Cursed Fae (Dark Thirst Series Book 1)

by Sarah Tobias

  But, in pure petty revenge, I used what little energy I had to make Derek hop on one foot while tapping his right hand on his head, singing the national anthem at the top of his lungs and ripping off his shirt. Then I made him make out with the deflated basketball.

  After I broke the connection, Derek stood there, the fogged over city lights filtering through the filthy windows, horrified as he dropped the ball, covered his chest for modesty and spat at the ground to clean his mouth.

  “Not. Funny,” he said as he swiped the back of his hand across his lips.

  I grinned.

  In return for observing me, Derek supplied more tidbits relating to the fae realm. It was through him I learned that fae couldn’t be killed, either by pure accident or device. If their shell body (the human body) died, they would merely puff out of the person and search for the next shell, rarely returning to their own realm. It was eerily like that of a hermit crab, whose body was so soft and vulnerable, it relied on other creatures’ discarded exoskeletons as both their protection and their home.

  Except, in this case it was people, with living bodies, not mollusks. I wondered about the fae inhabiting Rob and the girl, and where they went. Derek had no answer. He told me he tried looking for them, but couldn’t find a trace.

  “They must have moved on to another city,” he said. “I wouldn’t be surprised, what with the Hunter and now you skulking around these parts.”

  This alleged Hunter, who I still hadn’t connected with, was the bane of Derek’s existence. Derek seemed worried about it, constantly babbling about the Tryne’s presence and the fact that fae were disappearing at an increased rate.

  “Which is so strange,” he said, “Since the fae population of New York City has increased exponentially at the same time.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that explain the increased fae disappearances?” I asked, always unable to resist the chance to mentally best Derek. He seemed like an obnoxious walking hybrid between a dictionary and internet search engine most of the time. “With a higher population, there would be more deaths—or disappearances.”

  Derek hummed in reluctant agreement. “Still, this is a big city. It’s easier to hide here. There are vast amounts of souls to feed on. There’s no need for our kind to get desperate and show ourselves. No, there has to be another reason. I just haven’t put my finger on it. Fae are moving here for something. They must be.”

  If there were more fae in our midst like Derek said, I didn't notice, what with going straight from my apartment to Cream before picking up my shift at Butterfield, then from there to what I’d dubbed Derek and I’s “Secret Clubhouse,” at the edge of Williamsburg. Andrea showed no lingering signs of fangs, either, or anything else to make me think she could be fae, and she was the only possibility I could think of that came near me.

  However, the more I trained with Derek, the more exhausted I became, and that fatigue made it difficult to fight the hunger pangs now glaringly present. The clenching pain transformed to a tortured emptiness. I would’ve done almost anything to make it go away … except for that one thing that would make it go away.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of killing another human.

  “You may have no choice,” Derek said with bland observance after my many sharp refusals to harm another person. I’d doubled over from an exceptionally epic cramp.

  I kept denying both Derek and it, battling against the dark whisper’s temptation. And it burned. It bubbled with wanting and fury for refusing to allow it to come forward. Yet, I grew weaker. It was unclear how much longer I could hold the demands at bay.

  To my additional confusion, Asher no longer came into Cream. I wasn’t sure why I cared. It wasn’t like I knew him well. It was just that I enjoyed seeing him.

  On Friday, after two days of no Asher, I finally drummed up enough nerve to approach Gwyn, who had seemingly developed an unquenchable thirst for Cream coffee, and inquire as casually as I could about Asher’s whereabouts.

  “Sick with the stomach flu,” she said, before taking her usual sugar-free pumpkin latte from me and walking away.

  Liar. I’d not made a friend in Gwyn Benedict. Then again, I supposed that involved hanging out and getting to get to know her, neither of which I’d had time for.

  It wasn’t until the end of my shift at Butterfield on Friday night that I finally glimpsed him. Asher stood near a black pick-up truck in front of the restaurant, talking animatedly on his phone, along with another figure picking at her cuticles. Gwyn. The traffic lights at the intersection highlighted their silhouettes, bathing their faces in a red glow as Asher gesticulated to the air.

