Fae Kissed

by D. D. Miers

  Across the room, the telltale sound of Taylor’s coffee lid being snapped into place drew Alana’s attention upward. Even in the midst of chaos, Taylor looked put together.

  “At least make an effort to clean up a little,” Taylor urged before striding out the door without a goodbye.

  Alana had hoped after yesterday, things might be a little less tense. At least they were on speaking terms. And Taylor hadn't repeated her threat about Alana needing to find somewhere else to stay. The last thing Alana needed was to be forced out of Taylor’s, unable to protect her sister when the time came.

  She groaned and pushed herself to her feet, intent on taking a long, relaxing shower, when her damnable cell phone rang. Her eyes narrowed toward the sound, but there was too much of a mess to find its exact location. Rather than cleaning up, she flung plastic cups and books from the coffee table on her short-lived hunt.

  “Creed,” she answered with a slide of the phone up to her ear.

  “It’s Mason.” Obviously, since she still hadn’t shared the number with anyone else. “I need you to go to the Order of Magique.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now,” he demanded with a heavy sigh. “These rifts are dangerously powerful and completely unsanctioned. They need to be informed of what’s going on, and we may need to be calling on them for aid.”

  “All right, I’m on it.” Not that she had a choice. She was basically the TBHU’s bitch until her term ended.

  The line went dead, and with a stark frown, she shoved the phone deep into her pocket.

  The Order of Magique, yet another place Alana did not want to go, was where the most powerful magic holders of all the races gathered together, to form some semblance of control over the sometimes uncontrollable.

  Like pissy warlocks.

  That alone was reason enough, but her history as a Reaver, and the fact that her ex was Spearhead of the Mages and would certainly be there. She rushed to clean up just enough to show Taylor she'd made an effort, took a much shorter shower than she'd hoped for, and hurried out the door.

  Pomp and circumstance never had been one of Alana’s favorite things. It was all too common within the Order of Magique, where modernity seemed to be forgotten in favor of the old ways. Or, maybe it was their smug attitudes convincing them they could solve everything with magic.

  Maybe it could, but it didn’t make her hate their arrogance any less.

  “Alana Creed.” She recognized the deep, rumbling voice sneaking up on her back. She spun around and found herself looking into the deep brown eyes of a man she’d dated— if one could call fooling around on the regular. Nolan Karr. “Aren’t you looking as delicious as ever.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Nolan.” She smugly slipped her arms across her chest. “Miss me?”

  “Always.” He motioned for her to follow at his side as they headed into the nearest corridor. “But mostly on those cold lonely nights.” A small dimple formed in the center of his cheek as he smiled down at her. “So, I assume this is just a business call? Or perhaps a personal one?”

  Her lips pulled into a devilish smirk. “Just business.”

  Arrogant, handsome to a fault, and terribly charming, it was a wonder she’d never been able to get past just a bit of fun with him. Her heart never had followed her more carnal desires, and at the time, she’d been fine with that. So had he.

  She considered giving him another night. Her six-month dry spell had left her too susceptible to the charms of good-looking men. A glance at him from the corner of her eye reminded her quickly of the rigid cut of his jaw and perfection of his muscles.

  His eyes drifted to hers, catching the admiration in her stare.

  “Are you reminiscing?” he asked while pushing open a set of double doors behind which she swiftly followed.

  “No, of course not,” she said before the room’s grandeur had her slowing to a halt. “Okay, maybe.”

  “Don’t feel bad. I’m quite the male specimen.”

  “There’s that arrogance I so fondly remember.” She looked around as she spoke, her eyes scanning the room they found themselves in. The grand chamber was where all of the delegates met, once a month and upon the call of any special need. Their engraved seats were situated within a horseshoe shape and placards listing their names were placed along the backs. It didn’t take her long to find Nolan’s among them.

  “Isn’t it . . . some kind of honor to be invited in here?” she asked him, her voice echoing across the empty space.

  “Sure, but since when have you cared about anything like that?”

  “Well, I don’t, but I’m not blind to it.” Nor was she blind to his towering figure near enough that she could smell the mint on his breath.

  “Are you trying to impress me, Nolan?”

  His smile erupted into a breathy laugh. “If I was going to do that, I’d push you against that wall over there and remind you of just how much fun we used to have.”

  “Ahh.” She nodded with a quirk to her own lips she was unable to subdue. “Rather than talking about the unsanctioned rifts with me?”

  “I mean, or we could do that. Or do both.”

  She had to admit, his smile was charming, and had she not had death knocking on her and Taylor’s doorstep, she may well have given in to his challenge.

  Instead, she shared with him everything she knew about the rifts. Well, almost everything.

  By the time she’d finished, Nolan was not happy. “The frequency and power of the rifts had already increased far too much for the Order’s liking. They won’t be pleased to hear it’s getting worse.” Shoving some fallen hair back from his face, he swiftly added, “Whatever assistance you’re in need of, let me know.”

