OBLITERATION

FACETS OF FEYRIE BOOK FOUR

ZOE PARKER

Copyright © 2019 by Zoe Parker

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This part sucks, I know but - without it there’d be nothing creative except those mud pies you made as a kid… oh, and that google eyed pet rock.

CONTENTS

Dedication

To the Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About Zoe Parker

Also by Zoe Parker

DEDICATION

Jason, you got me through four of these bastards. I love you.

TO THE READER

This book is shorter than the other three. I realize that some of you might be like, wtf… but let me explain. They told this story and I just went along for the ride.

Forgive us.

1

KILLING SCHOTH GETS BORING.

I’m not thrilled with this revelation. The ones we’ve encountered so far, are mostly Magikless Schoth with a few other kinds of Light Fey mixed in. None of them have been more than the lowest caste of Light Fey. It’s dull, downright suspicious and I don’t like the implications of it. That’s why I’m sitting on a burned out car hood, picking at my claws, while Adriem is taking a turn against some Schoth ‘mages’ who are tossing around ‘fireballs’ the size of ping pong balls. At least, when they’re not running around screaming in terror. It’s like fishing in a barrel— there’s no sport there. No sense of accomplishment. It feels like a distraction.

I think it’s time to be done here because despite what we’ve been told by Armpit, these might be ‘hostile alien invaders’, but they’re not the specific kind I’m looking for.

Goosebumps rise on my skin and I force myself to keep looking at my fingernails as he approaches. It's Phobe, but also not-Phobe. He doesn't remember me; doesn't remember us. Life assured me that it is Phobe—just without all his memories, but when I look into his eyes, the man that I hope to see there, isn’t. Although, I’ve seen peeks a few times; sometimes he says something similar to his old persona, and it’s enough to keep me hoping, but not enough to bank anything on. I’m not trusting Life to be completely honest about anything.

Look how he fucked everything up to begin with. All because some dying kid spoke a prophecy that the ageless idiot took at face value. He then spent a billion years manipulating everyone and everything to bring it to fruition while claiming he was ‘helping’. Yeah, I don’t trust him at all. To me it looks like he wanted things to happen how they did, and is kicked back somewhere, eating popcorn and watching the drama unfold, with his hands clean of the mess.

Kinda makes me want to kill him too.

Initially, I was thankful that he ‘saved’ Phobe and the Feyrie but as time passed and I thought more on it, the thankfulness faded to be replaced with a lot of ‘fuck him’. When I started looking beyond the rainbows and glitter bullshit, I started seeing things differently. He’s a selfish, too powerful creature that presents himself as a god, and likes meddling in the affairs of his creations. I don’t give a shit how benevolent he claims to be.

Phobe tried to remake the world in his image by meddling and look what they did to him. Maybe Life needs a little Schoth prison love?

Knowing Phobe is beside me, I look up, careful to avoid looking at him and study the Light Fey that fill this camp. The ones left alive, anyhow. He’s got to be thinking along the same lines as me. There’s no way this is a military outpost. There were no guards, no beasts of war. There aren’t even weapons here. This isn’t what the information said it was. This is a regular outpost, probably full of farmers and crafters. Sacrificial lambs, to keep us busy and out of the way.

A planted false lead that we ate up like candy.

“Stop!” I yell out. All of the Feyrie who came with me instantly cease what they’re doing and turn back towards me. “This is a waste of our time, there’s no military force here. Let’s go.” I stand up and head towards the edge of the camp.

Our cars are parked a mile or so outside of the shield that Phobe brought down without any real effort. Too easy. I should’ve suspected something then. Sure, they’re still Schoth and would kill a Feyrie or human in a hot minute but they’re not the bigger threat.

When I get to the car, Phobe has beat me there and is leaning against the hood of the one I was going to get into. I pause and meet his gaze. He wasn’t with me when one of the suited human men brought me this intel. He was out doing whatever mysterious stuff he gets into when he’s not around me. The part of me that loves him—because I do still love him—wants to know where he gets off to. But the wounded part of me wants nothing to do with him.

It’s a fucking headache.

“I’ll go to their base and see why we were given fake information,” he says after a long study of me. Then he’s gone, a flash of shadow the only sign of his former presence. The tension in my shoulders relaxes a little. Never fully. It took me awhile to come around to accepting the changes in Phobe, but even having this new version of him is better than having none.

“What made you think that these aren’t the right bastards to kill?” Adriem asks, looking around—probably for Phobe, before turning to face me.

“Did you see a single sword? Or a gun? Anything remotely resembling a weapon?” I ask.

He shakes his head and then looks thoughtfully back the way we came. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t see guards either. Do you think the humans have been compromised?”

I shrug, and say, “Phobe went to find out.”

“How are you two getting on?” That’s none of his business. He’s gotten too comfortable with me and foolishly assumes I feel the same way. But after Ruthie… I’m protecting my heart more now. They need me to help them, not care about them.

“Don’t make me punch you in the face, Adriem.” I’m not kidding either.

I open the door and cringe when the metal screeches. Well, there goes another car. I climb in and try to shut the door behind me but it’s hanging crookedly off the top hinges. Fuck it. Kicking it, I dispassionately watch it fall completely off and land on the ground with a metallic thump.

