Now that she’d broken free, she had only one thought in her mind—she needed to get away. She jumped over Brendan prone body and blasted through the glass door, shattering it. Oddly enough, the broken shards didn’t cut her as she jumped through the opening to get out to the street.
And as easily as that, she was free. Kicking off her uncomfortable sandals, she ran and ran and ran until she couldn’t run any farther, the bottoms of her feet worn raw by the rough sidewalk. She didn’t care. She didn’t care about the pain or where she was going, as long as it was far away from The Oblique Café and its gathering of mind-controlling weirdoes.
Running had been the only option Horace had given her. She swiped at an errant tear. She would not let herself cry. No matter how her heart hurt, she would not cry.
What she felt for Horace, that was an illusion. Just like that brick wall that had turned into a café door. An illusion. And she hadn’t been waiting for Horace all her life. That, too, had been an illusion. She’d created that sweet fairytale for herself to keep from falling in love—from trusting. She’d been lonely. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that someone as charming as Horace would have fallen into her fairytale’s role of hero.
There were no fairytales in this world. No princes waiting to sweep her off her feet.
Only predators.
Shadows.
Strange men with seductive powers.
It was time to wake up and accept the truth. No matter how hard she pretended, she wasn’t and would never be a fairytale princess with a happy ending just waiting to happen.
Now that was something worth crying over.
****
“You frightened her away!” Horace shouted at Brendan, who still lay sprawled flat on his back near the door. “What the hell were you trying to do?”
“Keep her from running,” Brendan grumbled. He rubbed the back of his head. Dallas knelt down beside him and put her hand on his chest. “I didn’t expect she’d try to fry my brains like that.”
“She’s terrified, of course she would want to run,” Dallas said.
“She can’t be out there alone. I need to find her,” Horace said as he started for the shattered door.
“Let me go after her.” Dallas jumped to her feet and blocked Horace from leaving. “The last thing she needs is to see you right now. I’ll watch over her and make sure she’s safe.”
Horace gave a reluctant nod and sank into the nearest chair.
Brendan’s rifling through his mind like that had been nothing short of a psychic attack. And like a psychic attack, it had sapped nearly all his strength.
“Thanks for the concern,” Brendan growled in Horace’s direction while Stone helped Brendan to his feet. “By the way, plowing through your memories wasn’t a pleasure trip for me, either.” He rubbed the back of his head some more while scowling. He only paused in his misery long enough to share a quick smile with Dallas as she disappeared in a blur of speed. Horace had never seen her move so quickly. Another side-benefit of her marriage to Brendan? Their powers appeared to be growing stronger every day.
Seeing his friend so happy pricked his heart. He’d never be able find a similar kind of happiness for himself, because—
Before Horace could even try and finish that thought, Kara draped her arms around his neck in a purely possessive move. But Horace didn’t have the energy to push her away.
“Why would you want to waste your time with her?” she purred in his ear.
“Why do you ask it like that?”
“She’s a pampered pet, that’s why. Been coddled and spoiled all her life by her loving family. Personally, I’ve got no use for such things.”
“I don’t know,” he said. A slow smile spread across his lips as he pictured a jeweled collar around Faith’s neck, and her luxuriating on a velvet pillow. Preferably, the pillow would be on his bed. “A man could enjoy having someone like her as a pet—pampered and happy.”
Unfortunately, he couldn’t have her. And even if he could, he’d want her for more than just a pet. He’d gladly welcome her as a partner in his life.
But no matter how hard he wished for it—for her—he couldn’t change who or what he was.
He was supposed to be alone. Forever. Only then could he hope to keep...what?
He suddenly wished those memories he’d spent the last four years running from would return.
Chapter Twelve
“It’s too late,” Ballou said, though his lips didn’t move. He came from a race of telepathic warriors and lived too much of his life in his thoughts. The ability to speak aloud was quickly becoming lost to his kind. “He’s found his mate. Coupled with her again. His seed is surely growing in her womb as we speak.”
“The royal seed,” Prince Manelin added. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the white leather wingback chair. His gaze turned to the wall of windows in his rented penthouse apartment that overlooked the Chicago skyline. He hated living with the humans. The sooner Ballou succeeded, the sooner Manelin could escape the metal and steel city that smelled like a graveyard.
It wasn’t exactly regicide, Manelin reminded himself. The Lion had been created, transformed from one creature to another to suit the laws of the royal sages. The bastard hadn’t been born of royal blood nor reared to inherit the throne.
“What happened this time?” Manelin asked, growing tired of the whole affair. “Why isn’t the bastard dead? I thought you’d told me that you’d killed him.”
The Lion didn’t want the throne. He’d run away from his destiny. Run back to earth. The fool.
The crown and throne should belong to Manelin by now.
King Manelin, ruler of the mystical realm. The title had a predestined ring to it.
The laws regarding these things were impossible. As long as the Lion or his progeny lived, Manelin was blocked from taking the throne, the crown, or the title. Even though the Lion had turned his back on his position, even though he refused to be king leaving all the heavy-lifting to Manelin, it was the Lion who was still considered leader of the mystical realm.
