Warrior Fae Trapped: A DDVN Book

by Breene, K. F.

  “It’s weird when he smiles,” Rod murmured to Andy. “It makes me think he’s about ready to attack me.”

  “Who, Roger?” Andy asked.

  “No—well, him, too, but I meant Devon,” Rod answered.

  “He might. Even with Charity to even him out a little, he’s still a moody SOB.”

  “You guys—” Charity huffed out more laughter at their absurdity.

  “Hey,” Devon said, walking toward them.

  “Hey,” she replied, and she knew she had a goofy smile on her face.

  “How was your class?” Devon slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  They talked about nothing much, keeping it light and easy, as they made their way to the loaner Jeep. Devon’s SUV was still in the shop, the establishment apparently owned by a shifter who wasn’t employed by Roger. He specialized in making up reasons for things like claw marks in the paint.

  After Andy and Rod made excuses to get out of dinner that night and parted ways with Charity and Devon, they got in the car and headed home. A moment passed, then Devon cleared his throat.

  “Charity, listen,” he said. “What we have… What we’re… I wanted to tell you—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Charity put out her hand. She’d suspected this was coming, what with Roger breathing down their necks, hinting about opening up and throwing around the L-word. Yeah, right, like that hard-ass alpha ever talked about what made him tick. He certainly hadn’t given Devon any advice on how to go about it, because the start of this chat was going as awkwardly as Charity had assumed it would.

  This wasn’t any of Roger’s business. It wasn’t anyone’s business. Devon didn’t have any experience with attachments or relationships. He’d rebuilt his whole life after the summons, and he’d done so around the idea of himself as the solitary alpha. Even though that idea might not fit as snugly as it used to, he still had a lot of baggage to unpack. Baggage he had to fold up and put away by himself.

  Charity would be damned if she’d hurry him up while he remade the man he was. The process would take time and go through many hiccups. If there were labels slapped on things, and expectations, and hills to climb, it would only take longer. Plus, she had her own issues to sort out.

  No, for right now, as she settled into this new life, she liked things exactly as they were. They liked each other, they were dating—they didn’t need any L-word complications. They had enough complications with all the times she randomly went crazy and tried to kill him. Luckily, he just viewed it as exercise.

  “Look, here’s my hang-up,” she said, trying not to let the awkwardness of the moment affect her. There was only one thing she did have to insist on. “I’m not much of a player—obviously—and I don’t care for the game. If we’re sleeping with each other, I’d have a hard time with you seeing anyone else.”

  A rush of rage and magic swept through her, and she braced against the dash, fighting it into submission. The spicy adrenaline felt so good that she wanted to cry.

  Devon chuckled darkly then sobered. “Hey, are you okay? I wouldn’t do that to you, Charity. I’m a dick, but I’m not a complete jackass. I’ve never juggled women. It’s always been one at a time. It just never lasted—”

  “Stop,” she said as he pulled into the driveway, clutching her seat and gritting her teeth. Electricity ran along her skin. Light danced before her eyes. “Don’t talk… I need…”

  She groped for the door handle and half fell out of the Jeep, staggering toward the trees and taking a big whiff of fresh, forest-rich air. Sometimes it was the only thing that would calm her.

  Her magic tore at her, begging to be used. Not able to stand the pressure, she thrust her hands into the sky and let it come.

  Sparks and light showered down, brighter than the afternoon sun. Electricity sizzled through the air before it concussed, exploding out toward the trees. Sparks caught in the branches and dried grass. Embers flared. Flames danced.

  “Oh God,” she said, euphoric and horrified at the same time. “I’ll burn the whole—”

  Shockingly, the flames shrank then died. The smoke curled then cleared away. Her light show dimmed until it faded.

  “Oh,” she said, amazingly not weak like she had been after the battle. Still feeling pretty great, actually. Strong. Too powerful. “I guess the magic just…goes away.”

  “Nope.”