I glance at it laying there, twisted and useless, looking like I feel, then look at Adriem. “Call a meeting. We’ll go to my dad’s property out in the sandy place.”

“You mean Las Vegas?”

I shrug again. “Yeah, that place, I want to go exploring afterwards.” I need a distraction. My temper—that isn’t long on a good day, is basically nonexistent and I don’t want to keep taking it out on those around me that don’t deserve it. A small break won’t hurt anyone, in fact it’ll potentially keep me from hurting anyone. For a few hours.

As the Feyrie start leaving the small camp, I watch the skies for those that fly, knowing they’re going back to our own small base at the hotel. The ones who can’t fly are already piling into the cars and leaving.

I didn’t bring a large group with me, thirteen not counting myself and… Phobe. The entire group is trained and more than capable of handling themselves. I left the shifters that came with me back at base. The rest of them are split between the secret place Auryn took the kids, and the Sidhe, guarding those that can’t fight for themselves. Out of the Nightmares, only Adriem and two of his brothers came with me; I ordered the rest to remain.

The Sidhe is moving around, changing positions every few days but I worry it won’t be enough. Eventually that bastard brother of Phobe’s will find it—unless I find him first.

Yeah, there’s a problem when killing becomes boring, especially when there’s so much more of it to do.

I’M SUCH A LOSER.

I can't make myself stop staring at him. He’s the one who I so desperately want to touch, and also punch, repeatedly. I obsess over him regardless. He smiles more, cold bastard or not—he shows consistent spates of humor that Phobe rarely did. At times, there’s a sort of puzzlement and curiosity to them, like a Kelpie has right before it takes a bite out of your ass for staring at it.

If anything, that makes it cooler to see.

No matter where I turn, he's there. Watching me. Weighing my actions. Killing those that need killed, exactly like I intended. He's serving a valuable purpose but that isn’t why I’m staring at him. It’s because I’m still drawn to him, despite how many times I tell myself he isn't mine anymore. Yet, this man, this monster—still pulls at me.

It's fucking annoying, this craving for him that I can’t stop.

No one can deny that my monster is gone but none of that stops me from searching his eyes for that flare of deeper emotion Phobe used to show me—towards the end anyhow. Hope is a deadly thing to someone like me who doesn’t have faith in much of anything. While the bloodthirsty bitch I'm becoming enjoys the one he is. Is it possible that I want both aspects of him?

The answer is a whisper in my mind, from my own darkness.

Yes.

"You're looking at him like you want to eat him and stab him at the same time. Which one is it?" Michael asks, coming to stand beside me. I look over at the boy who's walked through fire to become a man, and see the shadows lurking in his eyes. Michael’s grief and pain are directly related to some of my own actions and that makes me feel bad. I helped put those there. The purple smudges underneath them—that look like permanent bruises, add to the guilt that I can’t make myself shake. He's heartbroken and it's something that I completely understand.

In my world, in this place of pain and regret, I have to ask myself... what does a monster with a broken heart do?

"Anything she wants, Iza." The achingly familiar voice in my mind makes me gasp.

He's found a way through my shields once again. He’s better at it and more often than not, I don’t even realize he’s done it. This version of him is powerful, and free of the yoke of slavery heaped on his soul for so long. He's not their scarred robot anymore. This version reacts more, says more. He’s still cold, vicious when he chooses to be—that hasn’t changed about him. But with me he’s… more lover than enemy in his behavior.

I eat it up and simultaneously hate myself for it.

Fuck. Fuck. Impulsively, I grab the sword leaning against the wall and throw it at him as hard as I can. He ducks easily to the side as if he's nothing more than shadows. The sword sinks into the wall all the way to the hilt, knocking chunks of drywall and the ceiling onto the floor. I threw it hard enough that the handle is still vibrating.

"You missed," he taunts out loud.

"I won't always miss, Phobe." The next thing I know, he's in front of me, his eyes lit up like lamps.

"When you say that name... I like it. Say it again," he says with a toothy smile. He’s taken to teasing me like this as often as he gets a chance. Sometimes I think he creates opportunities to do it.

I eat that up too.

"Fuck. Off." I’ve said it a hundred times in the last month but this one feels half-hearted at best. He’s starting to get to me and he knows it.

"I like it when you say that too." He turns away from me and points at the map I have spread out on the table in the center of the room. It shows all of the ‘known’ Schoth camps in this part of the world. Several of them have now been crossed out, us ruling out the bad intelligence we got from the humans. Someone has gotten in their ranks and fed them false information in an attempt to distract us from the true targets. It was working too. Phobe has fixed that leak, which means that everyone guilty in that base is dead and there’s only smoking piles of rubble left.

That’s what I’d do.

His voice interrupts my wayward thoughts. "When do we go after the fun ones?" This is one thing that both versions have in common. The eagerness to kill, to feed, and when he's like this I can see my Phobe bleeding through. Especially when he turns eyes to me that burn with heat—and not just for killing.

I’m a little surprised he’s asking me, because he’s more than capable—as he’s proven over and over—of going after big targets on his own. I smell a motive. He always has one; even this incarnation of him does nothing without reason. Some things not even dying changes.

"Tomorrow soon enough for you?" I try to keep it light; he already noses around in my head, there's no reason for anyone else to see how much he upsets my equilibrium.