  Concerned, I made my way toward them, telling myself I only wanted to make sure all was well when really, I aimed to satisfy my curiosity.

  “Asher?” I said as soon as I reached them on the deserted sidewalk.

  He turned, the silver in his eyes glinting as they were caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. Even in my weakened state, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by the depth of them.

  “Emily?” He lowered the phone and started towards me. “You all right?”

  I must have looked like a wet, orphaned street cat. Today had been especially hard. All day I'd been consumed with cold sweats, trembling, and a painful roaring in my stomach. It was increasingly difficult to seem normal under Ettie’s all-too-knowing stare.

  I nodded as assuredly as I could. “Sure, fine. Residual effects of the flu, I guess. Unlike you. You seem to have recovered nicely.”

  Asher’s forehead furrowed for an instant, but his face smoothed when he answered, “Yeah, I’m recovered.”

  I tried to quell my shaking hands, which only seemed to become worse the closer he stepped.

  “Emily, you really don’t look ... should I call someone?”

  “I—no, I’m fine. I need a minute. Lemme sit down for one second…” I slurred, though I tried to stay strong and not embarrass myself in front of him. Yet, there was nowhere to sit. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Asher looked to Gwyn, who leaned on one hip as she silently communicated with him. We don't have time for this, her expression said.

  My body betrayed me. I fell forward. Asher snapped to attention, catching me in his arms and enveloping me in cool, fragrant leather.

  I liked to think I fell gracefully, a quiet damsel who caught a passing dizziness and needed to rest gently against her courtier for a few minutes before waking up fresh-faced and bright-eyed, but not so. I was all limbs as I went slack against him, my sweaty cheek mashing up against his chest as my neck cricked at an odd angle. But I didn’t have much time to be embarrassed, because black stars trickled into the sides of my vision.

  “Emily? Emily!”

  It sounded as if Asher were calling me from a distance.

  “Oh, come on,” a voice said, in a tone that could only belong to Gwyn.

  “We need to help her. Help me get her into the car,” Asher said.

  “No. We have more important things to be considering.”

  Gwyn again. She was really not nice. I tried to slur my distaste for her, but all that came out was an indistinct garble between my teeth. And possibly a little drool.

  I felt myself being lifted, and soon I was resting my cheek on Asher’s shoulder, his arms wrapping tightly around me.

  “Asher…” I breathed against his neck.

  He murmured into my ear, “It’s okay. You’ll be all right.”

  “Should we take her to the hospital?” he asked Gwyn.

  “You know that’s not what she needs,” Gwyn said. “Ugh, just get her in the car before anyone sees. Let’s go.”

  “I like you. Why’d I like you?” I asked Asher. I nuzzled against his warm, sweet skin before saying, “But not you.” I flicked a weak hand over to Gwyn as Asher settled me into the car.

  “Feeling’s mutual, princess,” I heard her say before she slammed the door in my face.

  Chapter 19

  “We shouldn’t have her in this
house. We don’t even know what she is,” a female voice said, panic spiking the volume.

  “She’s not a threat,” a buttery male voice responded. “I touched her, remember? And felt nothing,”

  “You don’t know that. You have no idea what we’re dealing with. There’s something about her. It’s not right. You’ve seen Emily. No one's ever declined that quickly.” Then, quietly, “Like … like she’s already been emptied.”

  Blurrily, I came to. I was in a bed. With down, fluffy pillows, and encased in a light, soft comforter the color of the sky on a brisk fall day. The urge to burrow into them and continue my blissful sleep couldn’t be ignored, but the two voices on the other side of the door kept interrupting.

  “I sensed nothing with her,” the male—with that succulent tone, it had to be Asher—said. “And you know as well as I do that when I touch one, I instantly know. There was nothing. It’s something else that’s affecting her.”

  There was a long pause before the female I recognized as Gwyn answered, “You actually think she’s one of us?”