  Only then did Charity notice the small collection of people standing outside of Devon’s house, staring at her. Roger waited among them, standing next to a slouching, pretty brunette who didn’t fool Charity. She might look small and fragile, but Charity didn’t want to be on the wrong end of whatever she could do. Beside her stood a tall, broad man with a curious expression and hard, ruthless eyes. If he’d been walking toward her in her old neighborhood in Chicago, she would’ve ducked into an alley, jumped in a dumpster to hide, and hoped for the best.

  A blonde woman stepped forward, drawing Charity’s gaze with her over-the-top confidence, scuffed leather pants that looked like they’d been through hell and back, combat boots, and beat-up fanny pack.

  “I figured I’d lend a hand,” the woman said, gesturing at the trees. “You looked like you were having a moment. I didn’t want a forest fire to interrupt it.”

  The way she held herself, rough and loose, spoke of an experienced, nonchalant fighter. Her smile held easy humor and her eyes sparked crazy. This woman had led a hard life of violence. If Charity were in that dumpster, hiding from the man, this woman would find her and fish her out. The gun strapped to her thigh, the throwing knives in the ankle brace, and the sword peeking out behind her were all overkill.

  “Who are these people?” she asked Devon, who had caught up to her.

  “It’s a long story,” Devon said. “Basically, we helped them take on an organization called the Mages’ Guild, which had gone corrupt.” Gesturing to the terrifying blonde, he added, “She’s the one Vlad is respectfully wary of, Reagan Somerset. And for good reason—her magic is insane. As is she. She drinks a bunch of whiskey and chases shifters around New Orleans. Anyway, because we helped them, Penny, the brunette, agreed to help us.”

  “That’s not why we agreed.” Reagan walked toward a sleek red SUV parked in the driveway. She opened the back, flashing Charity the emblem.

  “Since when did Ferrari start making SUVs?” she asked despite herself.

  “I know, right?” Reagan huffed. “Sellouts. This one hasn’t released to the general public yet. I’m only driving it because it’s Moss’s new car, and he’s going to be pissed it was stolen.”

  “Wait,” Penny said, “that’s Moss’s? Did my mother put you up to this?”

  “Yup,” Reagan replied with a smirk.

  “Who is Mo—”

  “Got something for ya,” Reagan cut Charity off, pulling out a long parcel wrapped in a burlap sack.

  “It’s easier if you roll with it,” Devon told Charity softly, his hand on her back.

  “Roll with what?” Charity asked.

  “Us.” Reagan strode toward them, holding the parcel out in front of her. “Well, Penny, to be precise. She wears on you at first, but eventually she redeems herself.”

  “Her jokes never get any better,” Penny said.

  Reagan laughed. “Why improve upon perfection?” She stopped in front of Charity. “I’m Reagan, the happily insane one. Damn glad to meet you. You have a long, crazy road ahead of you, but what an introduction to your mettle, huh? I was hanging on the edge of my seat, listening to Roger recount the story.” She pushed the parcel out a little more. “Dizzy made this for you.” Clearly seeing Charity’s confused look, she said, “A dual-mage friend of mine. It seems Roger isn’t nearly as cheap as we all thought.”

  Roger shifted his weight, but didn’t comment. Charity barely stopped her jaw from dropping open. Was this what Devon meant by rolling with it? She hadn’t realized Roger was capable of “rolling” with anything.

  “Go ahead,” Reagan said, hefting the parcel. “Op
en it.”

  Charity gingerly took the package, the core hard and unmoving. She peeled back the burlap, and the sun glinted on deep crimson metal. Removing the rest of the covering, she sucked in a breath.

  The sword’s finely wrought handle practically glued itself to her palm, finally quelling the itch she’d felt since her power had awakened. Magic flowed out of her and into the metal, a soft hum cutting through the silence. The tip of the deep crimson blade sparked before a sheen of light flowed back over the weapon and soaked into it. She sighed, letting her eyes drift closed. The hilt in her hand felt…divine. Perfect. She didn’t even feel the need to sprint at the onlookers and cut off their heads. She was content to hold it in the sunlight, feeling the warmth on her face and in her body.