"No, but it will do." He walks to the table, leaving a million things unsaid between us. One day soon they’ll come out, whether I want them to or not. I exhale and cross to stand beside him. Everyone gathered perks up and watches us with anticipation.

Harsh truths incoming. "First thing, try not to die. I can't babysit anyone, so don't go in unless you're sure you can fight for yourself. Second thing, this is war—save your mercy for those who deserve it." I meet each person's eyes as I speak. They need to understand that this is real, and I'm not holding their fucking hands anymore. "Now, this is the plan..."

I outline how we’re going to eliminate each decoy camp in our path to the real targets, quickly, while trying to save as many humans as we can. The Schoth, no matter whether they’re farmers or warriors, detest humans and are either killing them, eating them or enslaving them. I won’t leave innocent people to that. They have no defense against the invaders and their human military isn't able to effectively help them.

“I’ll be sending scouts to each camp and everyone will be given one of those fancy human phones that can call from anywhere—don’t fucking lose it. Adriem, you’ll be leading a team with the shifters. Show them what their ancestors are like, eh?” He chuckles and waves to the shifters who peel off to follow him. I turn to look at the Blood Prince; he’s an arrogant prick who thinks he’s way more powerful than he is… but he’s stronger than most Schoth.

“Bloody P., you take the vamps and Adriem’s brother, Urilch, and head east. We need to clear a path to the ocean and get rid of those portals. There’s a lot of heavily populated human cities on the East coast and I’d rather not see millions of deaths when they can be prevented. Keep in contact.” He nods after staring at me for several seconds. Phobe looks at him until he scoots out of the room with his small group in tow.

One of these days I might have to whip that guy's ass, just to put him in his place.

“Jameson, you and Michael will gather the equipment on the list I gave you earlier. I was told by a reliable source that we can make a lot of good use out of the shit on it. Michael, pull in some of your geek buddies and illegally hack your hearts out.” Michael smiles, one that almost reaches his eyes, and grabs the list.

That leaves Phobe and I alone at the table.

“Do they realize you saved the hardest stuff for yourself?” he asks me.

I shrug. “Does it matter? You and I both know that we do more damage than that entire group of people combined, especially you.”

“You’re always so blunt about it. I like that about you.” I bite back a smile. Initially, I wasn’t keen on interacting with him much at all but it’s been over two months since his resurrection and like it or not, this more talkative version of him has its good points. This Phobe has no problem telling me what he thinks.

“Are you sure you just don’t like hearing how badass you are?” I tease. It comes out with a hint of mean, but a lot less than usual.

“So you think I’m a badass?” he asks, smiling his big, scary smile. Oh, look he has jokes. If—when he does remember everything I hope he keeps the sense of humor. I kinda like it.

Stop hoping, Iza! I flinch at my own thoughts. No, inner me—I don’t think I can. There’s a point in every situation where it’s too late to stop. I passed that point weeks ago.

“Are we taking the humans cars to our destinations?” Good, he saw that I have five spots marked for us. I’m using these cute little purple dragon statues that I found at a thrift store. Those places are a hoarders wet dream. I bought quite a few things from there, mostly lampshades with fringes on them, but still.

Focus Iza. “Yes.”

“Are you driving?” he asks. I look over at him. Is that a challenge?

“Yes.”

“You realize your driving is atrocious.” Yes, yes I do, but I’ve gotten better so he can suck a big one. “Does this car have airbags in them?” I nod, I always check now and no longer get offended when people ask. People get pissy when there’s no airbags or seat belts. “Good then. Let’s go,” he says, turning to walk out the door.

Yeah, I definitely hope he keeps the sense of humor. He’s an asshole with it but he lets me drive.

The small spark of happiness I have fades when I see the car they left for me. I make a mental note to kill Jameson the next time I see him. The small, vivid orange car parked in the space with my name on it—perks of my dad owning the hotel—is a two-seater smart car. It’s small enough that you can fit it in the back of a truck, or a really big kids wagon.

To me it's like riding in a cardboard box with wheels on it.

“Your secretary is an asshole.” Phobe comments, squeezing himself into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, him and I are going to have a nice long, and body bruising talk.” I bet he’s the one who took the beautiful, cherry red Camaro that I bought a few days ago. One that I’m sure I'll completely total eventually, but have so much fun doing it. The annoying imp; I should’ve left him at the Sidhe, but Arista and Florenta are perfectly capable of running everything and leaving him there with her and a Sidhe full of old dragons, might get him dead.

Of course, him being here with me might too.

After climbing into the soda-can-car that has surprisingly comfortable seats, I put it into reverse and immediately hit another car in the parking lot. Whoops. Phobe grunts but says nothing. I correct myself and weave my way out of the parking lot without hitting any other cars. Fortunately, the small bump wasn’t hard enough to deploy the airbags; that would’ve ended our trip before it even began. When the bright lights of Vegas are long gone I settle down a little into the drive. The roads are straight, we should be fine.

2

HER HANDS ARE GRIPPING the steering wheel so tight that it’s creaking under the pressure. Before too long, it will break and we’ll need to get new transportation. When I returned, with big gaps in my memories, I felt ill prepared for living in this world and being a part of her life. Both of which are necessary because I can’t seem to be away from her. It’s illogical and unexpected but it exists nonetheless. That’s why I’m in this ridiculous human car, with my knees nearly touching my chest, contemplating how to ‘connect’ with her, instead of doing other things that don’t make me feel so… uncomfortable.