  Her voice rose with each syllable, her disdain clear.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Or stupid, Ash. Why would there be another one already? It makes no sense. We have so much to do before the end. We can’t be wasting time worrying about—whatever she is.”

  “You mean I have work to do. Yours is finished,” Asher said.

  “My efforts are never over, brother. Do you think all I do is sit back and watch you finish the job? Try again, Ash. Consider how it’d be without me.”

  Gwyn punctuated the end of the argument with loud footsteps, her knee-high boots pounding against the wooden floorboards before a door slammed.

  There was a sense of relief at her departure from the hallway, but my comfort vanished as soon as my stomach stirred awake with a vengeance.

  I groaned.

  Footsteps approached, followed by a soft knock. I muttered “come in,” and the brass doorknob turned hesitantly before the door cracked open.

  Asher appeared in the archway, his angled face back-lit by recessed lighting as he stepped into the gloom.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  “Hey. You feeling okay?” He dragged the corner chair up to the side of my bed and sat down. He left the door cracked open, allowing a crease of light to spill into the bedroom and over my form.

  “I’m not sure,” I answered, shimmying up and settling against the pillows. “What happened?”

  “Outside the restaurant, you didn’t look so hot,” he said. “Then you fainted. You look sick, Emily. Do you know what’s going on with you?”

  Asher took on a deliberate stare, the resultant thick silence awaiting my answer.

  I shook my head, hoping I appeared believably dejected when the truth was, I knew exactly what was going on: I needed a human soul.

  My stomach roared and the whispers followed, demanding I give in. I cringed.

  “Emily … do you need a hospital?” Asher asked. He reached up and put a warm, dry hand across my forehead, and this time, it was his lips that parted as soon as his skin hit mine.

  I closed my eyes, instinct telling me not to flinch away. Asher’s hand was a delicious comfort, his warmth imprinting into my clammy skin. The black of his tattoos might as well’ve seeped from his flesh to mine, swirls of pattern and darkness circulating into my blood.

  Somehow, it felt right. His ink didn’t feel like poison in my veins. With our skin-on-skin contact, a connection flowed.

  It felt so nice, so … real. The past few times we’d met always turned into a practiced dance. We’d get close, but not too much. About to touch, but couldn’t. He’d parry, I’d retreat. But here, now, it seemed less harsh. Less calculated.

  For once, Asher was near and I didn’t sense danger. I languished under his touch. My stomach calmed, my chin lowered, and my breath was hot against my chest as I sighed.

  A battle of emotions flitted across Asher’s face as he lifted his hand. My forehead cooled at the sudden lack of contact, and a part of me went hollow. My stomach twisted so hard I thought it would rip through my abdomen, but I groaned quietly against it. I couldn’t let it show.

  “Maybe I should try to sleep for a while,” I said, my voice tremulous. I was suddenly desperate for Asher to go away. I feared I couldn’t hold the flame at bay for much longer.

  What if I hurt him?

  “I wish this wasn’t happening to you,” Asher said, but didn’t elaborate. The cast of his gaze wasn’t as careful as it usually was when he spoke, or as deliberate. In fact, his study was soft, maybe even sad.

  “But you’re right,” Asher continued, straightening in his seat. “Maybe you should try to sleep this off a while. I’m sorry, but you must do it alone. Gwyn and I have somewhere to be.”

  “Oh.” I shifted onto my elbows, wincing. “I’ll go, too, then.”

  Asher put a hand on my shoulder, that warmth of his seeping through my shirt and spreading goosebumps. “Please, stay. Try and sleep. I’ll come check on you later.” Asher’s expression became pensive. “When you wake up, you’ll feel better. I promise.”

  The dark flame called out, asking me to listen to it, not Asher. He lies.

  But, I nodded weakly, though my inner thoughts screamed at Asher to leave before my internal struggles turned physical.

  Asher studied me for a few seconds longer, but eventually stood and went to the door. I exhaled in relief.

