VERITY

I tread carefully across the moss-covered pavers slippery after the recent rain. There're two doors to reach my flat, one at street level that opens to a narrow staircase and another at the top of the stairs and above the shop. Both are deadlocked, although the doors themselves aren't as sturdy as I'd prefer.

Initially, I shared this place with Anna. After she left, I expected to be lonely or uncomfortable alone but never have been. I prefer my own space, as did Anna, so our flat share was harmonious. Crime rates are low in town, but two doors between me and the outside world helps with feeling secure.

I carefully bolt the downstairs door behind me, then tramp up the concrete steps leading to the flat. As I place a hand on the scratched black door handle, the lever moves down.

Did I forget to lock up?

I pause, listening for movement inside. Nothing. Heath was on my mind this morning, for a number of reasons. Did that distract me, why I forgot to lock the door? I slowly lower the handle and push open the unlocked door.

What the fuck?

Every book that was on my shelf is now on the floor, across the table or piled on the sofa. I have dozens, and not a single one remains on the shelf. I halt, keys in hand, one pushed between my fingers ready to use as a weapon in case the book-trashing home invader is still inside.

No sound. There're few places to hide because the living area in my small flat's open plan the kitchen’s at the far end of the lounge area. Front door still open, I tread into the room, pushing books to one side with my shoes. Have they taken anything? The kitchen drawers are closed and the rest of the room appears untouched. I stare at my TV. Why didn't whoever broke in take that?

A door to the rear of the room leads to my bedroom—and it’s closed. Fear coils around my stomach and tightens, my imagination running wild. I should leave.

Instead, idiocy takes over. I summon the courage to open the door and my shoulders drop in relief when the room contains nothing and nobody, apart from my unmade bed and small nightstand. To be sure, I flick the light switch.

Who the hell would trash my place?

Grumbling, I head back to pick up some books while my mind jumps from option to option. First up, call the police.

The door slams and I spin around, gripping the paperback, adrenaline launching into my blood.

A man stands between me and the door. He's taller than any I've seen before, wiry frame beneath a leather jacket and tight jeans, older than me. His hair's blue, spiked at the front, but the unusual colour isn't what strikes me.

The eyes staring back at me are violet. Not flecks, but full on violet irises.

Neither of us moves or speaks, but the man keeps his hand on the door. I run my eyes over him. No weapons. Not visible ones, anyway. I grip the paperback tighter and focus on staying calm as I back towards the kitchen area.

"Hello, Verity. How are you?" The man's voice is low, almost a whisper, with a hint of accent I can't catch.

"What are you doing in my flat?" I continue to back up, mind jumping around. Self-defence. Book? Sharp knife in kitchen drawer.

"I came for you."

Time stills as my chest tightens. Fuck. "Don't touch me!"

The weird guy steps further into my home, closer to me. "I won't hurt you if you walk out of this place with me, I promise."

My truth detector tells me he doesn't intend to do anything right now, but after we leave? "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"You are. Somebody I know needs to talk to you, and it's a matter of some urgency."

"Who?"

"Come on, Verity." He beckons me towards him with one pale hand.

"No! Leave before I call the police!" I pull my phone from my pocket and Heath's number's still onscreen from earlier.

Heath? I bloody wish I hadn't waited for him to walk out of sight before coming into my flat.

And doubly wish I'd invited him in.

I begin to dial, but pale dude focuses his eyes on the phone and the metal heats beneath my fingers. With a yelp, I drop the phone to the floor where it bounces across the tiles.

A livid burn appears in the palm of my hand. "What the fuck?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Nice place you have here." I stare in disbelief between my hand and him, as he leans against the door, ankles crossed. "You like candles, I see."

My confusion grows as he inclines his head to the pillar candles on the table; the scented ones I use to disguise the damp smell in the place.

"Did you know candles are a leading cause of house fires?" He steps forward and picks one up, as I eye the door for an escape route, caressing my sore palm.

"Leave my flat," I say in an attempt at a brave voice.

"Wiring too."

"What?"

"Wiring in old homes isn't always up to scratch. A big cause of electric fires." He watches as I shuffle towards the phone on the carpet and steps between me and the phone. "Don't touch that. It's hot."

Fuck this. I can't get passed him to my front door, but no way is he touching me.

I snatch the phone from the floor, ignoring the scalding heat and charge into my bedroom. Heart pounding blood in my ears, I slam closed, and lean against, the door. Why can't this have a lock too?

Then I groan. Dumbass. I should've run to the bathroom where I could lock myself in.

"Verity!" The man's tone switches from mocking to irritated, and the handle on the door moves next to me.

I push my body harder against the wood and swap my phone from hand to hand as if holding a hot potato. Heat sears again, growing unbearable, and I drop the phone to the floor.

What do I do if I can't call for help?

The handle stops moving, and the flat grows quiet for a few moments. My bedroom window overlooks the street and climbing out would be a two-storey drop to the tarmac.

A loud pop noise and flash of light stutters my heart as the lightbulb above me blows. Another pop and I jerk in surprise again. Scorch marks surround the empty wall socket to my right. The noise repeats all around and with it the smell of burnt plastic.

"I wouldn't stay in there, Verity," calls the man.

Before I can answer, flames shoot through the broken light fitting and ignite the curtains, blocking any possibility I can escape that way. The orange illuminates the room and licks the wall, towards the carpet. When they reach, a fiery trail paves straight towards me.

