Reckless

by Selene Charles

  It gleamed a heated blue, but it didn’t burn her. The touch of it felt right, felt almost good in her hands. Like it belonged to her, had always belonged to her, she simply hadn’t known it before now.

  Another body passed right through her and this time she squeaked, ’cause dude, she was totally naked. Clutching the sword to her middle, she would slice somebody if they even so much as acted like they’d noticed her, but no one did.

  She was still nothing more than a ghost.

  “Why am I here!” she snapped again.

  She knew nothing about being a fae. So maybe she was doing something wrong. Rolling her eyes, she was just about ready to step back into the spiraling tunnel of colors when she caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye.

  A group of burly men in military uniforms came around a corner, dragging the limp body of a young man between them. This was the first actual prisoner she’d seen.

  Heart clenching, Flint froze, for a second terrified that the brown-haired man could be Abel.

  The man’s features were unrecognizable thanks to the swelling of his lips, nose, and mouth. Blood caked his nostrils and ears. The man was the size of Abel, but when the military men drew closer to her, Flint realized the man had pointed ears.

  Long and dainty, just at the tips.

  The guards stopped just in front of her then as one of them moved to unlock the cell door with a thick, black, archaic-looking key. The locking mechanism ground loudly through the otherwise eerily hushed halls.

  And as he did that, the elf-eared man finally opened his eyes and their gazes locked unerringly. Last time she’d ghost-walked, no one had noticed her. No one had seen her.

  The man’s nostrils flared and his mouth parted just slightly. Flint could do nothing other than gasp, breath knocked out of her lungs as she realized not only could he see her, but something about him called deeply to something inside her.

  His eyes were the green of early spring, but it wasn’t the color that’d made her tremble, rather the images of falling leaves that danced and swept through his irises like magick. Like the same kind of magick that’d crafted a vine of thorns and leaves to sway upon her own flesh.

  “Who are you?” she hissed.

  The guards never turned or flinched in her direction. No one else noticed her. They tossed the man onto the hard stone floor and slammed the bars back into place, then they turned and walked right through her.

  The tingling buzz of displacement lit her senses, making her feel temporarily dizzy. Shaking her head, she tried to run to the man who still lay in a heap on the floor.

  His eyes were closed now and his breathing ragged. As a spirit, she could slip through any physical barriers. Except when she tried to cross the iron doors, she slammed up against a wall of such agony that she dropped to knees and screamed.

  The tips of her fingers were sizzling and an ugly red.

  Elf Ears blinked open his eyes then and shook his head. Unintelligible gibberish slipped off his tongue, and then something hard and violent pressed against her, shoving her back through the tunnel of color.

  Flint clawed at the shifting, swirling tunnel, trying to hang on, to ask him who he was, where he was, and whether he knew Abel.

  “Abel,” she screamed. “Do you know Abel?” Her words were sucked out of her mouth, torn from her. But still she felt the ache, the throb of the strange man’s power calling to her, and she knew with every fiber of her being that he’d heard her.

  And then she was snapped out of her dream and panting violently, shivering all over. Lying across her lap was the sword, and when she lifted her hands, her fingertips were raw and blistered.

  She trembled in bed after that, hugging her arms to her legs and staring out the window, wishing desperately she could call out to her mother, her father, even Cain. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t open her mouth because she was paralyzed by fear. All she could do was stare at the blade that still gleamed blue and pray for the sun to come up quickly.

  ~*~

  Cain

  The light of the moon was weak tonight; Cain held his cell phone up, using the flashlight app as he cracked open the leather-bound tome. And just as he’d suspected, Flint’s telling him of her heritage had finally activated the book’s magick.

  Most of the pages were still empty, except for the first two.

  Tuatha Dé Danann—an ancient race nearly exterminated thanks to the Great War of 1512. Forced underground, they remain mostly in Ireland, rarely venturing into the mortal world. Secretive, very little is known of them or their numbers. Known by many names, among them “bearers of the faerie” and “Aes Sidhe”—literally translated means people of the mound.