The Lion. He was a middling coward who Manelin should have taken care of years ago.
The Protectors were inferior creatures. They knew so little about themselves or their destinies. They were as dense as the diamond-studded stones hidden behind the mystical golden waterfalls. How could one of them have been chosen as supreme ruler in the first place?
“It was the girl,” Ballou said. “Joining with her must have bolstered the Lion’s powers. I shot him last night in the alleyway behind his bar. He should have died. He deserved to die.” His face grew flushed with emotion. “He was fucking her next to the dumpster. Like she was a whore. Today he had her naked in the middle of his nightclub.”
He drew a long, unsteady breath. And then—amazingly—spoke out loud, “How could he treat her like that?”
“He is the king. Everyone is below him...even her,” Manelin said with the flick of his wrist. But this turn of events had him worried.
The sages had warned that the king would find his mate and return stronger and more powerful than ever. This had to stop, or else Manelin would never win the throne. And being chosen as second in line never had sat well with him.
Manelin was a faerie. And the fey were second to no one, especially not to a creature that was lowlier than a dog.
“I didn’t like it. She is his queen,” Ballou said, his lips moving quickly now. “I shot him. Used one of those primitive human weapons, just as you had instructed,” he said with a sneer. “It caused a great deal of damage. The Lion was dying, bleeding to death when I left him. But today he is alive. And today he had a powerful friend banish me to the netherworld. Being tossed out of this realm like that hurts like hell, you know.”
“So, you will try again?”
Ballou nodded. “I could crush him right now if you’d let me use my powers.”
“No!” Manelin couldn’t allow that. “If you use your magic, the elders will investigate. Their
deaths can’t lead back to me. It has to look as if a human killed them.”
“The child—if there is one—will never know of its importance,” Ballou pointed out. “If the king doesn’t remember his coronation, there is no reason to kill the girl.”
“In order to take the throne, I need his mate dead.” Manelin didn’t understand his assassin’s reluctance. Ballou had carried out the execution of entire civilizations. Why worry over one more life?
After a long pause, Ballou nodded again. “Very well. I will do my duty. Consider them both dead.”
****
“Kimmi, Kimmi, Kimmi, this is a disaster.” Faith buried her head in her hands. It took all her willpower to keep from bursting into tears again. “This is the first and last time I will ever throw myself at a man.”
After running down several long blocks, Faith had run out of energy and had gotten completely turned around on the Chicago streets. In desperation, she did what she should have done in the first place. She phoned Kimmi.
Her friend had immediately left her office at the university and drove across town to rescue Faith. On top of that, she’d treated Faith to a late lunch at their favorite restaurant, a little family-run French bistro.
“Do you need more time before ordering?” she heard the waitress whisper.
“Yes, please just bring us some more coffee,” Kimmi said in the hushed voice she used only when they went to the library or the ballet. And then, after a pause, she petted Faith’s head. “He looked so normal. I can’t believe it. I mean, I do believe it, because you’re telling it to me and all...but I can’t believe he’d do something like that to you.”
“Well, it’s true.” She’d told Kimmi the basics. Nothing about Horace not being human, but the rest, about the marks and his attempt to control her. “All of it is true.”
“How kinky,” Kimmi purred. “Are you sure you’re not tempted to—?”
“This isn’t a game. They mean to make me their...” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice. “They mean to make me a sex slave.”
“Well, the solution is simple. You’ll have to stay away from him.”
“But what if I can’t?”
What if Horace had the power to summon her from a distance? What if she couldn’t untangle her own desires from his?
What if she didn’t want to stay away?
“It’s the losing myself that worries me the most,” she admitted.
Kimmi took Faith’s hands in her own and held on tightly. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out together.”
They both ordered salads. Kimmi talked Faith into getting a glass of wine. It hadn’t taken too much arm-twisting.
The food at the bistro was always delicious, but today the salad tasted especially good. Faith hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she took her first bite of the crisp greens piled on her plate and savored the tangy dressing. She’d skipped both breakfast and lunch. For her, that was terribly out of character. She never skipped meals.
She also didn’t get herself involved with one-night-stands. Overnight, her life had turned upside-down thanks to this attraction to Horace West that she’d hadn’t been able to deny. If he’d been human, he would have been her perfect soul mate. He was smart, ambitious, and he treated her kindly—when he wasn’t trying to press his mind controlling powers on her.
But he wasn’t human.
He was a monster.
Faith sighed as she sopped up the last bit of her salad dressing with a chunk of crusty French bread. It hadn’t taken her long to finish off the salad. And she had only a little bit of red wine left in her glass.
“You might as well finish it,” Kimmi said. “Hell, you look as if you could use something stronger.”
“Today I’m almost inclined to agree with you,” Faith said with a weak laugh as she reached for the glass.
It shattered. She hadn’t even touched it. But still, the glass shattered.
“What the hell?” Kimmi asked, looking around. “Did something hit the glass? Did you see what it was? All I saw was a flash.” She turned her gaze up. “Did something fall from the ceiling?”
Faith curled her fingers into a tight fist.
