Shoot the Messenger: A Reverse Harem Space Fantasy (Messenger Chronicles Book 1)

by Pippa Dacosta

  The warfae moved around me, keeping his grip clamped around my neck, until he stood in front of me, drilling his gaze deep into mine. “Were you planning on running forever?”

  “Only a lifetime.” Mine.

  His lips twitched. He liked that. He also liked the fact he had caught me. Before, when I chased him down and leapt from his window, he hadn’t known who I was. But there was no doubt on his face now. Something had revealed me to him. Sota. The truth I’d hidden inside the drone, told to him on lonely nights when I needed to speak the secrets eating me up inside, had condemned me. Larsen had probably only wanted the footage of Crater’s murder, but what he’d found was a priceless prize. And I’d told him everything through Sota. Told him all my fears and all the horrors, told him how I’d loved, hated, raged and lost it all. The warfae pretending to be the human CEO of Arcon, Istvan Larsen, believed he knew me better than anyone left alive. Only one question remained. What did he plan to do with me?

  He closed his hand, sealing off my windpipe. My racing heart throbbed hot blood through my body and beat over and over inside my head. Tightness clamped around my chest, squeezing the consciousness right out of me. The darkness all around rushed in until the jewel-like glitter of his eyes was all I could see in an ocean of nothingness.

  Chapter 12

  Cool iron encircled my neck. I remembered it being lighter, or more likely it had felt that way because I hadn’t known a time without it. The iron dampened my magic, as it did all fae magic. My whip was gone, as was my coat. He’d stripped me of them and I knew it wouldn’t be the worst of what was to come.

  He wouldn’t kill me. Not for a long time. The fae made their victims beg first.

  “Stand.”

  The order reminded me of another time, so long ago, when I’d been a small girl trapped behind bars. I’d survived that. I’d thrived. I’d lived to kill for them. I’d loved them for it, and they’d loved me in return. Loved me enough for Mab to pick me out of the saru and make me hers.

  Fingers dug into my hair. The warfae yanked me to my feet, hooked his hand into my clothing and tore my shirt open. It wasn’t my human nakedness he wanted to see. Hypnotic dark swirls marked my pale skin. The marks of a killer. Awards. Just like his.

  “It’s true…” he whispered, eyes wide.

  I grinned. “Now show me yours.”

  He threw me down. The backhanded strike cracked against my jaw, whipping my head back and exploding coppery blood across my tongue. I reeled, clutching onto consciousness, and spat the mouthful of blood in his general direction, hoping to dirty up his leather attire.

  He lifted a hand to strike me again, and then he caught himself and stepped back, shaking out his aching, bloody fingers. “I will not kill you.” He’d figured out my little game. A quick death would be a mercy. “You are worth too much.”

  “Cow-ard,” I slurred. He sneered down at me, and I beamed up at him. They were all so painfully beautiful, and he was no exception. I hated him, hated him so much it hurt more than any physical wound, but a horrible, treacherous part of me loved him too, and that made all this so much worse. “I preferred you as Larsen. At least that man had balls. Where are yours, little warfae?” I eyed his crotch, ignoring the bulge of his obvious endowment. “Been living with humans too long? You even smell like them—”

  His hand was at my throat again, a little awkwardly this time as he had to fight with the collar. “Your queen isn’t here to save you. Why did you do it? Was it really just because you’re so stupid that even after everything my kind did for you—raised you up among us—you still can’t help but bite those you love like all wild beasts?”

  Tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes. My heart pounded too hard, beating itself into a panic. I couldn’t breathe, and a part of me hoped it would end here, just to spite him. Then his grip loosened, and my body sucked in air, desperate to keep me alive.

  I fell to my hands and concentrated on filling my lungs. So slowly, the world stopped spinning. The room I’d woken in was barren and lined in steel, probably a storage room. No windows and no doors. Nothing. Just him and me. I would have preferred the darkness.

  “What’s your real name?” I asked.

  He ignored me and leaned back against the wall, staring. Unblinking. His gaze traced my marks. I felt that slow visual exploration as if his fingers were skimming across my skin, or his tongue. Heat flushed my face, neck and chest. The heat of anger and twisted desire.

