she didn't? Would she still come inside and check things out? I rubbed my fingers over the textured grip of my gun and mentally tried to take it apart in my head.

  What is taking so long, damn it?

  A faint click sounded, and though it was soft, it practically echoed through the silent room. A hammer on a gun, preparing to open fire? A mage-made skeleton key in the lock, ready to illegally open that door and break in? A car door opening, signaling she'd called for backup? That sound could have been anything. I needed to be prepared.

  The knob twisted quietly, quite a feat considering how old and rattly the damn thing was. The rusted hinges whined as the door crept open. Sweat dripped again from my hairline and snaked down my temple. The floorboards creaked as she took one delicate footstep. My ears just barely caught the soft fluttering of wings as she took to the air and flew closer.

  Then she was in my line of sight.

  I watched as she moved soundlessly around the table, her fingers skimming across my jacket with the same seductive touch she'd used when sliding them around my waist. Goosebumps rose on my skin, tingling where she'd made contact earlier. It was goddamn ridiculous.

  I needed to make a move before I said fuck it and walked away.

  The pantry door opened at the push of my fingertips, slowly revealing me tucked into the shadows. "Hey, Candace. Fancy seeing you here."

  She eyed me curiously, and I watched every muscle in her tiny frame clench. But her eyes narrowed when she saw me. "E-Ethan? What happened to the red hair and the bright blue contacts?"

  Ah, shit. The mage's spell must've worn off. My gold hair and light blue eyes must have come back.

  "Washed it out and removed them," I lied as smoothly as I could. Fuck, I sucked at this stuff. "How'd you find this place?" I asked like I didn’t know.

  She stared at me for a moment longer before completely ignoring my question. "You blew me off at the pub. Why?"

  I chuckled. "Guess you weren't my type."

  Total and complete lie. My eyes were drawn to the soft lines of her cleavage even though she was tastefully covered. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man nervous.

  The sudden urge to bite my nails came over me again and I crossed my arms to keep from giving in. There was something decidedly unconfident about nail biting. I couldn't let my bad habits give me away.

  "You know…" She cocked her head and studied my blond hair and golden stubble. "I just don't believe you."

  I smirked. "Then that's the first thing you got right, Princess."

  She grinned almost malevolently. "See, I knew you knew who I was. I knew you were just an actor. Who sent you?"

  Oh shit.

  The moment she created a plump flame in the palm of her hand, Drake burst through the kitchen door on my right. He launched at her with the speed of his dragon and hit her hard. I had a bad feeling he was going to break a few bones; she was so dainty.

  But I was dead wrong.

  Drake went flying through the air a moment later, launched off her feet when she kicked him. He crashed into a chair, splintering the wooden thing to bits, before rolling across the floor.

  Crap. I guess that meant I had to step in.

  I bent down and grabbed a set of chains, wishing I didn’t have to carry the deadly things, and stalked toward her. I didn’t like the idea of her delicate skin burning underneath them. But she’d just hurt Drake. "That wasn't very nice, Princess."

  "I don't give a flying fuck, you lying ape!" she shouted before charging me.

  She—a tiny little faerie no more than a quarter of my size—attacked me—a bear shifter. It would have been comical if she hadn't packed such a serious punch. As soon as her fist made contact with my cheekbone, my skin split and the blood flew.

  What the hell? I pushed away the pain and let fury tunnel my vision. I focused only on her as she flew through the air and then pushed off the kitchen wall, flipping over my head.

  She landed on my back and lit another fire in her palm as I struggled to throw her off. She was so small, there was almost nothing to grab onto.

  "Can't get past your own enormous muscles
can you, Terminator?" she sneered. "You’re a shit actor and a shit fighter."

  I growled and reached for her again, but Drake was back in action, yanking her by her pretty hair until she was off of me. She grabbed her hair and kicked up so far she did a split and her foot went behind her head in a move so flexible only a fae could pull it off. She smashed Drake right in the nose.

  "Fuck!" he cursed, grabbing his face as the blood streamed down. "You're going to pay for that, little fly."

  "No, I don't think I will." Her wings spread out and she took to the air, buzzing around the shitty apartment in search of an exit.

  Oh, no you don't.

  I threw my iron chains across the door she'd entered through—the only exit that hadn't been boobytrapped. The chain caught on a nail we’d put in earlier and hung there. I strung it down the doorway from nail to nail until it looked like a Christmas garland.

  The little royal was now officially trapped. Anywhere she tried to go, she was going to get a rude and painful awakening. After the blow she’d just given me, I decided I didn’t mind if it was a really painful awakening.

  Princess Aubry opened a window. That triggered the first trap. Before she could even think of flying through, a puff of iron dust rained down from above. The shriek that tore from her mouth was like nothing I'd ever heard.

  My heart clenched, immediately backtracking from the cruel thoughts I’d just had. I regretted that trap in an instant.

  This was so fucked up. I was so fucked up. But we'd already gone too far to turn back now. We had to finish it.

  Aubry cut her screams off quickly, gritting her teeth as she thrashed around in the air trying to shake the dust off her sizzling skin. She flew upward. That’s when her wings hit the flypaper we’d plastered to every ceiling.

  One wing hit the ceiling and stuck. Her face contorted in horror when she realized what had happened. She turned and yanked on her own wing, ripping the delicate scales and tumbling to the linoleum floor. Outraged, she pulled out a gun with a silencer and aimed it right at me.