I locked the door to my room from the inside and dropped to the floor, trembling. I picked up my phone to dial Ciara’s number, but it went straight to voicemail.

How had Baleros reacted so quickly after the spell-slayers had found me? How had he even known about it?

While my mind was whirling over all the possibilities, a powerful force slammed against the door. Another hit, and the wood splintered, fracturing into my room. I leapt to my feet. On the other side of the broken door stood Aengus and the Wraith, the latter’s body shrouded in tendrils of darkness. Having just decimated my door, the Wraith pulled back his fist.

My stomach curdled again. There was something entirely unnerving about the shadows surrounding him. They writhed like ghostly serpents, sending chills rippling over my skin.

“You really could have just knocked like a normal person,” I said, composing myself.

The Wraith didn’t answer. He just reached through the broken wood to turn the doorknob. His cold, violet gaze promised savagery if I crossed him. In short, we were off to a wonderful start.

As he stepped into the room, Aengus gave a slow shrug. “Apologies. Something seems to have made him uneasy. He doesn’t speak, so his motives are anyone’s guess.”

Oh, lovely. A voiceless, psychotic fae who I’m pretty sure wants to gut me.

Aengus frowned at me. “What in the name of the gods are you wearing on your head? Is this a gutter fae accessory?”

“It’s a headlamp. It’s practical. Our electricity doesn’t work so well. And if you’re trying to irritate me by calling me a gutter fae, it won’t work. I’ve been called far worse by better people.”

The Wraith sniffed the air like an animal scenting prey. When his eyes met mine again, he snarled. For one terrible moment, I was certain he was going to rip my head off. Then, he backed away again, and I loosed the breath I’d been holding.

I narrowed my eyes at Aengus. “I stabbed you in the neck. Even if it wasn’t iron, how did you recover so fast?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, amusement curling his lips. “Ah, but you’re a gutter fae. The Mor like us aren’t quite so easily defeated.”

I let him see my dramatic eye roll. The Mor were an ancient race of the fae. I didn’t know much about them, but I was quickly getting the impression that their arrogance and snobbery vastly outweighed the allure of their beauty.

“Right. Sounds like a load of bollocks,” I said. “I’m going to hazard a guess that you have exceptionally skilled healers in your pretty little palace. The noble Mor must need them a lot, considering you managed to get stabbed while ganging up on a solitary female gutter fae.”

Aengus shrugged. “Your appearance threw me off, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t enjoy killing beautiful women.”

I nodded. “You’re good with murdering the ugly ones, though, right? Aren’t you the gentleman.”

“Since you’re apparently so perceptive, Arianna, do you know why we’re here?”

I touched the back of my neck. “I found a mark you left. Honestly, it was pretty hard to miss.” I couldn’t tell him the information Baleros had passed on to me, so I had to act natural. Or, as natural as one could act after two fae warriors busted down the door to your room and insulted your headlamp. “And your chatty friend left a note about joining you. You’ll have to fill me in on the rest.”

“The Shadow Fae have decided to recruit you as a novice. If you can survive the first trial,” he continued, “you’ll be matched with one of six knights as your mentor.”

“Matched?”

“You’ll spend day and night with your mentor, learning to be….” He gestured at my room. “Better than you are now.”

I cocked my head. “Quite the intense relationship.”

“Arianna.” His silky voice caressed my skin. “Living with us is surely a step up from how you’re living now.”

He was insulting me, but his voice promised seduction, and somehow, I forgot to take offense. Pretty men were annoying that way.

And maybe he had a point. A musty smell hung heavily over my apartment—if it could even be called an apartment. It was a single room, with a hot plate where I cooked my dinner and a tiny sink. I had no bed. I slept on the floor—a relic of my old gladiator days.

I blinked at the mess around me. Crisp wrappers, an empty bottle of Jack, some of my dirty clothes. Cleaning wasn’t really my forte. But that’s what happens when you spend six years in a cage, I guess.

I crossed my arms. “Considering I’m a gutter fae slob—why exactly would you recruit me?”

He took another step closer, and he leaned down to whisper. “As you pointed out, you managed to stab me.” His voice warmed the shell of my ear. “Normally, I’d never let a female get that close to me unless we were engaged in a more enjoyable activity.”