  “What are you doing with Arcon?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I didn’t get one. He just stared down his nose at me.

  Resting back, I flicked my hair out of my eyes and lifted my gaze. What must it be like to have captured the Wraithmaker, a criminal sought by the entire Fae system? Would he hand me over to his kin or keep me for himself? If he took me home, getting in and out of Faerie unseen would be no easy thing. Istvan Larsen was a watched man. If he decided to take a trip to outer Halow and happened to sneak through the defensive net…

  I stopped my thoughts in their tracks. Arcon maintained the defensive net. The barrier between the Fae system and Halow. The first and last line of defense against the fae. Larsen held the key to the door and might let the fae in at any time. And the humans of Halow had no idea how exposed they were.

  I rolled my lips and bowed my head, not wanting him to see the new fear on my face. He stepped forward and crouched, resting his wrists on his knees, long, nimble fingers loose.

  “Did you dismantle my drone?” I blinked dry eyes, letting the dread sink into my gut.

  “The drone…” His eyes narrowed with uncertainty. “Oh, your drone. Can you imagine my surprise when my workers cracked it open, revealing not only footage of the assassination, but also a full confession by a wanted murderer? I had wondered why a nobody messenger was so determined to retrieve that drone. You’ll be pleased to know any footage of Crater’s death was deleted. As for your murder confession…” He touched my cheek and delicately ran his fingertips across my skin. I fought my instinct to lean into the touch. It had been so long since their kind had touched me. So long since I’d tasted their magic and willingly embraced it. “Only you and I know the truth of that. It can be our secret.” Every word he spoke sounded like an illicit promise. It didn’t matter what those words meant, his tone was sweet seduction wrapped around the hard, ugly stone. He would use my weak human desires against me.

  I gazed into his eyes, confused to find something akin to my own longing reflected there. Then it occurred to me that he was likely alone. He had spent years building up a resistance to tek. I might be the only fae-like creature he had seen in a long time. I could use that and the fae’s social desires to my advantage.

  I touched his hand, the one covering my cheek and tilted my head up. “I had to tell someone the truth. Nobody likes to be alone.”

  His eyes instantly hardened. He snatched his hand back and straightened. He paused at the door, head slightly turned, words unspoken on his lips, and then he was gone, the door closing behind him, accompanied by the chunky snick of a lock.

  I still didn’t know if Sota was alive. But I was, for now. I had one advantage over Larsen. He would think me human. He would think he was irresistible. That he held all the power. He was wrong.

  Time passed too slowly. Nothing of the world outside breached the room, as though my four walls were all that existed.

  My stomach cramped with hunger pangs, and my lips had cracked. I’d been missing two days, at least. Only, nobody missed me. Hulia would likely think I was a long way from Calicto, and the marshal…

  Would Kellee miss me?

  If he had listened to my warnings, he would have left and not looked back. He should have left. But while I didn’t know him well, I did know he wasn’t the quitting type. Twice he had tracked me down, asking his damn questions. I had faith he would locate me again—if he wanted to. Wraithmaker. The fae had killed his people. All of them. And in his eyes, I was fae too. Still, he knew enough about Istvan Larsen to wat
ch the pretend CEO closely. Maybe if I got a message to Kellee, he could alert the authorities to the vulnerabilities in the defense net.

  If anything, I was in the best place to act. Nobody could get closer to Larsen. No human, certainly. Luck had put me right where I needed to be to stop him. Not luck… It was always meant to be this way.

  The door rattled, and Larsen entered. He threw a robe to the floor. “Put that on and follow me.”

  I rose on unsteady legs and tugged on the toweling robe. My first steps outside the room revealed more steel-lined walls. Larsen opened another door, to a simple, functional bathroom.

  “You have fifteen minutes.” He closed the door, leaving me alone. I waited for the lock to slide into place but didn’t hear it. After a few beats, I tried the door, cracking it open.

  Larsen’s voice sailed down the corridor. “There’s nowhere to go.”

  I would soon test that for myself, after I’d cleaned up.

