Agent of Darkness (Dark Fae FBI Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  “Poor child.” She ran a bony finger over my cheek, her touch pure ice, and a chill rippled over my body. Her voice seemed to echo from the inside of my mind. “So lonely. It wasn’t your fault.”

  My heart hammered against my ribs.

  “You were just a baby. Your mother abandoning you like that. You couldn’t help growing into a monster like you did.”

  I took a step back, transfixed by her eyes, but wanting to get away from the stench of death.

  “And now, all alone. Humans turning their backs on you. The fae folk treating you like a mongrel. Poor child. So much suffering.” She opened her gaunt arms wide. “Time to rest. Come to me. Let me take your pain away.”

  As the fog thickened, I felt a strange tug urging me to move closer to her, but I clamped down on it hard. From the corner of my eye, I saw another figure emerge from the fog—a man this time—but I kept my gaze locked on the hag. I couldn’t let her touch me again, or I’d sink into her spell. When she reached for me again, I was ready. I smacked her hand away, and the crunch of bone echoed off the buildings. I was in no mood for fae manipulation.

  “You need to back away from me.” Ice laced my voice, and my gaze darted to a reflection in the mirror.

  But as it did, I glimpsed another figure moving closer—Gabriel’s broad form, moving toward us through the mist.

  He lifted a gun—the one I’d give him—to the crone’s chest. “Get away from her, demon.”

  Slowly, the hag’s head swiveled to face him. “Gabriel. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

  For just a moment, surprise flickered in his eyes. “This is called a gun, demon. It shoots bullets. Iron bullets.”

  The crone smiled sadly at him. “Violence? Is that really the answer? A man like you, who has lost so much to violence. You should know better. Don’t you remember me, Gabriel? Didn’t you hear my cry before your wife died?”

  His hand began to shake. I’d never seen him look so unnerved before, and my stomach churned. “Violence has its uses.”

  “Your poor wife. Killed so suddenly. Do you know what killed her?”

  “A demon.”

  “No.” The crone clutched her chest. “It was a terror wraith, a fear-spirit with no body. One who could slip into humans, take control of them. The wraith fae passed into a man’s body—a lonely nobody. Wrapped in human flesh, the wraith thrust a knife into your wife’s heart, then fed as you held her dying body, terrified for her safety. I watched it all. I knew it was coming, and I showed up for the thrill. We feed on sorrow. We foretell despair. And then we scream.” She reached out, stroking his gun, and Gabriel seemed to freeze. “When you hear a banshee wail, death always follows.”

  Gabriel fired the gun, but the banshee’s body clouded into mist, the bullet flying right through her, shattering the glass behind her. It only took a moment for her body to solidify again, and the sound she emitted next would haunt me for the rest of my life. She flung back her head, shrieking to the skies, her voice like a thousand tormented souls, piercing me to the marrow. The other banshees howled with her, their cries deafening, and I clamped my hands over my ears.

  The three of them launched themselves forward, claws lengthening, sharp teeth bared. As the largest one lunged, slashing for Gabriel with long, sharp talons, I grabbed her by the hood, yanking her neck back hard.

  When she whirled to face me, I slammed my forehead into her nose, cracking the bone. Pain flashed in my skull, still throbbing from before. She let out a shriek as her nose crunched, broken. Dazed, with colored spots dancing in my vision, I reared back for another punch. This one I landed on her temple.

  The three of them had unveiled, their fingers tapering into talons, silvery feathers sprouting on their skin.

  The tallest of them slashed at me with her claws, and red-hot pain lanced my cheek as she tore into the flesh. I punched her again, her head snapping back. Before I could land another blow, one of the banshees slammed into me, knocking me to the ground, a maddened grin on her face.

  She slashed at me, but I grabbed one of her talons, twisting it backward. Blood ran down my arm as the talon pierced my skin. Nevertheless, I snapped the talon, her screams sending a dark thrill sparking through my blood. As she fell off me, I scrambled to my feet.

  And that’s when I saw what had happened to Gabriel, and my world tilted.

