Cursed Fae (Dark Thirst Series Book 1)

by Sarah Tobias

  He noticed me as he took his seat. This time, I was ready for it and didn’t flinch under his stare. Neither did he. Pure silver clashed with my blue. I’d never seen eyes like that on a person before. They were mesmerizing.

  He cocked his lips. I furtively glanced away, scratched my nose, and busied myself with tying the back of my apron before throwing myself into orders of lattes and cappuccinos as Andrea skulked around me. Thankfully, she seemed back to average, her teeth as white as if she’d dipped them in bleach, no rotting incisors on display. I stayed a good distance from her anyway, remembering Rob, remembering me.

  Through the regular sounds of the coffee shop, I heard Macy say to Asher, “—so I was the crazyface at the party, flying doors off hinges looking for my vagabond friend over there. She thinks the nomadic life is preferable to fun. Especially at social gatherings.”

  I rolled my eyes, though I kept my attention on the next person ordering.

  “I’m glad you found her,” he said.

  Asher’s voice was like sugared butter, and the shivers coursing down my arms were the complete opposite to those I experienced in the basement. The silk of him affected me.

  I cranked on the milk steamer extra hard.

  You can't have him. You want to chew on his Adam's apple, I reminded myself.

  My body twanged as if barbed wire scraped against my flesh every time I moved. Coupled with my clenching stomach, the nomadic life Macy mentioned was looking good. I wiped my brow with the back of my wrist as I bent down to grab soy milk.

  “You remember Emily, don’t you, Asher?” Macy asked.

  “I do.”

  I would not spare them a moment. Nope, I couldn’t hear them. My stomach rumbled in painful agreement.

  I sensed rather than heard Asher draw closer, his movements cautious as he took his place in line. His study was a slow burn, but I poured shots of espresso, concocted many pumpkin variations, and made people’s caffeine hits like it was any other day.

  Don’t look up. Do not do it.

  Damn it, I failed.

  “Hi,” he said to me over the espresso machine.

  “Hello.” I cleared my throat as I wiped off the milk steamer with a towel. Not because I had to, but I needed an excuse to pull myself together.

  “I think I came off as … abrupt when we first met,” Asher said. “I want to apologize.”

  He shrugged, his leather jacket tight against his broad shoulders. I forced myself to have a vague interest as I worked the machine. Coffee beans, cup, press button, steam. I would not jump over this counter to lick him. I would not.

  Asher’s words hung in the air, with Macy’s face darkening ominously behind him. I hated to be rude, so I caved, just a little. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for. I should be the sorry one, getting, uh, drunk like that by myself on a roof. I’m not usually like that.”

  I pulled a fresh cup full of espresso out from under the machine as Andrea called out a frappe order. I was all too aware of Asher’s presence and the increased prickling sensation under my skin the closer he came.

  “So, should we try again?” he asked, smiling as he held out his hand, opening his palm in invitation.

  But his eyes, there was something behind them.

  Asher’s fingertips stopped just shy of my arm, and heat boiled up from my abdomen. My hand holding the cup of steaming espresso went spastic, knocking a full blender beside me into the sink.

  “Oh, good job, Barista Girl,” a feline voice said.

  Liz Graham, one of Macy’s college friends, sidled up behind Asher, her right eyebrow predictably arched as she eyed the mess. I didn’t spare her a second glance as I cleaned it up, knowing that her ice-blue eyes would label me a servant as soon as I connected with them.

  Asher leaned forward, his expression full of concern. “Are you all right? Did you burn yourself?”

  Cleaning the spill, I noted my saturated hand, swiping the towel across the spilled espresso. “No, it's okay, I—” Wait. Scalding liquid just splashed upon my skin. I should be in pain. I should moan. “Ow. Yes. Oh, ow.” I ran my hand under cold water for effect.

  It didn’t hurt. My skin hadn’t even turned pink at the contact.

  “Shouldn’t you get that looked at?” Asher asked. “Here, let me see.”

  He cast not an ounce of suspicion my way. Asher was being polite, possessing sympathy for a klutzy girl who was in charge of making his coffee without charred flakes of skin falling in.