  The mirror above the basin reflected a dapple of yellow and purplish bruises spreading across my cheek. I’d repay him for that once I had control of the situation.

  The dry-shower felt as though it stripped off a layer of skin. Clean, I stepped out and threw my pants back on. I discarded my torn shirt and pulled the robe on over my shoulders, tying it tightly.

  The corridor outside was empty. I didn’t believe for a second Larsen had left me unguarded. Light-footed, I dashed away from where I believed he was. The few doors I found opened into empty rooms. No windows. Were we underground? Every door, every curve, took me to another artificially lit empty space, until I entered the largest room of all. At least here there was a table and a single chair. And Larsen.

  He stood on the opposite side of the table, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sparkling.

  Several packets of dried food lay on the table between us. My hollow insides ached. This wasn’t Faerie. If I accepted his reward of food, it didn’t mean I was indebted to him, but I hesitated. Old habits still had their claws in me.

  “Eat freely.” He gestured at the table. “Unfettered.”

  There would come a time to fight, and when the opportunity presented itself, I needed to be ready. I sat and opened the packets, devouring the contents under his watchful gaze. The food was nothing spectacular, but it filled me out and stopped the cramps.

  When he placed a tall glass of clear liquid on the table, I stopped eating and eyed it side-on. Surely not…

  “I can afford some luxuries,” he explained, sensing my hesitation.

  Real water?

  I lifted the glass and sniffed. Slightly metallic. How had he come by it? Had he imported it? Just the single glass was worth thousands of v, and he was giving it to me? I set it down and pushed it across the table toward him. “I’ll pass.”

  If I had offended him, he didn’t show it. If anything, he appeared amused. “There’s no debt.”

  “Still, I don’t think I want anything of yours.”

  “You obviously do. You’re dehydrated—”

  “What do you want? What is all this?” I waved a hand at the empty packets. “Am I a prisoner or a guest? If I’m a guest, I’d appreciate it if you removed this.” I tugged the collar forward, digging it into the back of my neck.

  He watched, so calm, so measured. “It is just a glass of water.”

  But it wasn’t. Real water was rarer than gold, rarer than wood. This gift didn’t make any sense. If he was going to send me home, then why hadn’t he? If he was going to kill me, then why waste time with this charade?

  “Do you miss the rain?” he asked.

  I stared at him. Did I miss the fucking rain?

  And then it clicked. I hadn’t been back to Faerie in five years. But he had been away from his home much longer. As fae, he needed the earth beneath his feet like I needed air to breathe. He needed that grounding, living, breathing presence that flooded every single inch of Faerie. In comparison, Calicto, with all its tek and manufactured domes, might as well have been a barren desert. He was starved of home.

  A chip of compassion broke from my hate. Oh, I still despised him, but I understood why he stared the way he did, why he had watched me eat, why his gaze lingered as though he were hungry.

  I lifted my chin. “Take off this collar and I’ll tell you.”

  The corner of his lips ticked. Nothing like a smile, just an acknowledgment that he knew what I was thinking and he wouldn’t barter with me.

  “What’s your name?” I asked again. “Your human one doesn’t suit you.”

  He closed the distance between us in a few strides, picked up the glass, raised it to his lips and drank long, deep and hard. I watched the smooth line of his neck gently undulate and imagined the cool liquid passing over my tongue. A small drop escaped the corner of his lips and dribbled down his chin. What might it be like to lick that droplet off? What might it be like to taste him? I recognized the tight flutter of anticipation coiling low inside for the lust it was and let it happen. Some things were too good to resist, even if they were wrong. Too quickly, the show was over. He lowered the glass and used his thumb to wipe the drop from his chin. He smiled that same knowing, smug-ass smile as when he’d stolen Sota from me. Bastard. When I smiled back, my lips cracked.

  “What’s your name, Kesh Lasota?” he asked.

  “You know it.” Wraithmaker. Because I’d killed so many, turning their lives to dust, their spirits to ghosts. And in the end, I’d killed the one they had all loved above any other.

