Rogue Fae

by C. N. Crawford

  “There’s a small chance I might start to lose my mind when I use the Old Gods’ magic.” And also … I might die. “If I start to look like I’m losing control, I need you to hurt me.”

  He scowled. “I’ll handle you without hurting you. But you’ll need to be fast. Blast him with that magic before he gets the chance to smell you. Just like you did when you blasted the Heavenly Host off the earth last time. If it starts to go wrong, and if the Old Gods start taking over, I’ll stop you.”

  “Of course. Yes. I smell like the underside of a rock, so I need to be fast.”

  “Remember, magic doesn’t have its own will. Someone always commands it. When I died, it was because the Old Gods wanted me dead. They were in control. You need to control their power instead. You need to command it, to direct it.”

  “How?”

  “Make it a part of you.”

  Right. I had no idea how to do that, but considering the fate of the entire world was at stake, I had to at least try.

  Chapter 13

  Glamoured as ravens, we swooped over the ruined city of London, the wind whipping at our skin. Steel-gray clouds covered the sky.

  At the sight of the ravaged husks of buildings below us, a chill rippled over my skin. Things had gotten worse since I’d last been here. Yasmin had said that people were starting to organize, to get ready to fight back against the angels. Behind these crumbling walls, were people really willing to fight?

  I tightened my arms around Adonis’s back, my gaze sweeping over his features. He’d hardly spoken at all on our way here. Something had happened in Paris that he wasn’t telling me, and it was starting to drive me crazy.

  “Have you ever met him?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “Metatron.”

  “Once. It was enough.”

  As we soared closer to the Tower, I caught a glimpse of a legion of angelic soldiers marching along Bethnal Green Road. Their weapons and armor gleamed in the dull light. It was a neighborhood I knew well—one of squat buildings, old pubs mixed with trendy new bars—all deserted since the Great Nightmare had begun. But as the angelic horde marched, I watched the structures crumble around them. Buildings shook, windows shattered, and pieces of plaster rained into the road.

  Immortals.

  The pavement cracked beneath the marching army.

  My breath sped up. “What’s happening to the buildings?”

  Adonis’s grip tightened on me, and he pulled me so close I could feel his heart beating through his clothes. “The Angelic language is used to create reality. It seems that Metatron is using it to break reality apart. He’s practicing creating chaos.”

  I swallowed hard. “He wants to destroy it all, is that it? Everything on earth.”

  “Not exactly.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “First, he plans to make us suffer.”

  I shook my head. “Why?”

  “Because we haven’t sufficiently worshipped him, and it irritates him.”

  “So he’s just an ordinary insecure asshole. Except he’s also a godlike being with the power to destroy the fabric of the universe.”

  “That sums it up.”

  We flew further south, toward the Tower, and the swarm of angels kept marching through the street as steel bent and cement cracked around them.

  At last we reached the Tower, and nervousness crawled up my spine. What kind of monster were we dealing with here?

  “I can feel his power.” A dark whisper from Adonis.

  Was it just me, or was the Horseman of Death himself freaking out right now? That did nothing to assuage my nerves. Considering we didn’t have a ton of hope, I wasn’t going to tell him my own disturbing secret—the one about how the Old Gods wanted me dead.

  “If we get close to him,” said Adonis, “you’ll need to act quickly. Even when you’re glamoured, he’ll be able to smell you.”

  “Right. Moss and dirt. Thanks for reminding me of that.”

  We swooped over the Tower walls, Adonis’s wings beating like a heart.

  “There,” he said. “He’s in the Tower church.”

  We dove lower over the Tower green—over the spot where traitors, heretics, and unwanted wives had fed the stones with their blood.

  Angels milled around us, their bodies glowing with golden light.

  We touched down on the cobblestones just in front of the church entrance. The iron gate and doors stood open, and pale light streamed out of the archway.

  Already, I could feel Metatron’s power thrumming over my skin. It felt alien—an invasive magic that belonged in the celestial realm. Not here.

