Alana was dead

Dead tired to be exact. After a grueling twenty-four hours, the phrase took on a whole new meaning for her. If she could die at all—at least from something as human as exhaustion—it would have been tonight. Barely able to stand upright, she stumbled into the one-bedroom apartment she shared with her younger sister, Taylor.

Correction, half-sister. Taylor always made sure to press that point. Sharing the same father didn’t entitle Alana to anything more than a place to crash when her irresponsibility had gotten her into trouble . . . again.

And oh boy was she in trouble.

She crept into the entry, pressing the door gently closed as she slid home the deadbolt. Taylor had warned her about blasting through the door after three am. If Alana did it again, she’d be out on her ass. That couldn’t happen. Every muscle ached in impossible ways and her mental burnout had reached maximum levels. She collapsed onto the beige sofa just before her legs gave out.

Beige.

Everything in her sister’s place was beige. Beige and white. Absent of color, chaos. . . or life. Alana’s blue-green streaked hair spread out along the smooth fabric like a wild peacock’s feathers.

Out of place. Not just in her sister’s home, but this world in general.

She grabbed at the zipper of her jeans and shimmed out, kicking them off at the ankles with her boots. Christ, she needed a vacation. She leaned back onto the floral down pillow and threw an arm over her eyes to block out the hallway nightlight.

A slow, rhythmic ticking drew her gaze. Mounted above the kitchen island, hung a double-sided antique clock, with large roman numerals branded on its face.

Tick . . . Tock

Tick . . . Tock

Tick . . . Tock

Time. It came in a never ending constant rhythm. And much like Alana, the clock never stopped going, stopped running.

It couldn’t. Too many things depended upon it.

Time was relative. Its significance based solely on which realm you lived in. For humans, time was of the utmost importance. They had such a limited amount of it, that they constantly referred to time as ‘precious’. For those who were. . . different, time remained less relevant.

Alana had never considered it much, at least not until three weeks ago.

Now her life only knew two certainties: The clock always kept ticking, and she could never stop running. Not from him. She was Fae Kissed, cursed and blessed, able to travel into every world, but fitting into none.

Alana closed her eyes and counted breaths.

Inhale. . . exhale. . . Inhale. . . exhale. . .

She counted until sleep claimed her.

Sleep—not rest.

Never rest.

His golden eyes blazed with rage.

“You make this choice and I’ll destroy you.” He spat the words out, violent wind swirling around, the only thing that held him back from striking her. “Not just you, but everyone you love. Everyone you touch. Everyone you look at.”

Alana grabbed tighter onto the orb in her palm, “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” She raised her right arm and commanded the storm to double in force. Lighting and a torrid current of air mixed with electricity slammed into Nolan.

He spoke through gritted teeth, “You’re not a hero, Alana. You’re a Reaver. A thief.”

“People change.” She said.

Titus looked to his brother beside him and laughed, “She thinks people change? We know better, don’t we, Reid?”

The other warlock hadn’t spoken since Alana and Titus began fighting. In fact, he didn’t even bother to defend himself when she cast Gale Magic on them both. Instead, he took every blow in silence. Why?

“This . . . is your . . . last . . . chance.” Titus said, each word forced out after the last.

The option to go back and change things had long passed. For the first time in too many years, she’d decided to ask questions. Now she knew the answers, the possible repercussions, she couldn’t walk away.

Alana placed the orb into her pack and raised both arms toward the sky. Her iris’s glowed iridescent as her element channeled through her. She focused all of her Gale Magic into a binding curse, an order to shackle Titus and Reid within Que Theran’s tomb.

As she climbed out of of the cavern and into the Fae’den jungle, she glanced back. Two figures, disappeared in the distance as a rift swallowed them up. A last declaration on the wind unsettled her.

“Today you sealed not only your death, but those of anyone else you loved.”

* * *

All beings, wholly mortal or not, needed sleep.

Alana had only succeeded in securing herself barely four hours. Nowhere near enough to feel rested, but just the perfect amount to leave you somewhere between delirious and crazed. Taylor’s voice echoed from the kitchen and she rolled onto her side.

Her baby sister stood in front of the coffee maker, hip resting against the counter. The perfectly ironed pantsuit and crisp white blouse matched her impeccable ponytail. “I don’t care if Deacon doesn’t agree. This is my case, my witness.”

When Alana rose to sit up, the couch creaked, and Taylor looked to her. She offered a single nod and turned back to her brewing chai-tea latte. A man’s stern voice murmured from the receiver. Whatever his response, Taylor didn’t look happy.

She grated her teeth—as she always did whenever frustrated—and waited for him to finish. “No— Yes sir— I understand.”

A second later, she hung up and slammed her phone down. Taylor kept her back to Alana as she rubbed her temples. Finally composed, she spun toward the living room—and Alana.

“Morning.” Taylor’s entire face screamed the exact opposite of the pleasantry she offered her sister.

Alana smiled and joined her at the kitchen table. “Bad day already?”

“More or less.” She shrugged, “What time did you get in last night?”

“About four.”

“Hmm.”

She never asked what Alana did for a job. Or if she even had a job. Taylor stopped asking questions years ago. Together, they ate breakfast in silence. Alana grabbed herself a bowl of crispy cereal while Taylor spooned yogurt from a small container. After rinsing dishes, Taylor slipped on her suit jacket. Alana watched her sister walk toward the door then spin on her heel.

“So, are we finally going to talk about it?” She asked.

“About what?” Alana knew exactly what Taylor referred to be but keeping her sister in the dark was imperative to Taylor’s survival.

“Seriously, Alana? You drop back into my life a week ago after a six-year absence, and you don’t think I’ll have questions?”

Six years to her. Only three weeks to Alana.

“I . . .”

How do you explain the impossible to your human sister? Half-sister. That you’re not some fuckup, but someone who had to hide.

Taylor sighed and shook her head, “I don’t know why I bother asking. Why I bother letting you do this all the time.” She grabbed her travel mug and pulled a set of keys from her purse. “You need to grow up, Lana. Stop acting like some foolish teenager. This is it. It’s the last time I’m letting you stay here.” Key in the lock, she stilled. “You’re selfish and a user and a liar, and I refuse to enable you anymore. You need to be gone by the end of the week.”

The door slammed and Alana was left staring after her. More than anything, Alana wanted to tell Taylor the truth. To confide in the only real flesh and blood she had. But would Taylor even believe her? Highly unlikely.

Alana returned to the couch for an extended nap, when the phone on her hip buzzed.

Shit.

The only person who had this number, was the last person she wanted to hear from right now. Her plans to pass back out until the evening, were slowly evaporating. He couldn’t possibly need her back this quickly. She pulled the phone from her pocket and glanced down at the text message:

Briefing now. No excuses. Urgent.

Double shit.