  Still. No way was I touching him. There was something wrong here.

  Liz saved me, who only had one reason to show up today, and that reason was currently causing fireworks to detonate against my skin. “Put some ice on it. You’re fine. Can I have a iced soy caramel latte?”

  “Liz, you’re not even in line!” Macy called from her table. “Did you get my DM? About those killer knee highs?”

  “Yes! I died.” Liz’s voice rose a few octaves when she turned to Macy.

  Liz tucked a strand of wheat blonde hair behind her ear, smiling honeyed cream at Asher before joining Macy. She pulled out her phone, and she and Macy started cooing over boots.

  Macy was distracting Liz, but it was a distraction I didn’t want. Left here. Alone. With Asher. Feeling his blood pumping from his heart.

  “I'm good. Honest,” I said to him, feebly sopping up the mess while Andrea yelled out orders with increasing impatience. My fingers shook. I curled them against my palms, hard.

  “If you say so. I’m impressed.” Asher took a second towel, arching over the machines to help wipe the brown liquid off the counter. Macy and Liz both paused appreciatively at the view. “What temp does that machine boil water at?”

  There it was again, the careful consideration in his eyes. The strange study of the coffee barista who couldn’t burn.

  A kitchen sink of emotions swirled in my chest. Excitement, because I was drawn to him. Trepidation, because of the instinctual repulsion. And hurt, muddled with extreme anxiety, at the volcano raging inside my body. My stomach gurgled. I spun around so he couldn’t see the pain skittering across my face.

  “We like to serve at around one-fifty degrees,” I replied with my back turned. I mentally brushed off the rolling cramps as tiny hunger pangs. If I willed it enough, maybe they would go away. Maybe he’ll finally leave.

  “Emily, seriously. Look at the line!”

  Andrea’s voice, though whiney, had a point. The morning rush was here, and because our third shift-mate didn’t show up, we were understaffed. Asher’s irresistible but uncomfortable study aside, I had to get the job done. I redid the frappe recipe, dabbing at my brow again.

  At last, Asher got the hint. “I’ll see you around.” He tapped the countertop for emphasis, biting his lip with a smile.

  I melted. How was it he possessed such power when saying something so simple?

  My stomach roiled, clenched, and deflated as Asher put space between us. I breathed easier, now that it seemed there was more air available.

  Macy’s voice pitched over the crowd, jabbering away at Asher as he resumed sitting across from her, Liz perched regally in the middle. After making my hundredth pumpkin caramel latte, I realized I hadn’t asked Asher what he wanted to drink. Now that there was some distance, I felt the need to provide customer service, especially with Andrea nearby—the person responsible for my employee evaluations. And I desperately wanted to make up for my lack of focus. And rudeness. And all-around non-Emily-like behavior.

  A gap formed in the line, giving me a perfect view of their table. I opened my mouth to call out to them, but no words came out. Not because I was speechless, but because I couldn’t speak.

  My words were trapped. I couldn’t voice them. An actual thing stopped it from happening. I held a hand to my throat, my fingers digging into the tender skin as if they could locate an actual obstruction.

  No more.

  The voice that sounded like me snaked through my head and I jolted, rattling the stack of ceramic mug
s to my left. Asher, Liz and Macy paused in their conversation and I righted myself and smiled at them, hoping I didn’t look as possessed as I felt.

  “Miss? Could I get coconut milk in this? My fault, I forgot to tell you.”

  Grateful for the distraction, I accepted the cardboard cup the patron held out to remake his latte. “Sure.”

  There. My voice was back, flowing from my mouth like it always did. Voluntarily. But … what was that?

  A loud, ear-splitting crash halted my progress. It was so frightening, a wave of screams followed. My heart nearly shot out of my chest and I almost scrambled down the basement stairs and flattened onto the floor for cover. A screeching wail followed the terrifying bang, reverberating around the coffee shop in short, staccato bursts.

  Now that I had every reason to visibly tremble, I braced both hands on the counter and located the cause of the crash. A little boy had run into the display of coffee mugs near the entrance. Andrea was already over there, asking the mother, “Is he okay? Is he hurt? Cut?”