  As we stood at the precipice, my heart rate began to speed up, pulse racing. I had to remind myself that Metatron would see only a simple raven if he looked our way. One of many in the Tower. Not a big deal.

  We took a step inside, and my breath caught at the sight before me. There, at the altar, stood Metatron. Golden wings cascaded from his back, which was turned toward us, and an angel knelt before him. The angel spoke in Angelic, so I had no idea what he was saying, but he seemed to be supplicating himself. He clasped his hands together, his head lowered before Metatron, like he was worshipping him.

  Seemed like Metatron had found someone willing to pander to his overwhelming insecurity.

  As we stood in the church’s doorway, Metatron held out his hands to either side, and pearly, celestial light glowed from his body. He arched his back, and his powerful voice began to boom around us, echoing off the church’s stone walls. He spoke in Angelic, and the raw power of the words pounded through my bones. As he chanted his spells, thin rays of light beamed from his skull. And everything the light touched began to disintegrate and dissolve, bits of the walls and ceiling crumbling to the floor.

  My breath caught in my throat. I needed to see his face.

  The angel at his feet seemed enraptured, his lips curled in an ecstatic smile. From the church walls, pieces of stone began to break, and cracks opened in the flagstones. As I listened to the spell, chaos rampaged through my skull—words and fragments of words, all disconnected, all jumbled and meaningless. Pyramid puddle can open half luck mugger stem alter mag ord lish lake minst….

  I clamped my hands over my ears, trying to block out the chaos.

  When Metatron had finished his spell, Adonis tugged on my arm, signaling that I had to hurry up. But I felt rooted in place, desperate to see his face.

  I got my wish then. Metatron turned around, and the breath left my lungs.

  Apart from the color of his wings, he looked nearly exactly like Adonis. Same gray eyes, same breathtaking beauty. But there was something colder about Metatron, something more alien. It was a divine beauty that simple, bestial creatures like me were never meant to see. Never meant to be here.

  I took a steadying breath and stepped farther into the church. To Metatron, I still appeared as a raven, but I knew I only had a matter of seconds before he smelled me.

  Now, the stones in my forehead began to tingle. The scent of a lush garden curled around me. Metatron’s Angelic words clattered in my mind, but as the light began to warm up my body, it drowned out some of the chaos of his spells.

  I stared at him—at this creature who didn’t belong here—and rage begin to roil in my chest. The Old Gods didn’t want him here, and a chorus of their voices rang in my mind. The Old Gods wanted to teach him a lesson, wanted to teach all the angels a lesson. It was something we should have done long ago, when they came to the Garden of Eden, when they brought their invasive magic to our world. Should have hunted them, fertilized the Garden with angel blood.

  My canines began to lengthen. Kill all of them. My back arched, and light began to burst from my body, cracking through my skin. Here, I’d explode like a dying star.

  I snarled, light beaming from my body, prepared to slaughter—

  All at once, a soothing magic slipped into my mind, calming my rage. It was a blanket of night, of sleep, of the quietness of soil….

  The chorus of th
e Old Gods dulled in my skull, and it took me a moment to realize that a beautiful man had wrapped his arms around me, and that he smelled like myrrh.

  I blinked, realizing I was in the air. Adonis’s arms were tight around me, and the fresh air outside kissed my skin.

  I swallowed hard. “So, I guess that didn’t go well. What happened, exactly? Did you see—did I look different?” Had he noticed that light was ripping me apart from the inside out, and that the Old Gods were trying to kill me?

  “You were starting to attack me. I had to intervene.”

  Shit. “But my body looked normal.”

  He frowned. “I tell you that you were trying to kill me, and you’re concerned about how your body looked?”

  “I was just curious if the magic made me look different.”

  “Apart from the terrifying rage in your expression, no. Why?”

  “I don’t suppose I killed Metatron while I was at it?”

  “No, but he shot a moderately annoyed look at you, like he didn’t want a raven in his church.”