  All fae share a strong affinity for nature and have even been known to slaughter those who’d destroy it.

  It is generally believed that there are two courts, the light and the dark. The fallacy, however, is in believing that light is good and dark is bad. The fae are neither and both. Soulless creatures, they bear very little regard for those not of their kind.

  Beware of their treacherous natures; their mere presence has been known to be devastating to those with weak-minded constitutions...

  The rest of the words were devoted to the war of 1512, but what struck Cain was who’d written this and just how exactly could Flint affect those around her?

  He turned off the app on his phone, then rang for Grace, who picked up immediately. Her words were somewhat slurred as she said, “Aye, who is it?”

  “Grace, the book has started to open itself,” he said, knowing she’d understand.

  She did. Immediately she became alert.

  “Yes, and what is it telling you?”

  “That the fae are treacherous, not to be trusted, and that Flint’s presence alone will affect those around her. What does that mean exactly?”

  “She’s not causing you to fall for her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she all but snapped at him.

  The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shook his head. “That wasn’t even a thought. But I need to know what exactly that means—how is she affecting others?”

  He could almost sense her indecision before she finally said, “I don’t know, Cain. Of all of monster society, very little is known of the fae aside from historical facts on the war and secondhand accounts. It is believed that fae can enhance one’s emotions, make whatever it is they are feeling become tenfold. But from what I’ve heard, it isn’t innate so much as a learned trait. I doubt very much Flint has that kind of talent; she’s only just woken up. But it wouldn’t be amiss to keep a close eye on her just in case.”

  Cain thought back to his times with her. When she’d been just human and now, and nothing had changed for him. She calmed him. But she’d always done that.

  “Does the book say aught else?” she asked him a moment later.

  “No. Just two pages, most of it on the Great War.” He closed the book and rubbed his brow as exhaustion laced through his bones.

  The twins would be returning in a bit from their scouting mission into town. There’d be no sleep for Cain tonight. Soon as the sun came up, it would be his turn to head into town and run his own recon.

  All he wanted to do was close his eyes and get at least an hour of sleep. Rhi could spell him, but she’d exhausted herself helping Janet earlier. She needed the sleep, and Flint couldn’t be left alone.

  “All right then, Grace. I’ll let you go.”

  “Okay. But call me if you discover anything more.”

  “Yup.”

  They hung up a moment later, and Cain was settling in for a long night when a shuffle of footsteps sounded. Turning, he scented the naga before he spotted him.

  “Carlito?” He frowned as the dark-haired shifter stepped out from behind another parked trailer.

  The short man nodded. “Hey. Wondered how things were going?”

  Carlito wasn’t much of a talker. Though he’d been a part of the carnival for several years now, he’d been content
to keep mostly to himself.

  Cain frowned. “Fine. What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “Can’t sleep, man. And I was worried about Flint. I put her through her paces today, just wanted to make sure she was good.”

  Cain knew about Carlito and Eli. Knew they’d had a thing at a certain point in time. Whether it was still going on was anybody’s guess, but none of his business.

  Taking a seat across from him, Carlito nodded and Cain tapped his fingers.

  “You’re just coming around to check up on her?” Not that he was terribly suspicious of the naga—they were a naturally shy race and generally good people unless you got one of them angry.

  But considering all that’d gone down lately, Carlito shouldn’t be surprised if Cain grilled him.

  “Saw you out here. I’m wide-awake, and honestly, I’ve not been running scouting missions the way the rest of you guys have. Someone has to take care of the animals. I just wanted to do my part and kind of help out a little. Any way I can.” He glanced down at the bench.

  There was no way Cain was leaving and letting Carlito stand guard. He liked the naga, but didn’t know him that well.