The terror freezes my mind and body, mesmerised by the flames. How long do I have before my whole home ignites? Like a rabbit smoked out of a hole, I fling open the door and head back into the other room, aiming for the front door. The man is back to resting there with a sardonic grin on his face. "Changed your mind? Coming with me?"

"I need to get out and call 999! My home is on fire!" I shout.

He sneers. "Hence, it will be a good idea to leave. With me."

My instinct is to rush him and the door, but in my panic, I can't move. There's a strange aura around him, and I might be insane, but I'd swear he isn't human. The slant to his violet eyes, the unnatural paleness of his skin... Alien? I've come across enough conspiracy theories in my digging to believe in alien life. Is he about to beam me up to the mothership? Omigod, are insane thoughts the best I can do in this situation?

"Do you need some extra persuasion?" He lifts one hand and clicks his fingers, stepping away from the door. "My friend's waiting outside in case you didn't cooperate."

The man's mouth twists, and I hear thudding behind him as somebody climbs the stairs. The violet-eyed guy steps away just in time for him to avoid the door as it's flung open.

Someone fills the entrance, head almost touching the frame, as he looks at me with stone cold eyes in a face that looks like someone hit him repeatedly with a frying pan. His broad shoulders and muscles make his neck seem non-existent, torso solid and the widest I've seen since being grossed out watching body builders on TV.

I don't have time to register anything else before the hideous man advances towards me. I back up again, ass hitting the wall. I gasp as his cool fingers curl around my neck, long fingernails pressing into my skin. Grey eyes stare into mine, and his scent turns my stomach and dizzies me, pungent like rotting flesh, mingling with the burning smell emanating from my bedroom.

I choke against his hold as he squeezes my windpipe, and I flail my arms in an attempt to get a grip on and pull him off me. As if I'd have the chance against him.

"You can't drag me out of here unconscious," I rasp, turning my face to the tall man, standing with his arms crossed.

"Nobody will see."

"Of course they will! My flat's above a shop in the middle of the town. There’re people passing close by."

"Nobody will see,” he repeats, voice firm.

My attacker's face changes, shimmering the way a channel on TV does when trying to bring a picture into focus. I choke a scream as, instead of a human face, a nightmare visage almost touches mine. His skin reddens, the grey eyes blackening, spreading from the irises into the whites of his eyes. The hold on my neck's joined by a stinging sensation, as if I'm being stung by a hive of bees.

My strangled scream erupts as his mouth opens and stars cross my eyes, accompanying an inky blackness as the grip tightens. The door behind him flings open and a figure appears.

"Fuck!" the figure shouts.

My eyes widen in shock and relief.

Heath.

Eyes on me, he extends a hand to the right and flicks his fingers. A flash of white light throws from the tips, hitting the tall guy square in the chest who stumbles backwards. His eyes glow brightly, body stiffening before he falls to the floor without a sound.

Heath launches himself at my assailant, who hasn't reacted to Heath's arrival, instead focused on choking me. The man's eyes, still on mine, widen for a second, his reflexes not fast enough to counter the attack from behind. Mouth parting, a gasp escapes his lips, fingers loosening on my neck. As his hand slips along my skin, he crumples downwards to the floor, with an inhuman yell.

Clutching my neck, I stare down at the carved wooden handle of a knife stuck into his back. Heath immediately yanks the knife from the guy's back and approaches the man on the floor. He kicks him with a booted toe and swears again under his breath. Bile rises in my throat as Heath lifts a knife and plunges it with force into his chest.

I slump against the wall and stare ahead, dizzy from the shock and pain, as Heath crouches down and extends a hand to touch my neck. I wince; my skin stings beneath his fingertips.

In my head, I scream “what the fuck?” but my body involuntarily shakes, throat too tight to speak, as Heath withdraws his fingers.

"You'll be okay," he says and strokes a hand down my hair. "I told you, we should've stayed at the pub." He looks around, unflustered for a guy who just brutally murdered another guy. Two guys. Were they guys? Oh god, please let me wake up. “Are you okay?"

I blink at him, watching the knife, momentarily worried he'll use it on me too after I witnessed his murderous rampage. "My flat's on fire," I croak out.

My words jerk him out of his concerned look. "What? Shit. Where?" I point towards my room with shaking hands. "Bloody fae asshole." Heath opens his jacket and slides the knife into his front pocket. "Right. Let's go."

"With you?"

Heath holds out a hand to help me to my feet. "Unless you want to hang out in a burning flat." I hesitate. "Verity? Seriously? Fire will hurt you a damn sight more than I will."

"Right." I grab his hand. Strong fingers curl around mine, and he pulls me to my feet as if I weigh nothing more than a small child. A strange strength buzzes into my limbs, fuelling energy and soothing some of the panic. I sway and steady myself against his chest.

"Get out. There're more coming," he says, stepping away from my touch.

I stiffen. "More who? Where?"

"Demons. Fuck. Leave now."

"What do you mean d—" I'm interrupted as Heath half-drags me out of my splintered front door, and I trip down the stone stairs behind him. A white SUV is parked next to mine, and the lights flash as Heath unlocks the door.

"Get in."

"Where are we going?"

"Please, just get in before more of the fae's buddies arrive." He yanks open the passenger door.

"My flat...."

He huffs and drags out his phone. "Don't worry, I'll sort this. Just get in the car. We need to go. Now." Heath jumps into the car as he dials; I climb into the SUV and belt myself in.

I don't know what the hell is going on here, but the orange glow in my bedroom window and two men dead on my lounge floor isn't a good end to my day.