  Reagan stepped back. “Welcome to magic. We have the coolest stuff.”

  “The magical properties of that blade can be altered, depending on how your magic grows,” Roger said. He gestured Charity closer. “I had the maker—Dizzy—research the types of blades warrior fae used back when they roamed the Brink. He fashioned something in that vein.”

  “My mother gave it some finishing touches, based on what she saw,” Penny said.

  “What she…saw?” Charity asked, lowering the sword to her side. She didn’t want to let it go.

  Reagan grimaced. “She’s a Seer. The worst type of magic, if you ask me.”

  “Please, Charity, come inside,” Roger said, putting out his hand.

  Reagan frowned and turned toward him. “Since when do you ask nicely?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, now I remember. After you get thrown through a window.”

  Roger’s face closed down into a terrifying mask of rage. A thread of anxiety wormed through Charity, and Devon stiffened. Unbelievably, Reagan laughed and turned, falling in beside them.

  “By the way, Devon,” she said as Devon gently nudged Charity to start walking, “I heard you had a little soiree in your backyard. I’m pissed you didn’t invite me. I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to participate, what with vampire politics and all, but man, would I have liked to see Vlad’s face when Charity barbecued him. I am so sorry I missed that.”

  “The ward was poorly done if a bunch of vampires could break through.” Penny looked out toward the trees. “We can keep it roughly the same size, Roger, but I wouldn’t be opposed to adding some booby traps. Charity’s magic is fascinating. Bold and electric. It has this”—Penny closed her eyes and tilted her face upward—“lightness to it. Pureness.” She smiled and touched her middle. “It feels good. Like the pulse of life. I can see why shifters are drawn to it.”

  Charity swung the sword, just to feel its weight. “What magic do you have?”

  “She’s a natural dual-mage with spunk.” Reagan winked at Charity. “She stole the spunk from a nasty little goblin.”

  “I didn’t steal it,” Penny replied with the annoyance of a woman who was tired of this topic. “I inherited it.”

  “You ripped it out of its grubby little hands when you killed it,” Reagan shot back with an evil grin.

  Penny frowned at her then shifted her focus to the driveway. “As I was saying, Charity’s magic has less finesse, but that’ll actually make it easier for the ward. I can weave elements of her ability into the traps. Now…” She put out a finger, and the rest of the group stopped next to her. “It might blow off someone’s leg. That’s the downside. But only vampires or demons will set off the trigger, so…”

  “You can do that?” Charity asked, swinging her sword again.

  “It’s a great big world, lady,” Reagan said. “You haven’t even scratched the surface.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Devon kept a firm hand on Charity, remembering his induction to magic and knowing Charity would need a little support. The team Roger had amassed here included what was probably the most powerful magical talent in the Brink. He didn’t even know what Reagan’s magic was, just that it had turned the tide in that battle with the mages, and he’d never seen or smelled anything like it. She and her crew collectively possessed a level of experience that was probably boggling Charity’s mind.

  “Shall we step inside to speak with Karen?” Roger asked, gesturing toward the door.

  Devon nudged Charity gently, watching her move that crimson sword in tiny circles. The tip sparked, and occasionally a zagging line of electric magic crisscrossed the blade.

  “Who is Karen?” Charity whispered, glancing at Reagan, who nodded and stepped away. She wouldn’t be following them into the house. Thank God for small miracles. The woman was unpredictable, and anything might set Charity off right now.

  Karen, Penny’s mom, an older woman with intelligent blue eyes and an impatient air, waited for them in the dining room. Alder stood at her side, his posture stiff and arms at his back. A crystal ball sat in front of her on a black velvet mat. Next to that was an old and badly worn stack of tarot cards. At the end of the setup, a martini.

  “So…you’re the—”

  “Seer, yes,” Karen interrupted. “Put your sword…” She squinted at Charity. “Never mind. Sit down.”

  Charity’s brow furrowed, and she looked at Devon for the go-ahead.