  Shrugging as though he’d read Cain’s thoughts, Carlito said, “I figured you wouldn’t want to leave, but you can close your eyes, take a catnap at least. Not like you don’t have the freaking hearing of an owl.”

  Cain snorted. “Not to mention I’m a very light sleeper and will wring the head off anything that tries to harm a hair on that pretty head.”

  Carlito held up his hands. “Dude, yeah, you’ll get no argument from me there. But speaking of hair on her head, have you noticed how long that stuff is now?”

  Lifting a brow, Cain would give the naga two seconds to spit out whatever he was implying before he kicked him to the curb.

  Slitted green eyes widened. “What I mean is I wondered if you’d be cool with me offering to cut her hair for her. She looked really uncomfortable at practice today, and I thought maybe I could help with that. I was stylist for a couple of years before I got into animal training.”

  Laughing, Cain shook his head. “If you really think you have to ask my permission first, you don’t know Flint at all. She’d probably shove a stake through your heart for even suggesting she didn’t know her own mind.”

  The naga frowned delicately. “But I thought berserkers—”

  “I’m not like that, naga. Ask her yourself when she wakes up.”

  Though to be honest, Cain had noticed her much longer hair and thought it crazy sexy.

  Carlito nodded swiftly and twiddled his thumbs. And Cain did manage to squeeze in an hour of sleep before the sun tinted the dark sky a gorgeous orange.

  ~*~

  Flint

  Flint was surprised by what she saw when she stepped out of her trailer the next morning. Cain nodded before turning on his heel and heading off to his own trailer, and Carlito stood looking at her with a set of thinned lips.

  “Carlito?” She frowned, smoothing out the wrinkles of her robin’s-egg-blue Lycra top. The smells of breakfast had her stomach grinding almost painfully against itself.

  The naga, who was fully human-looking right now, played with his fingers as he said, “I um...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I was wondering if you’d like a haircut?”

  Mind boggled by the offer, she could only stare at him, which obviously led him to believe she hated the idea because he was quickly stumbling over himself to apologize and backing up with swift shakes of his head.

  “Wait, no.” She held out her hand. “Yes. Oh my gosh, yes. I hate this stuff!” She yanked on the thick ponytail that was already sliding out of its rubber band.

  His smile grew large. “Let me go get my clippers and stuff. I’ll be right back.”

  He bounded off like a happy little rabbit, which was so ridiculously adorable that Flint wondered just what she could do to get him and Eli back together, because she totally needed a Carlito in her life right now.

  Returning not even five minutes later, he had her sitting and was spraying her hair down with a water bottle.

  “I love your hair.” He sighed.

  “And I love your hands.” She sighed back, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head as he continued to massage her scalp.

  He snorted.

  “I had no idea you cut hair. How long?”

  “About twenty years, give or take.”

  She swiveled on her butt, giving him an openmouthed once-over. “Do what? You don’t look much older than me.”

  Swatting her on the shoulder to get her to turn back around, he said, “Flint, most of us aren’t what we seem. Adam’s over a thousand years old, and that man looks...”

  “Hot?” she supplied when his fingers stilled. Glancing over her shoulder, she grinned when she spotted the blush in his cheeks.

  Blowing out a raspberry, he gave her an arched-brow look. “Stop trying to get me in trouble. Anyway, yes, I cut hair, and let’s leave it at that.”

  They didn’t talk again for a while, and Flint was very near to passing out from sheer bliss as he worked his magic on her, but realizing she had a tough day ahead of her again, she decided zombie-ing out was probably a bad idea right now.

  “So, when are you and Eli gonna knock boots again?”

  “Flint!” he chirped, actually more like hissed.

  She giggled. “Fine. Fine. But seriously, how come you guys broke up?”

  “None of your business, young lady. And how did you realize it was Eli?”

  “Oh, he sang like a bird.” She shrugged. “I think he still likes you.”

  His hands stopped again. But rather than say anything, he simply cleared his throat.