When I was on my way to her, I ate every ‘bad’ human that I could find—something in my brain insisted upon them being from the dredges of society. Absorbing as much information as I possibly could in that short amount of time, I managed to piece together exactly how this world works. There were a lot of things I didn’t know about it that I do now. The one who I was before—the one that’s still there in pieces—had only eaten a few of the creatures of this world, leaving him with a lot of antiquated ideas about how things worked. I wanted to be more than that, so I adapted and ensured it. Iza is under the misinterpretation that ‘her’ Phobe is gone when that is beyond untrue.

We have simply merged and become what I am now.

Not that I know how to explain it; not in a believable way, and not in a way that won’t cause her pain. Memories and emotions I had before are bleeding through more everyday but the Phobe she knew will never be again because I’ve become something else. One day, I’ll remember everything from the time before, but who I am will remain. How do I explain to a creature as unpredictable and stubborn as her, that every single second I spend in her company only makes me crave more?

Whether I want to or not.

The fragments left from before refused to allow me to leave… initially. Staying soon became my decision, and as time goes by I can see why he—I'm—so drawn to her. Iza is a force unto herself. A chaotic mess of power and ire, that can gently cradle a child with one hand and rip a man’s head off with the other. It’s quite delightful and since I’ve been with her everyday for a few months, I catch myself looking forward to seeing these moments. Both of them.

That first meeting, I was freshly awake and had no idea who she was but couldn’t shake the desire—need to be near her. My body, my essence knows her on a level that gave me no options. My memories of what her skin tastes like, or how she looks with her lips parted on a moan, were too tempting to resist. Mixed in were other memories too, a broken jaw—mine to be precise—among them. Even that was alluring.

As the days pass, I remember more and continuously discover how enmeshed she is in my very existence. But since she’s still foolishly grieving, I hesitate to tell her any of this. To say that the exact person she loved will never return might do more damage than good, resulting in her pushing me away and keeping me there. I can’t allow that to happen, because regardless of how I feel about any other creature in any other world… she matters.

This false grief needs to be dealt with soon. She needs to clear her head for what’s coming in the near future. Fighting the urge to trespass and bring the barrier in her mind down, I turn to look out the window. She puts a new one up every time I get through, each one consecutively stronger than the next, but none of them can keep me out for long. She’s the reason I have some of the memories I do. She loved the man who came before. Enough so, that she’d have damned every one of her precious Feyrie to save him. The emotion behind that makes me feel odd. Not because the emotion exists, but because it’s not for me.

Yet, it is.

For now, I’ll have to keep reminding myself that she’ll accept me when she’s ready and I know that it will happen. Until then, I’ll stay by her side, killing those who need killing and protecting her with everything that I am. The need to be away from her faded the moment I saw her and hasn’t returned. I’ll settle for her ‘using’ me as a weapon. It keeps me here, with her. If that makes me weaker than my previous version, then so be it.

Why fight something that feels right? She does it, and it exhausts her. Unfortunately for her, I’m not willing to leave.

Somehow during this transition, the emotions tangled with her have become easier to deal with and understand. The old me, struggled. The new me, accepts. Well, accepts most of it. I’m obsessed with her; there’s no denying it, and that colors everything else. This mess of softness she pulls out of me is still rather confusing but I don’t try and hinder it. As I’ve already discovered, it does no good. I briefly contemplated killing her but the reaction inside of me was enough to cast that idea off immediately.

How do creatures exist with this confusing shit inside them without flinging themselves off cliffs? Is there a book somewhere that explains how to navigate these pathways of insanity? The memories of the humans I’ve consumed are useless when it comes to this type of thing. It appears that human males are no better at navigating romantic entanglements than any other creature.

“Have you remembered more?” Her soft question pulls my gaze around to her. She caught me off guard, asking, and her clenching jaw tells me she’s annoyed with herself for it. Naturally, I’m going to completely exploit this chance.

“I remember more every day,” I answer, watching her wage an inner war inside of herself. She wants to know more and has for awhile but always stops herself from asking, until today.

“What happens when you remember it all?” I can taste the hope that she’s trying in vain to hide. She’s presenting me with a perfect time to be honest about everything. It’s going to happen sooner or later; might as well have it happen in a controlled situation.

“I will still remain who I am, with all of the memories of who I was, before shaping into who I’ll be in the future.”

“You used to hardly ever talk, but now you actually give answers. It’s unsettling,” she says and snaps her mouth shut. Ah, her impulsiveness strikes again.

“There’s always room for improvement, no?” I ask. Her eyes flick to me again and the car wobbles. As she turns back to look at the road, the steering wheel cracks under her hands but doesn’t break. This needs to come to a head soon; war is here, and she needs to have her head on straight. We both do.

“I… I miss him.” Her admission takes the breath from me. I clench my teeth and look out the window once again. Jealousy is among the tsunami of emotions ripping through me. Jealousy of my fucking self.

