TWO
SAGE
“She’s definitely not much to look at,” a voice says, pulling me from sleep. I was dreaming of . . . I don’t know, it’s fluttered out of my head already. But I do know I’m not alone in the room.
I sit up in a rush and scramble back against the wall.
Three large males hover over me, all wearing cat ears and holding red Solo cups. Two are blond with pale skin, and the third is super tan with brown eyes and dark brown hair. They study me intently, like I’m some sort of science experiment they’re trying to figure out.
“Whoa,” blond number one says, his head pulling back.
Blond number two adds, “Skittish thing,” like I’m not staring right at him.
The tan guy takes a drink, then says, “You’d be skittish too if you woke up to someone insulting you.”
Blondie One looks dubious. “You know I’m flawless, Ben.”
“Sure I do,” Brown Eyes answers dryly. He must be the cousin.
Star pushes them all aside. “Gods’ bones, give the girl space to breathe. I told you to leave her be until Faelan gets here.”
“You aren’t in charge, Star,” Blondie Two says, then chugs his drink. Whatever’s in the cup appears to be red; some of it stains his lips before he licks it off.
Star rolls her eyes and throws up her hands. “Far be it from me to make Faelan’s job easier.”
“What the hell’s going on?” I ask, looking from one figure to the other. I’ve woken up in the twilight zone. Who’s Faelan?
“Ignore these beefburgers, Sage,” Star says as she sets her cup down on the bedside table. “Go away, all of you. The girl needs to rest.”
Ben starts to object. “But what about the spe—”
She smacks her hand over his mouth. “Later, Ben.” She shoos at the three muscular guys with her tiny hands.
They bow their heads, looking contrite as they leave the room.
Star sighs dramatically and sits on the bed. “Boys are so annoying.”
“Star, what is going on?” I hug one of the pillows to my chest.
“Oh, they just heard about you and were curious.”
“You talked to them about me?” Why would she do that? That’s weird and creepy. Horror stories of street kids being bought and sold like cattle fill my head.
Her face pinches with concern. “Not like in a stalker way!” she says. “I just told them that I was hoping we could . . . you know, help you. Good karma and all that.” She looks at me sheepishly. “Not creepy, I swear.”
“A little creepy,” I say. But I relax some, seeing open honesty in her eyes. It’s not normal for people to be so nice, which is probably why I’m freaking out.
“I’m sorry. I’m just bad with humans,” she says in a whisper, like it’s a confession. “But I’ll scold those boys later for scaring you, I promise.”
Humans?
“It’s all right,” I say. “I’m not used to people giving a shit.”
“You poor thing,” she says, and her eyes glisten.
I laugh softly and nudge her shoulder. “It’s okay, Star.”
Her gaze skips to the space between us and her jaw clenches like she’s suddenly realizing how close I am to her.
Now we’re back to the awkward. I move away and lean on the wall again. “If it’s all right, I’d like to try and get some sleep. Then I’ll go. Feel free to burn the sheets afterward.”
“No rush,” she says, not picking up on my sarcasm. She reaches over and grabs her cup, takes a sip, and then holds it out to me. “Here, have this. I’ll make myself another one.”
I accept the cup. It’s filled with brown liquid that smells kind of herbal. “What is it?”
“Spiced tea and vodka, my own special recipe.” She smiles in her genuine way again, and I can’t help but relax a little. “It’s super yummy.”
“Thanks for the shower and not freaking out about the clothes.” I motion to the white shirt and jeans I borrowed. “And thanks for a place to crash. I wouldn’t wanna be out there tonight.” Not on Halloween, when all of LA acts like lunatic children.
She blushes a little and nods. “Just sleep. I’ll check on you later. And I’ll make sure the boys don’t come back.” Then she slips out into the party and the cloud of laughter and music.
I scoot down in the pillows and sniff the drink. It has a nice nutmeg spark to it, kind of soothing to my nerves. I take a sip and breathe deeply, trying to focus on the moment. I’m safe. I’m warm and clean. It won’t be long until all three of those things go back to not being true. I need to enjoy this.
I drink a few more sips of the spiced vodka, then set it aside before curling into a ball and sinking into the soft mattress. Everything in me settles. I don’t remember the last time I felt this way. Maybe never. I hope Ziggy is okay. I should probably go check on her . . .