Nothing had fallen from the ceiling. Dread grew in the pit of her stomach. Thanks to whatever Horace had done to her, she could now break glasses without touching them. She didn’t want to think about what else she might shatter with this strange power that had infected her.
“It was nothing. An accident,” Faith said quickly.
“But you didn’t even...” Kimmi’s eyes grew wide, and she pushed back from the table. “Faith...you’re glowing.”
“What?” She looked at herself in the reflection of the white ceramic plate sitting on the table in front of her. There was a slight golden glow resembling a halo ringing her head. Her hands began to tremble. “Great. Great. This is just what I don’t need. This is his fault. He’s doing this to me.”
“Who? Horace? How? I don’t understand.”
“I bet this is his way of getting me to come back to him.”
Faith jumped up from her chair, knocking it over. “I’ve gotta get out of here.” She didn’t know how to control the changes happening to her. If she stayed she might accidentally hurt Kimmi in the same way she’d hurt Brendan. “Sorry about the lunch.”
“Wait!” Kimmi tried to chase after Faith, but the waitress stepped in the way. “What’s going on?” Kimmi shouted as she tried, unsuccessfully, to sidestep the waitress. “What are you going to do?”
What was she going to do?
Good question.
Stay away from Horace, she supposed. Though the thought of never seeing him again crushed against her heart. Love wasn’t supposed to hurt like this. Her parents were in love, and their relationship was nearly perfect. They were comfortable with each other. Happy.
They knew how to handle a powerful relationship. And then it hit her.
Her parents. They’d traveled the world and had lived through some scary shit.
Perhaps they could help her figure this all out.
****
Faith steered her old Honda into the driveway of her parents’ lavish Frank Lloyd Wright inspired prairie-style home on the edge of Oak Park just as her mom had been pulling out of the driveway.
Growing up, Faith had spent very little time at this house. But seeing the lazy wide overhangs, the aging redwood, and the rugged stone siding still made her feel warm inside. The cedar-laden air outside the house smelled like Christmas to Faith. Her parents tried to always get back to the states for the winter holidays. The modern conveniences, like a bathroom with a toilet that flushed and hot and cold running water, had been as exciting as any toy that Santa could have brought her.
It seemed odd to have her parents living in the house full-time now, or about as full-time as you could expect from a pair of renowned and overly active anthropologists.
Her mother, Faith soon discovered, had been heading to the grocery store. But Judy Summers took one look at her daughter and decided the shopping could wait. She took Faith by the arm and led her into the leather-appointed study where James Summers worked on his latest textbook. Boxes of loose papers and moldy old tomes were stacked up all around his desk.
“Daddy,” Faith said, tears filling her eyes. “I’m in trouble.”
While Faith started to tell them what had happened on the night of her birthday, Judy pulled out a magnifying glass and studied the frightening glow encircling her daughter’s head.
Faith tried tell them everything.
Honestly, she did.
Oh, she could tell her parents about all the embarrassing parts, such as how she felt safe and cherished when she was around Horace—she’d been such a fool. And she’d been able to tell them how she’d been intimate with Horace and the marks he’d made on her body—which made her cheeks fiery hot.
But whenever she got to the truly unbelievable parts—the parts about the otherworldly gunman and
the sometimes-there-sometimes-not café, her head started to pound. The harder she tried to make her tongue work, the sharper the pain that attacked her.
She gave up after she almost threw up.
“It’s a mystery, sweetie,” her dad said. He lifted his glasses off his nose and set them on the top of his head. The wire rims quickly got tangled in his brown curls. “I wish you could tell us more about this new boyfriend who did this do you. Why would he want to control you?”
“Because—because—” He’s not human! she tried to shout but her tongue refused to cooperate.
She sank into her father’s leather armchair and rubbed her temples. “I’m afraid they’re controlling me. Even now, my thoughts are bound up because of them. Because of what he did to me.”
That made her parents frown.
“I’m calling the police.” Her mom picked up the phone and started to dial. “I suspect they’ve drugged you. Perhaps I should call Dr. Banks, too.”
Faith tried to tell them that it was magic, not drugs, but those words wouldn’t come to her lips either. And the glow around her head grew brighter.
“Horace,” she breathed, feeling more than a little desperate. She wondered if he could hear her. “Horace, please don’t do this to me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Horace held out his hand and tried to will the newly refilled teacup Jake had placed on the café table to slide over to him. It refused to budge.
Most of the Protectors had left The Oblique Café. Many had returned to their daily routine. Being magical didn’t pay the bills. Nearly all of them led normal lives with normal jobs that couldn’t be neglected. Stone had sent those with flexible schedules out into the streets of Chicago to see if there had been any reports of odd occurrences.
Most mystical creatures were terrible at blending in with the humans. Perhaps the Protectors succeeded where the others failed because, unlike the immortals flitting in and out of this realm, the Protectors had been raised alongside human children and had learned early on the nuances of society rules. Whatever the reason, mystical creatures, at least the ones who did attempt to blend, often ended up sticking out like sore thumbs. Not that the humans ever noticed. When you knew what to look for, it was easy to find some pretty odd creatures out there living with the humans. Several of the creature from the mystical realm masqueraded as celebrities, where outlandish behaviors were the norm.
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