Anger rears up and I look at her and say, “Have you ever considered that I’m still him?” Anger is something I rarely feel, and since I came back, it’s different from before. Not as easy to control or ignore. I blame her influence for this change.

The anger I expect from her in return, is not what I get. “No, because you’re so fucking different than him.” She sounds so defeated, the volatile emotion evaporates. A thousand lies jump to my tongue but I swallow every one of them. Wasn’t I thinking about how I needed a way to tell her everything? So why the fuck am I suddenly being a coward about it?

“Not really, Iza. The creature I was before was held back by his own prejudices and his own limits. He was a slave for an eternity and didn’t have the freedom that this incarnation of me has.”

“Freedom?”

“I’m more to you than a weapon.” I’m not sure she’ll understand; not even sure I do, but it’s been spoken and can’t be taken back. Emotions are the bane of free will. How anyone deals with these detestable things for any length of time is beyond me, but for her I have to try.

“He’s not coming back, is he?”

I sigh and fight the urge to rub a hand down my face. The problem with absorbing so many humans is that their behavior rubs off eventually. I absorbed a lot. Hundreds.

“I’m sitting right here—slathered in this cursed humanity that I fed upon so I could…” I struggle for a word and then settle upon, “understand how you turned a monster into a man that loves you.” The car comes to a screeching halt and I have to put my hand out to keep myself from hitting the dashboard.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Her voice shakes with emotion, her eyes are black and deep, swirling with a mix of emotions. Looking at her, I understand exactly how she got a monster’s heart.

“I never left you. I became something more, something better, and the sooner you get over the bullshit, the sooner we can move forward,” I say as gently as I’m capable but it still comes out with an undercurrent of harshness that can’t be helped.

A tear leaks out of her left eye, sliding down her cheek unhindered. I reach over and wipe it away before it can escape. The space between us is charged with tension and unspoken words as her eyes search my face and her Magiks rub against mine. Remaining silent, she turns away and we’re back on the road moving towards our first destination. I start beating on the barrier in her mind; I need to know what she’s thinking. Whether she wants me to or not.

3

IS he fucking saying that he’s still my Phobe? It’s taking everything I have to not pull over again and shake him until he tells me everything. Not that I think that’ll go over well, but this Phobe hasn’t tried to hurt me in any way. He pushes me, he’s always sarcastic and likes to antagonize the ever living shit out of me, but never once has he hurt me. Have I had this wrong all along? For weeks, I’ve looked at him like a ghost of what once was. Should I have been looking at him as someone who’s grown into something else?

Gods, this is ripping up my heart and there’s not a lot of it left.

If this Phobe is all versions combined does this mean I still have my Phobe? I mean, there are a lot of differences. Right? I compare the two side by side in my mind; maybe there's not as many as I thought? This one is sarcastic and has a different type of humor but is it really that different? The Phobe I knew was cold; he was ancient and had suffered so much that emotions weren’t something he shared nearly as readily as this one does.

I'm not even sure he had any before we were involved.

Yet, I saw anger a few minutes ago. True anger. Seeing it nearly made me wreck the car. Phobe was not one to display anger, but he also hid things from me unless he thought I needed to know. This one is more… forthcoming. I run a hand through my hair and pat it as an afterthought. It’s stirred up because I am and combing my hand through it doesn’t help that.

I chance a glance to the enigmatic man beside me. He doesn’t have to travel this way… he can run faster than any car can travel, but he’s here in this awful freaking car with me. There’s only one reason for it.

It’s because he wants to be.

A little bit of the grief surrounding my heart with poisonous thorns, loosens. Dare I believe it?

“I want you to stay in the car when we get there.” It’s a cheap trick to gauge his response and from the sideways glance he gives me, he’s aware of it.

“That’s stupid.” Excitement flits through me.

“Are you saying you won’t do it?”

“Of course I won’t. Something you’re already aware of.” I squeeze the steering wheel again and then cringe when the top of it snaps in half. Well, driving the rest of the way is going to be fun. Holding the sides to keep the wheel from falling apart, I keep staring forward. Hope is a dangerous thing, especially for someone like me, but I have it just the same. “What is our goal in this endeavor, besides killing Schoth?” he asks me, his gaze a weight on my shoulders.

Swallowing past the muddle of emotions that are determined to make my life even more complicated, I explain, “Places all over the world were hit hard when they first got here, but now they’ve gone quiet. That seems strange to me. Schoth are all or nothing types. They don’t hit and run. I’m thinking that these ‘bases’ we’ve gone to are nothing more than rest stops for a much larger force, but where is it?”

“They’re capable of hiding them, even from me,” he doesn’t sound happy about it either, “which makes me think they’re waiting on a signal,” he muses.

Rolling my bottom lip between my teeth, I concentrate on keeping the car steady. “What kinda signal?” This has crossed my mind too but I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into things. Since he’s come to the same conclusion, then I was on the right track.

“I’m not sure. No one I’ve yet encountered has provided any clues.” He means ate but we’ll roll with it. He’s not the most patient man when it comes to interrogation; he asks them once—they refuse, then he eats them and gets the information the digestive way. I can’t fault the option to save time.

Speaking of saving time. “Can’t you eat them all and be done?” I’ve often wondered about this. He’s taken dozens before, all at once into that great black maw of creepy. I mean, I figure there’s a limit—there always are—but he’s not chosen to share it with me. Even though this version is more talkative.