  “The alpha is looking for you,” Alder told Devon, Alder’s unwavering stare beating into him, raising Devon’s hackles. Charity’s magic pulsed into the room, wild and raw and fierce, shocking through Devon’s middle. His magic rose to answer the call.

  Devon struggled his gaze downward. He had no intention of challenging a superior tonight. “Yes, sir.”

  “But what if I…?” Charity said, her gaze imploring.

  “I’ll be right outside,” Devon told her, knowing she was worried her magic would surge and she’d have no one around to temper it.

  As he was walking out, he heard the snap of the tarot deck and “Well, didn’t you find yourself a handsome young man. Congratulations. Just remember, they don’t come trained. You have to do that yourself.”

  Roger waited outside with Reagan, the two of them watching the natural dual-mages standing at the edge of the grass, talking and gesturing as they prepared the new ward. Devon had seen what they were capable of. It was awe-inspiring. That Roger was paying for them to erect a ward around his house showed how serious he was about keeping Charity safe.

  “How is she?” Roger asked when Devon joined their powwow.

  Devon shook his head. “Her surges of magic are getting stronger. They feel like needles along my skin at this point. Sometimes I have to fight her into submission, and that turns bloody.”

  “The sword should help a little,” Reagan said. “Karen was adamant that she have it sooner rather than later. But it’s just a patch. I asked Darius about the warrior fae. He says they typically shepherd their own kind into full magic. At least, the stronger ones do. A warrior fae on her own won’t be able to handle the surges when they get too strong. Charity will need guidance. She’ll need to be among her own kind.”

  Roger nodded and turned, looking out at the trees. “We’re trying to wait until the end of the school term so we have the whole summer.”

  Reagan smiled briefly. “You’re hoping the start of school will be enough to pull her back out of the Flush?”

  “I’m hoping.”

  “Roger, come on. She’s a princess. A princess—”

  “We’re not sure of that,” Roger said.

  Reagan’s eyes widened, and she pointed to where Charity had stood when she’d expelled her magic. “Really? Not a princess? The backlash of her magic earlier nearly blew my eyebrows off, and thanks to Penny, I just had to have them regrown. That woman is a beast. Besides, do you really think Vlad would be this interested in her if she were any normal magical creature? He got barbecued, man! Barbecued. And do you know what he’s doing right now? Sitting in the vampire lair in the Realm, all pasty and half charcoaled, drafting plans. He’s more intrigued than he ever was. He still means to capture her and use her. If he gets her, then his focus will shift back to me. It’s in eve
ryone’s best interest if you keep that girl out of his hands. So cut the crap, and start thinking rationally. She needs help, and only her people will give it to her.”

  Devon held his breath. As a rule, no one spoke to Roger that way. Not unless they wanted a hard lesson in respect.

  But Roger just blew out a breath and tucked his hands into his pockets. “We’ll see what Karen has to say.”

  “You guys set too much stock on a silly type of magic,” Reagan muttered.

  A grin tweaked Roger’s lips. “If we were talking about anyone but Ms. Bristol, I’d agree wholeheartedly. Which you know, since you’ve been on the receiving end of her…fortunes, as well.”

  Reagan scowled. “Fair enough.”

  Roger sobered. “I doubt Charity will let us take her out of school unless she’s on her death bed.”

  “Wait as long as you can, sure, but don’t wait too long,” Reagan said. “Otherwise, you’ll have a dead Arcana on your hands, and several very angry live Arcanas at your door.”

  Roger shook his head and watched Penny and Emery wave their hands in the air, obviously weaving magic. “She was magnificent in that battle. Courageous and brutal, fast and efficient. Everything I’ve heard warrior fae are supposed to be, and she is completely untrained in her magic. She worked with my wolves perfectly, with the loyalty I’d expect of one of my shifters.” He threw a glance at Devon. “If we’d had a host of warrior fae at the Mages’ Guild, we would’ve dominated without question. And Vlad’s changing party would have been a nonstarter.”

  Reagan turned and stared directly into his eyes, a challenge by shifter standards. Roger didn’t seem to notice.