  He lay flat on his back, blood pooling around his body in a glistening puddle. One of the banshees gnawed at his neck, and my heart stopped. So much blood on the pavement. Grief slammed me in the chest with the force of a freight train. I couldn’t breathe.

  “No!” I yelled, my mind echoing with tormented screams. I rushed for the fae, slamming my foot into her head. She tumbled off Gabriel, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to look at him.

  Endless cries of agony, drowning me in a river of sorrow. I let it block out my own pain, my own sorrow, just submerged myself in the torment of others.

  Time slowed to a crawl, the droplets of blood seeming to fall from the fae’s teeth in slow motion, suspended in the air. A silver feather, frozen above us, unmoving.

  In the misty air, tendrils of fear whirled around me. Fae fear. Somehow, as if by instinct, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I arched my back, letting the banshees’ fear flow into me, feeding from it. Then, with a snarl no longer quite human, I blasted it back at them.

  As time resumed its pace, the banshees’ eyes widened, their jaws slackening, hands freezing in place. One of them jerked and scrambled backward, desperate to flee from me.

  In the depths of my mind, I could feel their screams, interweaving with thousands of tormented souls, clamoring in terror. Their horror filled my body with power.

  The fae all scrambled to their feet, screeching, turning away, fleeing, but I wasn’t going to let them go. They’d killed my friend, and I wanted them to suffer.

  I let the terror flow from my body into theirs, paralyzing them with dread. One after another, they crumpled on the sidewalk. Dark fury raged, and I crossed to the first—the one who had feasted on Gabriel. Power flooded my bones as she looked up at me, shaking. Her terror only spurred me on.

  Defensively, she held up her hands. “Please.”

  I reached down, snapping her neck, the crack echoing off the walls. Her body slumped to the ground.

  With rage poisoning my blood, I stalked to the next one, who whimpered, staring at me with her eerie, black eyes, her fear paralyzing her. I picked up a large shard of glass from where the bullet had smashed the window, not caring that it cut into my fingers.

  The banshee tried to form a word, but she emitted only a garbled string of sounds. I pulled back her tangled silver hair, exposing her icy throat, and stabbed the shard of glass into her jugular. Blood sprayed into the air.

  Nearby, the last banshee emitted a strangled sound. Drenched in fae blood, I crossed to her, gripping the shard of glass.

  She lay huddled against the wall, gaping at me, and I held the glass to her throat.

  “Why me?” I snarled. “Why did you come after me?”

  She stammered something incomprehensible, and I pressed the tip of the shard to her throat.

  “Why me?” I roared.

  “Mistress… of… Dread…” she stammered. “Must… die…”

  Mistress of Dread. Ice frosted my mind. “Why?”

  “He… commanded it.”

  “Who?” While she trembled, I brought the shard of glass up to her black eye, threatening to carve it out. “Who, damn it? Who sent you?”

  “The… king…”

  The sound of police sirens sliced the air.

  “The fae High King? He sent you to kill me? Why?”

  Her jaw opened and closed again, and I pressed the shard just under her eye. “I… don’t know!” she shrieked.

  I believed her. But in the next moment, she was frantically reaching for my throat, desperate to save her own life. Her frigid talons tightened around my neck.

  I reared back my hand, then s
lammed the shard into her throat, severing her arteries. Soaked in her blood, I rose, my entire body shaking.

  Mistress of Dread.

  As the police sirens drew closer, I hurried to Gabriel’s side, really looking at him for the first time, barely able to breathe. His neck had been ripped out, and his beautiful hazel eyes stared at the sky. Grief threatened to suffocate me, to pull me under. His blood stained the street in a wide pool.

  “Gabriel,” I whispered. The banshee had screamed for him.

  He lay dead, well beyond saving. The weight of my sorrow knocked the wind out of me.

  Chapter 7

  I slipped back into my room through one of my mirrors, my chest aching with sorrow. Tears flowed down my cheeks, and blood soaked my clothes—banshee blood, my blood, Gabriel’s blood—the metallic scent turning my stomach. I quickly stripped off my jeans, the fabric drenched. I looked down at my legs, at the blood that had seeped into the fabric, creating a strange, sickly red pattern on my skin. So much blood. I couldn’t breathe.