“No, if that was the case we wouldn’t be in this car. There are protections on some of them that I can’t break, despite my strength. And I do have my limits on how many I can take it. It creates a feedback that can overwhelm me and essentially makes me useless for a time.” He pauses and I bite my lip to keep from looking at him. After a short breath he continues, “When Light has touched someone with his power, our Magiks cancel each other out. It’s... frustrating.”

“Well, getting covered in blood and guts is the fun part, right?” At least, for me. Well, normally. Killing those last Schoth was like killing kittens—ok, murderous kittens who like to torture for fun—but still, it lacked any sense of justice to it. Taking the good from it, we saved some humans, but that’s about it.

“This small force of Feyrie is more than sufficient for what we’ve fought so far, but they’ll struggle when we go up against a trained force.”

“That idiot dragon wasn’t wrong when he said the Feyrie at the Sidhe weren’t fighters. It makes me want to rip his face off and eat it… with ketchup, but even separating out the fighters,” the precious eight or nine hundred that there are, “won’t give us an army big enough to take on a Schoth invasion force.” There would be a couple thousand if I pulled in every able bodied Feyrie, and deciding against it when I considered it, was a tough decision to make, truth be told.

Initially, I planned on luring the Light Fey away but that didn’t stop the progression of their weird ‘invasion’. And the only reason I have any with me now is because most of them refused to let me go alone, including the pain in the ass shifters under their Alpha—whateverthefuckheis.

They were cocky before this jaunt. Against humans, they’re always going to be the top—but we’re not fighting humans. Against a trained or truly Magikally gifted Schoth, they’re a casualty waiting to happen. They got their first reality check about their ancestors in the first skirmish. When all you can do is run fast and grow claws, and the guy in front of you turns into a godsdamn dinosaur—you accept that you’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.

Then they had their second reality check with a Light Fey. A fucking unicorn.The damn thing tore through half a dozen of them before they pulled their heads out of their asses and realized it had bigger teeth than they do. Now, they listen better and the egos have somewhat subsided. They’ve also learned to rely more on their natural weapons than their guns and bows. Who thought it was a good idea to go after a damn near immortal beast with a bow and arrow? I laughed really hard when one got the horn up his ass. Literally.

Since then, we’ve had this mix of non-military Schoth and random Light Fey. Even those few Light Fey we’ve come across weren’t what I considered warriors. Their Magiks were low caste and meant more for growing a pretty flower than exploding heads. Which takes me back to the cannon fodder theory. I think Phobe is onto something. These are distractions and speed bumps.

They’re testing us.

Slamming the brakes on the car I pull into a rest stop and park. After a few seconds, I put the car in reverse and back off the sidewalk; I can honestly say I didn’t see it and completely ignored the sound of metal grating on concrete. My driving skills are still a work in progress and asshole Jameson gave me a car that’s an inch off the ground. Potentially less than that now.

Giving Phobe—and his amused expression, a quelling look, I put the car in park and go inside to raid their vending machines, and deal with the angry bladder issue. Washing my hands I stare in the mirror to check my glamour. The news is steadily reporting on the ‘alien’ presence throughout the world, so humans think we're aliens instead of bloodthirsty Fey from another realm. Apparently, little green men who want to anally probe you is a more believable story than their fairies and elves. Who knew?

Then again, getting something shoved in your ass versus ending up on a dinner plate, sounds a bit easier to deal with.

At least all of this has made the humans wary, and on the constant look out for anyone or anything that doesn’t fit in. A benefit to someone wanting to get a good idea of where the real camps are located. There were so many videos posted in the last week that it crashed the tube. Which annoyed me because then I couldn’t watch it. But not all of the human reactions are welcoming, and several innocent creatures and people have been shot or worse—someone got the bright idea to burn a poor woman at the stake—because of ignorance. If the government would tell them the truth this could all be avoided.

Well, some of it could be avoided. You can’t fix stupid people.

At the least, they could protect themselves better. Evacuate areas that have been breached and save their families. Common sense has skipped some of them, because they’re holing up in their houses and refusing to budge. Not long after, they’re added to the ever-growing missing person’s list. Don’t get me wrong—I understand wanting to protect your home, but there’s a point where you need to leave. Maybe they should tell them volcanoes are erupting? They can’t shoot lava and even dumb people run from it.

‘You have company,’ Phobe cautions.

I finish washing my hands and avoid looking at the two women entering the restroom. Let them think they’re being sneaky. These two are more than the cockroaches we’ve been killing. The smile breaks free before I can stop it, and I meet the eyes of the tallest one: a blonde banshee. A half-breed at that. Her eyes swirl from the mundane blue of her glamour to a milky white when she meets my gaze in the mirror. Taking my time, I dry my hands and turn around.

“Hi, fancy meeting you here,” I say and then move. The uppercut takes her at least a foot off the ground before she falls backwards into the wall. Turning, I catch the other one off guard as a knife appears in my hand, which I shove up through the bottom of her jaw into her brain. Giving it a good twist, I yank it out, flinging her blood onto the wall and floor before facing the one I sucker punched.