I reach over to take another sip of the drink. It’s really good. Like, really good.
I down the rest in a single shot, then set the cup on the table.
It falls to the floor.
Oops.
I laugh, then sigh happily and roll over, suddenly fascinated by the textures on the wall. Maybe I don’t want to sleep. Sleep is boring. I’m always so boring, always scared to join the fun. I’m tired of being scared.
I sit up and stare at the door. The sound of people and fun and life is so inviting. The beat of the music buzzes against my skin, and the urge to be in the crowd fills me. I should go find Ziggy. Or go dance . . . I stand up, wobbling a little, but I make it to the door. Then I’m down the hall and in the cluster of party madness before I even realize I’ve made a decision to join in. I scan the faces in the living room for a second, searching for Ziggy, but then my body is swaying and twisting to the electronic pulse of the notes, and my friend is forgotten.
As I move through the crowd, I touch chests and arms and cheeks, and people turn to look as I head for where everyone’s dancing. I smile, feeling powerful, feeling the energy in the room shift. I don’t normally want attention; I hate people looking at me. But now I wonder why I’ve never done this before, let people see me.
“This isn’t good,” I hear someone say behind me. “Look at her.” I think it’s that Ben guy.
He’s hot. I kind of want to let him do things to me.
It’s so weird. So not me . . .
“Just go with it, Ben,” Star says. “Faelan will be here any second.”
I watch her walk past me through the dancers. She’s added wings to her slutty Dorothy costume. They’re silver and sheer and—wow, they almost look real.
I turn and spot Ben. His eyes grow wide as I move to take his wrist, pulling him into the cluster of dancers, urging him closer. “Yeah, Ben. Listen to Dorothy. Just go with it, dance with me.” My voice is soft, so I don’t think he can hear me over the music, but his brow knits together.
“You smell really good,” he says, looking a little dazed and a lot confused as he begins to move with me. His voice is low too, but I can hear him as clear as day over the pounding beat. He’s got these soft brown eyes that are almost copper, and his brown hair is highlighted with red where it falls over his brow. His skin is lovely and tan. The cat ears he had on earlier are gone. As he leans closer, his lips part, and I hesitate.
Are those fangs? I blink at them, confused, but then I realize it must be part of a costume. He’s a vampire for Halloween? Such a cliché, but in a lame way it sort of makes him look even more inviting . . .
My gut swirls and tightens as I move my gaze back up to his eyes, and those strange urges rise, the ones I always get when I see someone I want to kiss. Warmth soaks my skin. I need something. I’m not sure what. A connection. Touch. Like I haven’t touched anyone in my entire life.
I slide my fingers up the muscles of his arm.
The heat in my skin, in his, grows a little and a vibration moves through my chest.
A small gasp escapes my lips. My head fills with the smell of spice, turmeric and nutmeg, and warmth settles in my throat as if I’ve just taken a bite of something delicious.
I can’t help reaching out to touch him again. My hand grazes the hem of his shirt, and I close my eyes. Then I do something completely insane. I slip my hand underneath the cotton, sliding my palm across his stomach.
Ecstasy becomes a second heartbeat in my skin. The smell of nutmeg turns dull and metallic in my head, and the tang in the back of my throat morphs into the taste of blood. Light and fire flicker behind my eyelids, glowing orange and gold, and I’m cloaked in warmth, as if I just stepped into a sauna. It heats my skin, my insides, and I’m suddenly starving—for what, I can’t tell. I only know I want more. More touch, more taste, more fire. I want all of it. All of him.
I press my hands firmly against his chest and start to take in a breath—
I’m shoved, hard. My eyes fly open just in time to see that I’m careening into a trio of Wonder Women. They disperse with squeals of surprise, and I land in a beanbag chair, knocking over a bunch of drinks as I slide along the floor.
Before I can get my bearings, a large guy is parting the crowd, coming at me with a strange metal shackle in his gloved hand. “Hold still,” he says, his voice low and dangerous, the hint of an accent weaving into his words. It registers that I need to get away from him, but I can’t make myself move. There’s a click as he hooks the shackle around my neck. Then he barks over his shoulder, “Who thought it was a grand idea to give her the draft and start waking her up before I got here?”