  “No.” He set the glass down, spread his hands on the tabletop and leaned in so close I could almost count each delicate eyelash framing his brilliant fae eyes. “Your real name. Your slave name. That is what you are. Risen out of the slums to serve my people. Trained in the art of slaughter for our entertainment.”

  I licked a drop of blood from my split lip, relishing the coppery taste. I’d tasted fae blood like his, and I would taste it again soon. “I’ve never told a single fae soul. What makes you think I’ll tell you?”

  He laughed softly. “I should give you up,” he whispered as though this was our little secret. “But I think I’ll keep you for my personal entertainment. After the sacrifices I’ve made, it’s only fair.”

  It took every ounce of restraint I had not to grab him by his long braided hair and smack his face into the table. He wanted me to. That was the only reason he’d moved in so close. He wanted me to react, to make him retaliate twice as hard. But this was not the place to fight. I had no way out. Attacking now would only free me for a few moments, like a bird fluttering inside its cage. No, I needed a plan, an exit, before I made my move.

  A moment passed between us, one of mutual understanding. I was his bird, caught in his cage, my wings clipped for his entertainment. But this bird had talons, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use them.

  With a throwaway laugh, he left the room. I listened to his light footfalls fade into silence and waited for the sound of a door closing. It eventually came, sounding a long distance away. The curved steel corridors had likely bent the sound. I would find the right door, and I would escape him.

  I scooped up his glass and clenched it in a fist, ready to throw it against the nearest wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces. But a few drops had gathered at the bottom. Condensation, probably. I touched the glass to my lips, tasted his sweetness, and threw my head back. Real wetness, real water moistened my tongue, and with it came the intoxicating taste of fae. I swallowed the dregs, drank the taste of him down. He had known I couldn’t resist for long.

  Chapter 13

  Put these on.” Larsen threw a bundle of clothes at my feet and dangled my coat in front of him like a lure. “And this.”

  I stood from the cot—one I’d found in one of the other rooms—and approached. It had been a few days since he had caught me. He had returned with food and synthesized liquid. No water. I’d blown my chance at getting more. And no conversation either. But he liked to linger. To watch. All fae liked to watch.

 
; I took the coat and turned my back on him to shrug the robe off my shoulders.

  “I took the liberty of emptying the pockets,” he said. “All of them.”

  Some pockets could only be found with the magic at my fingertips, but with the collar on, they were shut away anyway. As I dressed, his gaze warmed my marks, stirring them to life with a not unpleasant tingling. Did I have more than him? The more marks I had, the higher my status among the fae. As the queen’s guard, few outranked me.

  I caught him looking. His eyes lifted, questions burning there. Had he ever seen me fight? Most fae had. Some had been lucky enough to watch the spectacular performance live at the arena.

  “An interesting garment,” he commented, nodding at the coat.

  He would think so. The coat was fae-made. I fastened it closed, something I almost never did, and wore the collar high to hide the iron one resting on my collarbone.

  “Can I can get my whip back?”

  He merely smiled.

  “Afraid I might strangle you with it?”

  “You are the least frightening thing in this forsaken system.” And with a gesture for me to follow, he turned and strode off, assuming I’d trail behind him.

  I counted the doors we passed, looking for distinguishing marks. Initially, they had all looked the same, but in the many hours I’d spent roaming the corridors, I’d found scuff marks and handprints. He moved quickly, long legs breezing down the corridor until he stopped outside a door like any other. A flick of the handle and the door opened, revealing a flight of stairs. I soaked it up, committing the layout to memory so that when he inevitably brought me back, I would know which way was out. An elevator carried us to Floor G2. He flicked his fingers at himself, weaving an illusion. A bitter citrus smell filled the elevator, and his outline blurred and then sharpened. In the fae’s place stood an unassuming, drab human male, in comparison. He straightened his scarlet tie, human fingers fumbling a little. Damn, he was good at this. His act was in place moments before the elevator doors opened, and off he strode out. As a human, his stride was heavier, and when he spoke, his voice had deepened with a gravelly undertone. His illusion was perfect in its imperfections. If I wasn’t walking next to him, if I hadn’t seen his transformation myself, I wouldn’t believe he was fae.