  The mother shook her head as she held her child close; the boy wailing against her chest.

  Except, I had to look past an obstruction to get a better view. A shoulder obscured the mother. A broad one. Encased in leather.

  Right in front of me.

  Asher was somehow behind the counter with me.

  His broad back acted as a buffer between me and the scene, but he stood ready to pounce, his body coiling in how wild cats did when they prepared to attack. His hands were out to his sides, but clenched, the muscles stiff under his jacket. Asher backed up, just a little, but so close that if I blew out a breath, I’d tickle the hairs at the back of his neck.

  I frowned, retreating until my hip hit the counter.

  Is he protecting me?

  But, once everyone started calming down, Asher’s stance relaxed.

  It was interesting—because scary would come later, when I had the time to think about this series of events—that I’d naturally mirrored his pose, almost to the letter. My body vibrated, my muscles tensed and ready to spring into action despite the increasing rumble in my stomach. I’d hardened my hands into fists—so tight that the whites of my knuckles broke through the skin. I simmered down with Asher, unclenching, and winced at the dull ache that followed.

  Macy let out a little squeak of surprise, her hand moving to her mouth as she stared at Asher.

  She asked softly, “How’d he get over there that fast?”

  “Asher?” I kept my voice soft and unthreatening, observing him as I would a tiger escaped from the Bronx zoo.

  “I can deal with sullen-hot,” Liz observed, “But I can’t deal with psycho-hot. You two realize that a few broken glasses made that noise, not a guy with an automatic weapon, right?”

  Liz had taken up residence behind the pastry counter, just to my right, using it as a shield from a few broken glasses. But, Asher wasn’t paying attention to her. He just glared, at me, at the space around us, everywhere.

  “Asher?” I tried again.

  His expression smoothed, but his body coiled and bunched as he passed and returned to the other side of the counter.

  “I dislike loud noises,” he said, fixing his jacket’s collar. Asher didn’t bother with further niceties and instead strode directly to the exit.

  I tracked him with wonder. Liz remained frozen beside me, monitoring him with furtive panic until he disappeared from the windows.

  “Oh, dude, you are totally smitten.” Macy grinned as she leaned a hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “I told you. Asher even tried to defend you! Like a knight. A hot, bad boy, brooding knight.”

  “A dark knight,” I mumbled.

  “Well, yeah, dark and sexy. And tattooed. Oh, please,” she said to my frown. “I’ve reacted way worse than he did when I found a spider crawling up my leg. So, want me to invite him out with us tomorrow night?”

  I cringed. “No.”

  For once, my mind and my heart were in complete agreement. Don’t come across him again.

  I had the foreboding prediction that if I did, I’d probably end up like those poor, broken ceramic mugs scattered across the tiled floor.

  Broken shards of what used to be a complete and comforting whole.

  Chapter 11

  After my shift, I reluctantly brushed Macy off by sending her a quick can’t make it text.

  Usually, we met at the local diner between my two jobs and her classes, where Macy regaled me with the latest college gossip as we shared a plate of fries, but not today. I was restless and wound tight. My stomach had grown worse. Beads of sweat dripped across my brow before evaporating in the cool air.

  I was never a sick child. Not once had I passed through hospital doors, moaning and in agony. My life was so sheltered when I was young that I rarely had opportunities for any accident landing me in the ER, and it was because of that I could rationalize, since I’d had no reason to seek professional help before, I didn’t need it now.

  The restaurant I work nights at was within walking distance from Cream of the Cup, and I set off on foot as soon as I waved to Andrea, making a hard left that nearly made me trip on my own feet. As I turned the corner, I spotted Macy and Liz talking at the intersection, waiting for the light to change. I hoped they didn’t notice my graceless dive into an alleyway to avoid them.

  I used the alley as a shortcut and half-sped, half-stumbled to my next job, bracing against the smog-dusted brick walls for balance as I forced my feet forward.