  I slumped onto my bed, wiping the tears off on the back of my hand. Gabriel had died trying to help me. He’d been a better friend than I deserved.

  I stared at the room’s floor, still littered with fragments of glass. A sob escaped my throat, and then another. I tried to contain them, to tell myself that I had to keep moving, that the fae were out to kill me and that I needed to act, but sorrow washed over me.

  I thought of the first time I’d met Gabriel at the crime scene in Mitre Square, first glimpsing his hazel eyes. Of the time I’d had a nightmare and woke up screaming in his home, and he came in to talk to me. Of all the times I’d asked for help and he didn’t even hesitate, and the way he’d taken care of me, humming gently as he scrambled eggs for me.

  I couldn’t let those memories be forever marred by the image of him lying on his back in an alley, eyes vacant, throat torn, a grimace of pain on his face. Would I ever be able to think of him without conjuring that horrible moment? Without wondering how his life would have turned out if he’d never met me?

  I clutched the edge of my dirty bedsheets, wishing Gabriel had never come here to check up on me. Tears blinded my vision, flowing down my face.

  Finally, there were no tears left—just a hollowness in my ribs. I didn’t know how long I’d sat on that bed, staring at the floor, but it could have been hours. When my back began to ache, I rose and stared around me. A honeyed ray of sunlight shone between the blinds, glinting off a shard of mirror. I crossed to the corner of the room, picking up a plastic bag from the floor.

  Carefully, I began collecting the shards one by one, dropping them in the plastic bag. I did it carefully, gently, avoiding the sharp edges, trying to keep my mind focused on the task. Something that got me moving. The shrieks in my head had faded slightly, becoming bearable. I pushed my grief and rage under the surface, letting my mind ice over until a chilling sense of calm overtook me.

  As I tidied up the room, my mind roamed over the attack. What exactly had happened to me? Somehow, I’d sucked up fear from the banshees and thrown it back at them, paralyzing them with terror. I’d never felt fae fear before. If only I’d discovered that strange power before they’d torn Gabriel’s throat out.

  Under the ice floes of my mind, a voice keened, The Mistress of Dread must die.

  It was the second time someone had called me the Mistress of Dread. What did it mean? I stared at my reflection in a large shard in my hand. Red nose, swollen eyes. Not especially frightening, and yet the fae king wanted me dead.

  I could only guess it had something to do with that terror I’d managed to instill into the banshees.

  The king. The king had sent the banshees after me, and they’d slaughtered Gabriel while they were at it.

  A cold rage spread through my body, replacing the initial shock. It wasn’t my fault that Gabriel had died. The fae High King was responsible. He had sent those assassins to kill me, and my friend had paid the price for it.

  My fingers tightened into fists. The king had killed my friend, and he would pay for it with his life.

  I was the goddamn Mistress of Dread, and he’d better fear me.

  Ice. I let my mind become pure ice, just focusing on what I needed to do next. Freshly showered, I pulled on the last of my clean clothes—a pair of leather leggings, a black shirt. I collected all my possessions, sorting through them, concentrating on the task at hand. I pushed away the dark thoughts that prodded the back of my mind, just focusing on sorting out my clothes, picking out the ones covered in mustard, wine, and blood. The sweatshirt with a mysterious hole burnt in the elbow, the bra that smelled of whiskey—I threw them all out. Anything good got shoved into my backpack, along with the gun I’d pulled off Gabriel’s body, loaded with bullets, plus my own gun, covered in pond muck. I wrapped my laptop in its leather case, then jammed it in with the rest of my things. I left the compass on the bedside table. It had done its job.

  I put some cash on the bed, a large tip for whoever cleaned up the mess I left behind. I wouldn’t need the money where I was going. Then I pulled on my backpack, trying to formulate exactly what I was going to do next, what I would say.

  My body shaking, I crossed to the bathroom, gripping my backpack tight.