  In seconds he moved around to the front of her hair and began cutting out bangs. Which she loved. She felt all fancy with her new haircut and already about a million times lighter without its weight loading her down.

  He’d cut off a lot, but it still fell softly around her shoulders and was long enough that she could tie it back when working out.

  It was a sad moment when he stepped back and said, “Voilà! You look perfect.”

  He held up a mirror to her, and she inspected the final result and could only breathe out a soft wow at how prettily it fell in soft waves around her slender face.

  “It’s not frizzy anymore.”

  He beamed. “You just needed the right cut. You really do have beautiful hair.”

  Carlito swiped up a thick hank that’d dropped onto the bench and fingered it softly. Flint had learned that nagas liked to collect things. Especially things they considered treasures.

  She kind of found the thought of keeping a jar of hair halfway creepy, but considering she had no money...

  “You can keep some if you want.”

  His eyes widened and the reptilian slits expanded for just a second. “Seriously? I mean, I wasn’t asking. But it’s just so... wow.”

  Her hair color had always gotten compliments before because of its dark red hue, but the way it glinted from the early morning sunlight, there almost seemed to be threads of copper and gold laced through it.

  She shrugged. “No worries. Thanks for doing my hair.”

  Hopping up, she knew she’d missed breakfast, but the cut had been worth it.

  Tucking a strand of her hair into his pocket, he nodded. “Thanks. And by the way, I thought I should warn you that you’re getting Helga first thing this morning. She’s a nasty beast—watch your back with that one.”

  Yeah, that didn’t make her nervous at all.

  She was just about at the tent when she spotted Katy and her dad. Smiling, broadly, she quickly headed in their direction, more happy to see her dad than she’d expected.

  But she came up short the moment Katy’s smile dried up, replaced by a thin, hard line of lips and a furrowed brow full of consternation.

  That, however, wasn’t nearly as bad as seeing her own father shake his head, turn on his heel, and practically run away i
n the opposite direction.

  ~*~

  Flint

  “For the millionth time,” Helga the Terrible—as Flint now thought of her—snarled, “grip it as I showed you. They told me you had knife skills. This is a joke.”

  Flint whimpered. Her muscles were so achy from yesterday, a headache was moving through her skull like a pile driver, and sometime between predawn and full morning, the sword had vanished. Again.

  Her movement was stiff and robotic, which should have made Helga even slightly sympathetic. She wasn’t.

  And her name wasn’t actually Helga. It was Helvelita. Apparently she was a wrath Nephilim and deadly with knives.

  She also looked like Wonder Woman. Literally—she could be the Justice League’s superheroine incarnate. Thick-as-tree-trunk thighs. A tiny waist. Ginormous breasts. Piercing blue eyes, and black hair caught up in a milkmaid braid.

  Flipping the eight-inch bowie knife in her hand from one palm to the other, Helga eyed Flint like she’d just caught a maggot crawling over her lunch plate.

  Leaning up on her elbow from her position in the sawdust, Flint brushed the dirt off her cheeks and tried to jump back to her feet without looking like a drunken clown while doing it.

  “I can do it.” Flint grumbled at a drop of fresh blood that’d curled from out of the tip of her pinky finger and wiped it down on her thigh.

  “Um. No.” Helga crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her hip to one side and making Flint suddenly think of a Valley Girl on ’roids.

  Seriously, her arms were like pythons; she probably had bigger tris than Cain.

  “You can’t. So I think”—Helga reached over Flint’s head, yanking a dagger out of the wooden post behind her—“we’ll call it a day before you kill yourself.”

  And with those words, Helga the Terrible marched out of the tent.

  “Argh!” Flint stomped, sat down on a chair, and grabbed an ice pack out of the cooler beside her feet.

  She’d come prepared today.

  Placing it on her right elbow, she hissed at the cold. Just then the flap was tossed aside and a familiar face peeked in. The noise of the early-morning crowd and clang of metal rides and bass-heavy music became twice as loud as before.