I took a step away from him. Was he here to recruit me, or seduce me?

“You will compete with the other novices,” he continued. “And probably die. But if you don’t, you will be given the chance to become a Knight of the Shadow Fae, like us.”

“A Knight of the Shadow Fae? Is that what you call yourselves? Everyone else says ‘spell-slayer.’”

“We don’t like that term.”

“Of course not,” I said. “It sounds unpleasant. What if I say no?”

Aengus quirked a smile. “Then you’ll die, obviously. You’re an outlaw. You have no rights.”

“I’m not sure I like my options.”

Surprise flickered in Aengus’s green eyes. “We normally don’t even bother with your type, but it was his idea. I’m not sure why. My companion here typically hates fae like you.”

“Fae like me? You mean, someone with an actual personality?”

“No,” said Aengus. “From what we’ve seen, you’re a rule-breaking, impulsive slob prone to heavy drinking and undignified bar brawls. Your entire existence literally serves no purpose.”

“I feel like there might have been an insult somewhere in there, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“You’re being given a chance at greatness, to live in a fortress and eat the food of knights, and you’d prefer to live like an animal, in a room covered in empty bottles and crisp packets?”

“Animals don’t eat crisps or drink from bottles.” I narrowed my eyes to deliver my final, stinging retort. “Animals don’t even have hands.”

“Quite clever for someone wearing a headlamp because they couldn’t pay their bills.”

“You play your cards right, I might get you your own headlamp someday. If you could see in the dark, maybe you could avoid the stakes flying at your neck.”

This was all for show. For Ciara’s sake, I was going with them no matter what, but it would perhaps raise suspicions if I just gave in without putting up a bit of a fight. After all, I was clearly an undignified, bar-brawling slob whose life served no purpose, and it might look a little suspect if I suddenly cared about achieving greatness.

I nodded at the Wraith. Shadows writhed around him. “And you’re telling me I could end up roommates with Good Time Charlie over here?”

A slow shrug. “It’s a possibility.”

A distinctly unpleasant possibility, but Ciara’s life was at stake. “Why did you let me come back here at all? Why not just take me from the street?”

“We need permission from Grand Master Savus before any outsiders can pass through our gates, and we knew you wouldn’t be going far with the fatigue spell placed on you.”

“Okay. So I room with you or die. I get it. What happens now?”

“Now, you come with us. If you can pass the threshold outside the Institute, you become a novice.”

“The threshold? You mean the glowing moat thing?”

“Enough questions,” said Aengus. “It’s time to go.”

I cast a nervous glance at the Wraith, whose cowl covered most of his face. Still, I could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders that tension gripped him. I couldn’t tell if that was from the state of my room, my status as a gutter fae, or if he’d had the misfortune to encounter Uncle Darrell and his ballsack anecdotes on the way in here. But whatever the case, the feel of his keenly intelligent eyes on me raised goosebumps on my skin. I was pretty sure he didn’t miss much.

I was supposed to steal a key from one of these guys. What would someone like the Wraith do if one of his enemies stole something important from him? I didn’t imagine it would be pretty.

Thinking of Ciara locked up in a cell somewhere, I knew I didn’t have a choice. Ciara wasn’t a warrior. She’d been raised in some backwater American hellhole by an aunt who beat the crap out of her, and I’m pretty sure she’d never once fought back. After we’d escaped our underground life with Baleros, Ciara had saved up to buy a set of soft toys that she placed around her bed at night for safety. She had one called Mr. Huggins that she cuddled whenever she had nightmares.

Now, she’d found herself stuck in a real live nightmare, and no amount of soft toy protectors would get her out of it.

I snatched my bug-out bag off the floor.

“You won’t be needing your things,” said Aengus. “The Institute will provide everything you need.”

My jaw tightened. “I take this everywhere.”

With a lightning-fast reflex, the Wraith snatched it from me. He rifled through it. Then, he plucked out each knife from the bag and shoved it back at me. At least I had my emergency supplies and my lollipops. And duct tape, should things get really interesting with my roommate.

Most importantly, I still had the iron knife strapped to my thigh.

I scanned the room, grabbing a bottle of Jack on my way out the door. No way in hell was I leaving that behind.