She’s on her feet again and muttering under her breath; she’s apparently one of those that has to prep her Magiks. Having to speak the words is a weakness when you’re trapped in the bathroom with someone like me. I punch her again and the look of shock on her face as she drops to her knees, makes me laugh. She hastily crawls backwards on the slick bloody floor, until she bumps up against the wall and realizes she’s trapped in here with me. Alone.

“They didn’t tell you that I hit that hard, did they?” I ask, smiling and showing her all my teeth. The door opens and an older human woman starts to step inside. She freezes when she sees the dead woman on the floor. Her eyes are wide and frantic when she turns her head to see the second woman, on the floor up against the wall.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” she asks, her face pale. She raises a shaky hand to cover her mouth when blood oozes over to touch the pristine, white toe of her sneaker.

“They’re aliens and they were going to eat me,” I say with a fake quake to my voice, carefully watching the way her face changes. It kills me to play the damsel in distress, in any shape or form, but I don’t want to have to knock an old lady unconscious.

Her face remains pale but her eyes take on a harder glint as she looks down at the banshee. Her right hand slips into her purse and stays there. Ah, she’s one of those; hard nosed and armed. I bet she has an NRA sticker on her car. Her eyes drift again to the dead banshee, who’s now in her true form. Glamour can’t survive death.

“Do you want me to call… someone?” she asks in a much steadier voice, still taking a step back from the pooling blood, towards the door.

“Na, their bodies disintegrate.” Technically, the fiends eat them but I’m not sharing that juicy detail. Right on cue, the dead banshee’s body disappears into a patch of darkness that appears on the floor underneath her.

“Oh my god!” The human woman exclaims as the banshee grabs her ankle.

“Help me, she’s a monster!” she pleads.

The old woman kicks out shaking her hand off and says, “You’re the monster! This young lady has a right to defend herself however she sees fit.” She looks at me. “Carry on, I’ll keep an eye out for more of them.” She steps back out the door and lets it close behind her with a bang. Bless her little gun-toting heart.

I refocus on my prey. “Where were we?”

Grabbing her by the arm, I drag her over to one of the stalls and pull her upper body against the toilet. Lifting the lid, I grab her by the hair and force her head into the brown water—yeah, someone forgot to flush—and hold her down for a count of three before I pull her head up, allowing her to rest her face against the rim of the bowl. Sputtering and gagging she fights my hold, but I’ve got a good grip and she’s barely able to wiggle her head without losing all of her hair.

“Why are they sending pussies here instead of fighters?” I ask, pushing down on the lid and squashing her face between it and the rim.

“I don’t know, you Feyrie pig!” she hisses, wetly.

“I don’t believe you,” I argue and push harder. Asking again gets nothing more than curses and slurs, so I stand there with my foot pressing down on the lid, ignoring her screams and repeating my questions. When her eyeball pops out with a bit of a sploosh sound, I ease up a little and bend down towards her again. “Want to save the other one?”

“They’re waiting on the Guide to get here!” she yells, strings of bloody drool leaking from her mouth as her intact eye pleads with me. The other one dangles like a booger against her cheek. Breathing heavily, she further explains, “He’s supposedly bringing some kind of special weapon to use against you!” Drawing in another breath she yells, “But because there’s still a bounty for you, we took our chances!”

“See? Was that so bad?” I ask, pushing on the lid once again.

“You said I could live!” she yells and thrashes against my hold.

“Nope, I just said I’d save your other eye.” Straightening, I boost myself up to stand on the lid with both feet.

“Mercy!” she chokes out. Looking down at her, I feel nothing. There’s no Magiks pushing me to give her what she asks. Not one ounce of pity stirs. There’s nothing but the smell of corruption surrounding her in its vile taint. This woman has killed and exploited innocence… anyone with a nose can smell it. She doesn’t deserve mercy; greed is dug so deep into her soul she’ll never rid herself of it. All the pain she’s caused was in the pursuit of power she doesn’t deserve to have, and will never truly get.

“Sorry, I’m all out of that.” Grabbing the tops of the stall, I pull myself up and come down on the lid as hard as I can, over and over, until the only noise in the room is the splat of dead flesh. Hopping down, I don’t look back as her body begins to disappear. They should know better than to ask me for mercy when they have none to give.

WHEN I WASH my hands again and toss some paper towels on the floor to cover the mess; large pools of blood can be a hazard for someone who walks in without knowing. Remembering that they usually have signs for things like this, I spot the door at the back of the bathroom. Grabbing the wet floor sign from the small closet—might have had to break the knob to open it—I write the word ‘bloody’ in blood, above wet and lean back to admire my artistic ability. This will have to do. I place the sign far enough from the door to allow it to open but close enough to stop them from stepping in the congealing puddles. Then yet again wash my hands. I don’t want to foul the taste of sugary treats with her dirty blood.

Grabbing my snacks, I head back outside.

The presence of these banshees make it obvious that we’re being followed, and in that stupid car—that goes five miles an hour at max speed, we’re easy targets to follow. I walk past the woman who popped in there mid-torture. She’s talking to a silver haired gentleman, who lifts a hand in greeting; I wave to them and she lifts the hand holding a revolver, in salute.

See? I knew she was one of those.

Phobe is leaning on the hood of the car, his ankles and arms crossed as he watches me approach. His eyes drop to my hands and then meet mine again.