  “That’s it? The Old Gods were screaming in my mind about angel blood fertilizing the Garden of Eden, and all I achieved was moderate annoyance?”

  Adonis cocked his head. “He is very powerful. You’ll need more time. Or more mastery. Or more … something. We’ll work on it.”

  Adonis’s skin looked paler than it should. No longer golden, it had taken on a porcelain hue, as if some of the blood had been drained from his body.

  I touched his cheek. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just that I think your magic affected me a little more than it did Metatron. I’ll recover.”

  In the chilly air over the Tower of London, I scanned Adonis’s perfect features, cold gray eyes, and dark eyelashes. “He’s connected to you, isn’t he? He looks just like you.”

  For a moment, a heavy silence fell over us. Then, without meeting my gaze, Adonis said, “He created me.”

  “But you had a mother.” I blinked. “Do you mean he’s your father?”

  “I suppose you could call it that.”

  Chapter 14

  Ever since our battle at the Louvre, I’d had the sense that Adonis had been keeping something from me. He was no longer flirtatious or seductive, no longer making eye contact. For some reason, he’d become colder and a little more distant, like something was haunting him.

  When we returned from the Tower, he walked me to my room with shadows darkening the air around him, giving one-word answers to my questions.

  Was it some kind of angelic daddy issues that had him acting strangely? I had no idea. But after a few hours of stewing in my room, I decided I should just ask him. We were supposed to be working together, weren’t we? I needed to know the truth from him.

  I crossed through the drafty stone hall toward his room, where I found the door slightly ajar. It creaked as I pushed it open further. I didn’t see any signs of Adonis in here—just Drakon, sitting in the corner, lazily thumping his scaly tail up and down on the stone. He lifted his head, blinked his yellow eyes at me a few times, then fell back asleep.

  Still, I could feel Adonis’s power crackling over my body. It was only when I heard the running of water that I understood he was filling the tub.

  “Adonis?” I called out.

  “I’m in here.” His voice came from an archway.

  I felt torn between an overwhelming urge to see what he looked like in the bath, and my better judgment that told me maybe this was weird. I’d never actually slept with him. Maybe we weren’t in “chatting in the bath” territory yet. “I’ll come back later.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Or maybe we were.

  I crossed through the doorway, and found Adonis shoulder-deep in an enormous, circular stone tub. Light spilled in from latticed windows onto him, giving him a sort of halo.

  He gripped a bar of soap, and given the redness of his skin, it looked like he’d been scrubbing at it. His dark tattoos snaked over his raw skin.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “We just have a lot ahead of us if we’re going to combat the chaos Metatron is creating.” Steam curled the air around him.

  My eyes swept over his muscled torso. “I’m not a psychologist, but I’m getting the sense that your father’s presence here is bothering you.”

  “I have a mother. I don’t have a father. Metatron impregnated my mother, just like he impregnated the mothers of Kratos, Johnny, and Aereus, but….”

  “They’re your half-brothers?”

  A slow shrug. “If you want to call it that.”

  I crossed to him, sitting at the edge of his bathtub. I let my fingertip trail in the steaming water. It was practically scalding.

  Droplets of water dotted his skin, and I had the strongest urge to lick them off.

  Slowly, he raised his gaze to meet mine, and the raw vulnerability in his gray eyes pierced me to the core.

  I cocked my head. “That’s the first time you’ve looked at me since we returned from the Louvre. I mean really looked at me.”

  “Angels are cruel, cold creatures from the vast, unchanging landscape of the heavens. I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall, cities born only to crumble. I’ve seen the birth and death of gods. I speak a language humans were never meant to learn, and I kill people just by feeling too much.” There was no feeling in his words now, no emotion. Just a cold, stark reality. “It’s in my nature to kill and to destroy. It’s what I was born to do.”