  It’s wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t help her true problems, but Alana still offered him a genuine smile. “Thanks.” With official business out of the way and her curiosity in overdrive, her finger pointed across the room, toward a chair without a name. It was the only one. “Why is that one unmarked?”

  His jaw tightened. “That’s the warlock’s seat. It’s been empty for years.”

  It may have been merely a chunk of wood, but Alana stared at the empty spot with unease, and Nolan didn’t make it any better.

  “They aren’t to be trusted, at all,” he added.

  Yeah. No fucking kidding.

  Chapter 5

  Left with more questions than answers, Alana figured the best place to go was back to the beginning.

  There had to be a way to find some clue as to how the warlocks escaped the rift. If she could understand how they’d done it, it may lead her to understand the scope of Damon’s magic and how to combat it.

  The crumbling mansion that had been desolate when she’d first arrived, now teemed with agents. She climbed out of her car, far from sight, and made her way toward the least-watched path.

  Alana didn't want to end up in an interrogation for which she’d have no answers. Mason only cleared her for the initial visit as a first responder, making sure nothing was about to explode and reveal their existence to the mundane world. Since she’d completed her task, there was no reason for her to be there now. The forensic unit gathered whatever magical signatures remained and cataloged them for the next briefing. She’d be an interference. But what she wanted was completely unsanctioned and against her probationary terms.

  She had to act fast.

  Even from the property’s edge, she felt the low thrum of energy that had pricked her with fear the day before. The strength of it lingered in the air, and although the ground bore a visible scar from the magic’s lash, many of the agents moved in and out of the mansion.

  Shit. She’d missed something. Why hadn’t she gone earlier when she’d had the chance? Now any investigating she did would be soured by a bunch of power-hungry assholes lurking around.

  Wearing a tight-lipped frown, she bypassed the mansion’s front door and snuck to the property’s backside. The back door was open, and as far as she could tell, n
o one was directly nearby. She ran across the open grass to the cover of the wall directly outside the door. A quick sweep of the immediate hallway showed no one in her way.

  She slipped inside, creeping along the uneven, creaky floorboards as quietly as possible until the sound of voices reached her.

  “We need some samples from A1, all the way to the opposite corner,” a female voice ordered. “And don’t forget the residual readings.”

  It took her a few moments, but Alana recognized the voice of Cordelia Canton, a hard-ass, disagreeable person, and a seniority above her own. Who also had a strong distaste for Alana and any of the "less savory" members of the DOSA.

  Alana held her breath as the footsteps headed away from her. The closer she could get to the rift’s epicenter, the better. She sensed the residual raw power pulsing against the open air.

  The slamming of a door startled her and she jerked to the side, brushing her arm against the wall. Unexpectedly, a jolt of magical current zipped up her skin.

  What the hell was that?

  She placed her palm a breath from the wall and slowly edged a finger forward. The moment her skin made contact, another current shot into her. Odd. Somehow, the old mansion’s walls absorbed parts of the rift’s strength.

  She settled the flats of her palms to the wall and pressed down. A thread of life, sparked with energy, wound through her fingertips. It felt as if someone with her same elemental gift had weaved the rift open.

  Was that possible? Could warlocks harness the echo of power left behind in the wake of a powerful rift? Could her own magic be mimicked or even hijacked?

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Alana’s attention snapped to Cordelia and she quickly dropped her hands to her sides.

  “I was sent here to investigate.”

  “You were sent here for a preliminary investigation yesterday.” She crossed her arms. “So let me ask you again. What are you doing here? This is a quarantine zone.”

  “In case you forgot, I’m a part of TBHU, just like you.”

  “You’re a criminal who’s paying her dues. You’re not anything like me—or the rest of us.”

  That’s true I’m not an asshole, Alana thought to herself.

  “I thought I’d left something behind. I just came back to check.”

  “Do you want me to report you to the probationary board?” The tip of Cordelia’s tongue flicked across her teeth in a moment of disgust. “Stick to your job, before it’s decided you’re not worth the trouble you bring. Got it?”

  Even though Timejumper’s were scarce, that wouldn’t stop the DOSA from sending her ass straight over to The Tombs if she didn’t prove her worth on a constant basis. She was an employee with zero rights. They owned her and people like Cordelia and they loved to constantly remind her of that fact.

  “Got it.” Alana smiled and walked back toward her car, fuming the entire time.

  It’s not like she expected to be treated special because of her abilities, but she figured common courtesy came without saying. Apparently, it didn’t. Yes, technically she was a criminal, but she’d only stolen from bad people to bad people. She wouldn’t have taken from anyone who couldn’t do without, and most things she acquired were collectors’ pieces for the wealthy and bored.

  The shrill ring of her phone ripped her from the depths of her thoughts. “Creed.”

  “It’s Mason. I need you to attend the Order of Magique’s meeting at the end of this week. They’ll be discussing the essence left behind by a user when opening temporal rifts. It’s possible they could figure out who the culprit is behind the one you went in the field for.”

  Alana’s throat constricted. “Could they really figure out who, though? Or just the type of magic?”