  Once I made it to my destination, I pulled it together enough to slightly pass for normal. A cold sweat came over me again, soaking through my clothes. The front of my shirt looked like I’d just run a marathon.

  I peered into the front window of the restaurant, pleased that the evening crowd would be manageable in the small space. It was almost seven and only a few tables were occupied. Heaving the door open, I entered into the scent of garlic and fresh baked bread, smells I’d always coveted. Butterfield was known for the aroma and usually, the scent brought a sense of safety and warm comfort.

  I didn’t feel safe. I felt nauseous.

  “Emily, good, you’re here!”

  A voice came from the kitchen and through the small open window into the dining room. Ettie Butterfield pushed through the flapping doors, wiping her hands on a towel before she enveloped me in a large hug.

  “How are ya, hun?” Her hands stilled on my shoulders as her soft hazel eyes took in the state of me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just a long day at Cream.”

  She nodded, pushing her spectacles up onto her head and creating a large halo of short graying curls around them. “The life of the service industry. I get it. Come on back, I have a plate warming for you before you start.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders, though she had to reach up, squeezing me affectionately as she lead me into the kitchen and smiled at the few patrons that were quietly eating dinner.

  I’d been working for Ettie for about a year and a half and considered her more of a mother hen than a boss. Before Macy and I became close, she was often the one I would turn to with problems, from everything to paying rent to dating. As Ettie ushered me onto a kitchen stool and urged me to eat, I was reminded that Ettie was more of a mother to me than my own ever was.

  Because I loved Ettie, I forced down her famous meatloaf and mashed potatoes, low-key gagging at the white and brown globs as they entered my mouth. She kept her eye on me as she assisted her head chef with the meals, now and then reminding, “Put some meat on those bones, girl!” whenever she noticed I was slowing down.

  When she was distracted enough to stop supervising, I subtly dumped three quarters of my meal into the trash, wiping my mouth with my hand, and ordered myself not to puke.

  Rising, I locked myself in the staff bathroom before anyone noticed I’d left the kitchen and pulled out a clump of paper towels from the dispenser to run under cold water. Ripping off my shirt, I pressed the icy dampness to my skin
, picturing the heat leeching out of me as coolness took its place.

  It didn’t work. Drying off with more paper towels, I also swiped on deodorant and spritzed perfume that I kept in my bag for such shift switches, before changing into a simple denim cap-sleeved dress to go with Ettie’s theme of warm yellows and cool blues.

  It was precarious, but I made it through the kitchen, and then the dining area, and started taking orders. I stayed on my feet through the dinner rush, because it was Monday and there wasn’t really one, but I was thankful when fifteen diners turned into eight, then three, then one.

  By eleven o’clock, I was wiping down tables as Ettie banked the small hearth in the corner, readying to close up for the night. Only a single person remained, eating quietly at a side table as she flipped through a magazine.

  Ettie gave her a small glance before coming up to me. “You okay to close? My granddaughter’s sick with the flu and I’d like to stop by, drop off some of my chicken soup.”

  “No problem.” I swiped my hand across my forehead before nodding in the girl’s direction. “I’ll take care of her.”

  “You’re a star.” Ettie patted me on the shoulder before grabbing her jacket from the coatrack and shutting the blinds to the front windows on her way out. “I’ll see you Wednesday, hun.”

  Once she left, I finally let go, exhausted from forcing myself stiff and pushing the limits of normal. I collapsed onto the closest chair, resting my head in one hand as the other clutched the damp hand towel in my lap.

  Taking deep breaths, I tried to calm my racing heart and congealing belly, creating a mental drill sergeant in my head to order my body to get through ten more minutes before I could kick the girl out and go home to bed.

  Sssssssustenance.

  I jerked upright, surveying the domes of light on the yellow walls as if a hooded figure was about to peel out of the shadows and explain why they hissed that word.

  Yet, it didn’t come from the last patron, either. The girl was hunched over the table on the far left. She’d turned into a figure so buried in the corner I could barely make out her features. Through the candlelight, I could guess she was approximately my age, but she was reading so furiously that she was bent over her magazine. Her legs curled under the chair and she hummed quietly under her breath.