  “Asher … thank you,” I said, trying to smile and meaning it. “For … for actually saving me this time.”

  The left corner of his mouth tilted up. “I’ll see you soon, Emily,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

  Once Asher’s footsteps receded and I heard the front door shut, I allowed the cry of pain I’d been holding back to burst forth.

  Curling onto my side, I whimpered, fighting the hunger and battling against the whispers and the dark flame, but both were bent on clawing their way out.

  I’d rather die than take another soul, I said to the heat inside.

  It blazed. It fumed its distaste. Its pure, unadulterated scorn for being so pathetic.

  My stomach cramped, almost as if it were collapsing within itself and taking all of my internal organs with it. I voiced the torment, but even that was a weak representation of a scream.

  “I have no idea what your reasons are for being in this apartment, but we have got to get you out of here.”

  I cracked my eyes open and peered into one of the dark corners of the room, where the sole window was.

  “Derek?” I said. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Derek stepped out of the shadows. “Not long, thankfully. Only enough time to be in tune with your wails of torment. There aren’t many people I’d crawl up a fire escape for, dear one. And into this place, no less. It reeks of threat.” Derek sniffed the air. “Who was here before me?”

  “How did you find out where I was?” I squinted at him over the comforter. “You marked me, didn’t you? You’re ... you're powerful, too.”

  “Semantics,” he said, stopping at the foot of the bed. “Come on. It’s time to leave.”

  “Go away,” I mumbled. “Let me fade away in peace.”

  “No can do, babycakes. I’m not about to lose you right when you're making life interesting. You need to get out of this bed, go outside, and snap out of this pool of pathetic self-loathing you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “No,” I said, my voice muffled against the covers. “I can’t take another life, Derek. I refuse.”

  “Well, if you won’t do it, then I will make you.”

  I was so, so cold. Sinking deeper into the bed, I pulled the comforter over my head, if only to trap the little body heat I had left.

  “Now, now, you delicate thing,” Derek said. “You must get up. Give yourself what your body so desperately craves. Otherwise, you know what will happen, don’t you?”

  “Derek … I haven’t known what’s been going o
n with me for the past week,” I said through the fabric. “Everything’s happening so fast. I’m not meant for this. I just want to be normal. No, I want to be boring.”

  A wrenching sob cut through my throat and I sagged with it, that one cry taking the last of the energy I had. Unconsciousness fluttered its fingers again, asking me to come join. The dark flame raged against my determination to just give in to my weakness, to relent and fade away.

  Moaning against the liquid fire, I curled into a tighter ball.

  “This will not do, Emily.”

  I stirred under the murky blanket of unconsciousness, shocked he’d called me by my name. Derek never used my name.

  “You are far too important to just slink away and die in some stranger’s apartment, surrounded by all this blue paint. Who uses this much blue, anyway? It’s as if a Smurf got angry and vomited rage all over the walls.”

  There was pressure on the side of the bed as Derek got comfortable. Even more surprisingly, I felt the weight of his arm as he laid his hand on my side.

  “There’s something about you, little fae. I know it must be important, so we must see this through. I wouldn’t have wasted my time if I found you to be useless. You matter to this world. Don’t give up so easily and try to escape right when it’s becoming difficult.”

  Even through my dizzy fog, I was angry with him for thinking I would just walk away when things got tough. I never ran. I stayed, even as my mother flashed a knife against my face. I remained, shivering with fear in the bathtub as she stood over me, wondering if this would be the time when she would succeed in pushing me under.

  I stayed out of love, determination. I was strong. I was not fragile. I would never, ever be weak.

  With steely resolve coursing through my veins, I dragged the comforter from my head.

  I said, “You realize, Derek, if I live through this, if I’m forced to take another life, I’ll see to it I eradicate your kind. I will eradicate you.”

  Derek’s gaze never wavered. “Darling fae-child, I don’t think you will.”

  I held his stare, weak but stubborn. “I will destroy you to protect innocent people.”