The two blond guys I met earlier step forward and point at Star. She’s off to the side, her cheeks beet red.
My attacker releases a growl and frowns down at me with watchful gray-green eyes.
The sight of him stuns me into stillness. He’s just a guy, but I know he’s not just anything as my whole being seems to notice him. The thin scar cutting through his right eyebrow, the odd curve of his ears, the perfection of his bronze skin, the rich dark brown of his hair—half of it tied neatly back with a leather strap, a loose strand tucked behind his ear.
I have an inexplicable urge to pull the strand loose again and watch it slide across his cheek.
Panic rises in a rush. I can’t understand anything I’m thinking or feeling as he looms over me.
Then the heavy shackle tingles against my nape, and all my attention quickly shifts to the strange contraption. I smell cooked meat before I feel the searing pain. The metal collar presses deeper into my skin with an audible hiss.
I gasp in shock and start to choke, reaching up to my neck to try and pull the thing off. My hand starts to sizzle, and I jerk it away as it burns, a squeal escaping my throat.
Three inches of the shackle’s width are now branded into my palm.
Star rushes forward and kneels at my side. “It’s okay, Sage. It won’t be so bad once the spell takes hold and you wake up fully. Just breathe.”
I try to get away, but everything hurts. “What did you do, Star?” I gasp, shaking now—with rage or pain, I can’t tell. The memory of dropping the cup flashes in my head. “The drink. You drugged me.” I gape at her and try again to move away, but she just scoots forward.
My muscles tense, and I’m ready to run, to fight, the ache from my burning skin fading as panic takes over. “What is this?” I motion to the shackle.
“It’s to protect you, to hold in your power,” she says. “The pain will pass in a second.”
I was such an idiot to trust anyone. This freak of a girl is completely insane. She’s just trussed me up for some creepy kidnapping.
My attacker grabs Star by the arm and yanks her up, shoving her away from me. “Back off, pixie.”
I blink at him through the pain and terror clouding my senses. My vision blurs a little, then clears again. He’s wearing all black, dressed like some sort of bounty hunter in a tight T-shirt, cargo pants, and heavy boots. Something is strapped to his belt: a knife. The hilt is worn—because he uses it a lot. There are green-and-blue tattoos all over his arms and up one side of his neck, curved and swirled Celtic designs and unfamiliar lettering inked onto his copper skin. He has another scar on his jaw. And those metallic green eyes . . . they’re so hard, calculating. A hunter’s eyes.
He’s the kind of guy who would be fine with killing Bambi. Or me.
“Look what she’s capable of with only half her strength,” he says to the thinned crowd around us. He points to something—no, someone—on the floor. It’s Ben. He’s kneeling a few feet away, hunched over as he grips his head like he’s in pain. His skin is ashen. There are angry burns running a thin trail up his arm . . . where my fingers grazed his muscles.
Oh my God, did I . . . ?
“I just thought this would be faster,” Star says, sounding pitiful. Her silver wings shiver a little. “This way her power’ll be awake once you get her to Master Marius.”
“The Emergence has already started, pixie. I’m not the only one out here tonight sniffing around. Prince Kieran could be aware of her now.”
Star goes pale, and the shivering spreads to her whole body. “Really?”
The guy nods slowly. “His sister would have plans for our little doe.”
Star’s features fill with panic. She turns to the blond guys beside her. “Check to be sure Ben is okay.”
They move to obey, helping Ben to his feet and dragging him from sight.
That’s when I notice that the music has gone silent; everything has. And the pain that was gripping me has faded to a dull throb. The room is half-empty, and all eyes are on me. And still I don’t know why. I only know I need to figure out how to get out of here. I search the figures around us for Ziggy, but I don’t see her. I hope she ran away, that she caught a whiff of the weird and bolted before these crazy cult freaks could hurt her.
A ringing fills the strained silence, and the tattooed guy pulls a phone from his pocket. He puts it to his ear. “Faelan here,” he says, his accent stronger now. Irish. His hard eyes lock on mine. “Yes. I’ve got her. Brighid’s daughter is ours.”