  “No idea,” he answered, leaving her at least a glimmer of hope, “but I’m sure they’ll explain it all to you then.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the best qualified . . .” Alana let her voice trail off hoping Mason would agree.

  “Again, this isn’t up for debate, Creed. Whether or not you like it, you’re the most experienced. You will be there.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. End of the week, don’t miss it.”

  The line clicked off and she leaned back against the driver’s side of her car. Certainly, they’d take her word, even though she was a criminal proclaiming her innocence, right?

  Yeah, when warlocks and mages become allies.

  Chapter 6

  For Alana Creed, sleep never went uninterrupted.

  She’d just fallen into a steady rhythm when the blare of her phone jolted her back to consciousness. She fumbled around in the darkness, glancing far across the room toward the microwave’s digital readout: 3:12 a.m.

  Great. Just great.

  “What?” she hissed into the receiver when she finally found the wretched device. Her head pounded, her tongue felt like sandpaper, and she had barely slept twenty hours in four days.

  “You’re needed downtown immediately,” Mason demanded, this time without his usual introduction. “There was an attack on the southern mage headquarters.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Keep it professional, Creed.”

  “Sorry.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “What are the details? Did they detain anyone?”

  “No, but It was definitely magic created. Get down there as fast as you can. I want you searching for residual rifts or recent jumps.”

  “All right,” she groaned before tossing the phone onto the sofa. Quickly, she yanked on a pair of pants before rushing into the bathroom and doing a single run-through of her brightly-colored hair.

  She grabbed her keys and headed back out the door for another trip across the damn city.

  The large, square, brownstone building resembled an old public library. The first floor was actually used as one to maintain the cover, albeit there were no computers and an outdated selection of books to discourage people from spending time there.

  Sirens wailed, and bright lights flashed off the responding mundane fire trucks and police cars that filled the street. The upper floors, where the DOSA’s mages worked and studied, had received the most damage, the clear evidence of an explosion having set fire to the whole building.

  Great. A shitstorm of a night. Slamming the steering wheel of her parked car, Alana jumped out on the south side of the mage’s building, farthest from the response vehicles.

  Still, there were people everywhere.

  Morbid curiosity drew curious strangers from their nearby homes and apartments to witness for themselves the aftermath of an explosion. The reactions were fairly normal, but it irritated Alana as she navigated her way around the gawking onlookers.

  Luckily, a familiar face popped up.

  “Nolan!”

  He spun toward the sound of his name. When he saw Alana, he smiled and reached out, pulling her through the crowd. His fingers coiled around her upper arm. He didn't loosen his grip, not even after they crept their way into the buildings nearest an untouched entrance. Smoke billowed out, but it didn't look like this area was on fire—yet.

  “We need to hurry,” he urged before he removed his hand. "The cops are here but haven’t cleared this area yet.”

  “Fucking great,” Alana mumbled. Cops, detectives, Taylor . . . “Okay, what are we dealing with? Mason didn’t give me much to go on.”

  “Well, we don’t have much to go on right now, either. The magic definitely seems to be from a warlock, though.”

  Alana frowned. “Get me near—”

  He cut her off by pulling her deeper into the building. Nolan already knew she needed to be as close to the epicenter of the blast as possible.

  She worked a quick spell to protect them from the smoke and fire as they headed farther in. They climbed up to the higher floors where evidence of the mage's research was already being remotely wiped out of existence before it could be discovered. Sure, the spell kept them from suffocating, but that didn't make the
situation any more comfortable.

  Blistering air caused sweat to drip down her skin in a steady pace. The smoke burned their eyes and lungs and obscured their vision as they tried to navigate around the worst of the structural damage. Up ahead, the corridor they’d been walking down ended. Where walls and floors had been, jagged rubble remained. The lights and call of sirens grew louder, since the building could no longer block the noise.

  The essence of the magic used also lingered.

  It crept beneath Alana’s skin, clinging with a dark ferocity. A shiver rippled down the length of her spine, causing one of Nolan’s brows to rise.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” She flicked away his concerns with her hand. “I’m fine. Has anyone taken samples already?” It would be the only sure way to get reliable answers. With magic of their own, they could potentially decipher who’d done it, and then perhaps, why.

  “A few, though I’m not sure on the validity of it. The blast created so much debris, it’s tough to find a good spot for it.”

  “Mmm.” She could tell as much, even with it sifting across the open air. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy as swinging a bottle around to fill it with that same air.

  She closed her eyes, reaching out with her magic, searching for some sign or signature of what had happened here. Her instincts told her she already knew, but she wanted to be sure. As soon as her magic touched it, she recognized it—the same buzz she'd felt at the house. Fear drained the color from her face and made her cold, even among the flames. She hid it quickly, not wanting Nolan to notice.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  Alana shook her head quickly. “Too much debris, like you said,” she lied. “Probably some dumbass apprentice mage left a Bunsen burner on or something.”

  “Maybe,” Nolan muttered, not sounding convinced.