  Lucky for me, no one was in the bathroom, giving me uninterrupted access to the mirror. Burying my grief, my anger, I stared at the reflection, hardly recognizing myself. Gone was the blubbering mess with the screams in her head. Gone was the profiler who got to work early in the morning, bright-eyed and sipping coffee. I stared at the reflection, my own hard, steely eyes gazing back at me. An ugly red scratch marred my neck, and my bloodshot eyes spoke of weeks of disrupted sleep. I clenched my jaw, needing to feel in control again before I left on my next mission. I let my mind ice over, a glacier of calm.

  I dropped my backpack on the floor, then pulled out my makeup bag. I smeared concealer under my eyes, hiding the deep bags, then blended pearly blush on my cheeks until I nearly looked like a functioning human.

  Once I’d finished, I stared at the mirror again. I felt for the reflection, letting my mind bond with it. I merged with the mirror until I felt that satisfying connection in my mind, and I searched until I found what I wanted.

  There: sitting by the fireplace, bathed in warm light in a mahogany-walled room. Not a room I recognized; this one was grand, the walls finely carved with wood sculptures, the oak floors polished. And there he was, bathed in warm firelight, the man whose goals now aligned starkly with my own. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

  I let myself fall into the reflection, feeling its frigid, liquid surface wash over my skin, chilling me to the bone. I landed in the corner of the room, beneath a window.

  And that’s when Roan charged for me, fury burning in his golden eyes.

  I held up my hands defensively. “Roan. It’s just me.”

  He froze a foot away from me, eyes glimmering with gold, teeth lengthening into sharp fangs. Firelight wavered over his powerful body. Snarling, he sniffed the air, and the temperature around us dropped sharply. Ivory horns sprouted from his head. He was about to unveil completely.

  A primal fear stopped my heart. “Roan?”

  “Cassandra.” He closed his eyes, growling softly, and I watched as he gained control of himself, the fangs and horns disappearing. Still, the threat lingered, and tension thickened the air. The room felt freezing, and my breath clouded in front of my face.

  Shivering, I hugged myself. He’d stopped unveiling, but I could find not a hint of warmth in his features. “I need to talk to you.”

  A smile curled his lips. “What a coincidence. I need to talk to you as well.” He frowned, eyes scanning the room. “Not here, though. I can take you someplace more comfortable.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” My heart still thundered from the sight of him nearly unveiling.

  He turned to the door. “Nerius?”

  A hulking man with dark eyes and olive skin swooped through the doorway, and the
sight of him sent a chill over my skin. His long brown hair hung over leather fighting gear, and a scar marred his handsome face. He glared at me. “That’s what I was feeling.” Venom laced his voice. “The pixie. How clever of you to get her back here.”

  Roan shoved his hands into his pockets. “I think she missed me. Cassandra, my friend Nerius will take your things.”

  I clutched my bag harder. At the strange welcome I was receiving, the sorrow I’d trapped under the surface threatened to break free. I blinked, clearing the tears from my eyes. “I’ll keep my bags, thanks.”

  Nerius crossed to me, shadows sliding through his eyes. His lip curled in a snarl, and the ghost of dark wings cascaded from behind his shoulders.

  My gut swooped, and I scanned the room for reflections, catching sight of a mirror in the corner.

  Nerius held out his hand. “He said I’ll take your things.”

  I folded my arms. “What the hell, Roan?”

  Roan merely shrugged. “What can I say? The House of Taranis is known for its hospitality.”

  Fuck it. I’d come here for a reason, and right now I had nowhere else to go. I’d have to play along—and maybe I didn’t need guns to protect myself anymore. I pulled off my shoulder bag and my backpack, handing them over to the asshole with the wings. He turned abruptly, crossing to Roan. Then, he leaned closer to Roan, while the golden-haired fae whispered something into his ear.

  When Nerius left the room, I stared at Roan, trying to ignore the hollow ache in my chest. “Gabriel is dead. The king’s minions had him killed.”

  Shock registered on Roan’s face, and the atmosphere in the room thinned. “What?”

  “They tried to assassinate me. Gabriel…” My throat tightened. “He tried to help.”