  “Bullshit. We’re not born to do anything. We make ourselves. I’m a fae, a succubus, a spy, a demon. I’m a god and a beast, a dancer and a soldier. I wasn’t born to be any one thing, and neither were you. We are what we create. We are our actions and our stories.”

  A slow tilt of his head, his eyes now pure ice. “And killing is what I do.”

  “Why is this coming up now? What happened?”

  “When you flew over Paris, did you see the humans camped out in the fields? They lived in makeshift tents and huddled around bonfires. Mothers, fathers, children, babies….”

  “Yeah. I remember. I saw some little kids toddling among the gardens.”

  “They’re all dead now. You need to understand. Nature is cruel, and so am I.”

  My chest clenched. “How? Why?”

  “I told you that powerful emotions can lead to ruination. If I feel too much, people die. When I found my mother’s dead body, waves of death rippled off me. I slaughtered the entire city of Afeka nearby. I walked through the streets and found the dead littering the cobblestones. Young and old. And when I recovered at the Louvre, I smelled your blood all around me. I could no longer hear you through our bond. I was certain they’d killed you. You’re still mortal. I couldn’t control it, and a wave of death washed over the city. Our souls are immutable, Ruby. You might appear to be a succubus, a dancer, a soldier, but I’ve seen the real you.”

  I wanted to tear my gaze away from the pain in his eyes. “Enlighten me.”

  “The real you is wild and beautiful. And while you take on all these disguises, you’re running from yourself. I can see it in your eyes sometimes. Fantasies draw you in. You’re imagining a paradise that never existed, a Ruby that never existed.”

  I clenched my jaw, thinking of the fae I’d seen in the cottage. The happy couple, making soup. “Paradise does exist, it’s just not handed to us on a plate. It’s something we create. Did you see those two fae living in the cottage, when we were on our way to meet Kratos? It might not be a palace or a tropical island or whatever, but their simple life right now seems like paradise to me. That could be us.”

  “Us? When it’s my destiny to slaughter thousands just by feeling emotions?”

  I crossed my arms. “This ‘my destiny is to slaughter’ thing is horseshit. If it was your inescapable destiny, you’d be doing it constantly. When was the last time you lost control and killed people?”

  “A thousand years, maybe.” He seemed lost in his own mind. “But it’s
just that rage poured off me when I thought you were dead. I think a part of me wanted everyone to die. The bloodlust was uncontrollable.” He straightened, the water dripping off his skin in rivulets. “Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re lying to yourself about what you really are? Do you really think you can just reinvent yourself, that you can just wipe the slate clean and start again? I’ve seen you covered in the blood of angels. I’ve seen you rip into flesh. That’s the real you, and it terrifies you.”

  Irritation simmered. “You don’t get to define me.”

  He traced his fingertip through the water, creating little ripples. “You’re right. Just make sure you’re not running from the darkest parts of you. You have a tendency to romanticize things.”

  He was annoying me now. “What makes you say that?”

  “The fae you saw in the woods, the ones you think live in Paradise. I could smell the blood on them. Human and fae blood. They’d been eating their own species. How do you think they survived in this world? By being brutal and savage, the way nature designed them.”

  My stomach dropped. No way. “Blood could have been there for any reason.”

  “I should just let you believe in your fantasies, shouldn’t I? It’s almost heartbreaking to disabuse you of them. You have such a vibrant phantom life.”

  I swallowed hard. His words weren’t entirely off the mark—in fact, he knew what I called my other life. And it did sometimes seem that my phantom life—the one with the garden and the cottage—was more real than the grim world around me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with having an active fantasy life.”

  He cocked his head, studying me intently. “What is that you see in your fantasies, anyway?”

  The whole “soup fantasy” was a little embarrassing, and yet I felt an overwhelming urge to confess it. Like I just needed to get it off my chest. “You, eating soup by a fireplace.” My cheeks heated. “Naked.”

  Not weird at all.

  A wicked smile. “And that’s the first problem with an active fantasy life. It pulls you away from the truth. I don’t even like soup.”