“I know how to wash up, okay?” I say, walking around him to climb in the car.

“There’s a first time for everything,” he mutters then gets in the car.

“Well, fuck you. You could’ve had a snack if you came in there.” The car starts with a rattle of metal but still starts. I can’t say I’m sorry; this will give me an excuse to buy a new car.

“I figured you needed to get some aggression out,” he says nonchalantly. My head snaps around, only to discover him staring out the windshield. The smile that I expected to see teasing his lips is absent but I don’t miss the slightly smoldering look in his eyes as he glances at me. Yeah, my Phobe teased me sometimes but this one… I think I’ve rubbed off on him.

“Did you eavesdrop on what she told me?”

“You mean before, or after, you turned her face into deli meat?”

Ignoring his comment, I answer, “They're waiting on that Guide person to get here. I’m assuming so he can kick my ass with his ‘special weapon.”’

“Did she give you any locations?” Uh, shit.

“I might have… gotten carried away, but I did find out the ‘signal’ crap.” I deserve a pat on the back for that part. Maybe not so much for killing her before I found out the real locations of the military camps. I suck at multitasking sometimes, especially when I’m focused on getting answers from stubborn Light Fey. Or popping their eyes out.

“If he has enough power in him, he stands a chance—remember that.”

“The thing about guys like him is that they've always had power, prestige. They’ve never had to earn anything because it’s always been handed to them. He'll squeak when he gets hit. He’s only going to come at me with Magiks, and I’m going to come at him with a fist. So at the absolute least, I can beat him up a bit before he kills me.”

“You talk about your death as if its a trivial thing.” We’ve had a similar conversation about me dying. I wonder if he remembers?

“Isn’t it? I’m fully aware of the role I’m playing. The king—you, btw—is the important part of the equation—not the person who gets him on the throne.”

The look in his eyes gives me goosebumps.

“I’ll never sit on their throne, Iza. I’ll never care about them, I’ll never help them. I’m only playing a part in this for one reason,” he says in that serious voice that he reserves for when I’m saying something stupid. However, he’s not saying anything I didn’t expect. I know what I’m supposed to do and my soul tells me who the king is, but I’ve known from the beginning that he wouldn’t want it and more than likely would never take it.

No matter how much I hope to pass on the mantle and rid myself of all of this, I genuinely don’t believe it will be to him. It’s supposed to be, that fucked up prophecy says so, but my gut tells me it’s wrong. However, I don’t want to keep doing this indefinitely either. I care about the Feyrie, some of them I even love, but that’s not enough to keep me there—day in and day out—surrounded by people who see me as a means to an end. Never as a person. They love me for what I am versus who I am. I don’t hold it against them, but it’s the truth. We all have our parts to play in this facade.

A lot of things will change when the Light threat has been dealt with—that’s if I can manage to beat the motherfuckers. Ideally, the Feyrie will get their freedom and possibly even a king—and live happy, long lives. Me? More likely than not, I’ll be dead by the time the dirt settles. It's the role of the Shepherd—this time around, anyhow—to sacrifice everything.

That leaves the Sidhe. More sentient than anyone will ever realize, it made me feel like I was home, and ultimately, it will remain that way. My home. The Sidhe was never meant to be a permanent place for the other Feyrie to live. That place is tied up with me in more ways than even I know and when I’m gone, it will be too.

There will be no more Shepherds.

“So you do it for all the free food, huh?” I say, breaking the tense silence that’s fallen around us for the last several minutes.

“You. I do it for you.” Another piece of the steering wheel breaks off in my hands and I have to use the middle to keep us on the road. That was not what I was expecting him to admit, not even close. Phobe typically takes pithy to a whole other level, but this is… wrenching in its honesty.

Time for a subject change. “I think that we’ll find the first military base is in the center of all of those bullshit ones they’ve set up as diversions,” I don’t want to keep going down that road, not yet. I can’t, because the ramifications of my stubbornness means that I was an asshole to the only man to ever love me.

Other than my dad, but he doesn’t count.

“More than likely, it’s like finding the cream in that cookie you like so much.” His voice is light, almost teasing. The smile hiding underneath the stoic mask on his face comes through loud and clear.

That fucker is in my head again.

“How do you know I like the cream the most?” I ask, curious despite myself. It’s a weird fact to know about me, all things considered.

“You always put the two sides of the cookie back together and return them to the bag.” How the hell does he know I do that? As far as I know, I’ve never been caught.

“No one has ever found any evidence to support that claim,” I defend my cream stealing ways.

“Because I eat the cookies,” he says, rather smugly truth be told.

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth to hold back a smile. Oh, well, imagine that. I continue on in a light hearted tone, “Even after I licked them?”

Without missing a beat, he says, “Especially because you licked them.” I throw my head back and laugh, a true laugh that echoes in the small car. I can’t believe he’s got jokes! “I like that.”

“What, slobbery cookies?”

“No, your laughter.”

I have no idea what to say to that; my heart is beating like humping boggarts but my tongue is tied up in knots. I choose, for once, to keep silent. That’s how we spend the rest of the drive, silent, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind—it feels more like the companionable kind that everyone talks about but never does.

I like it.

4

HONESTY WAS ACTUALLY worthwhile and some of the tension has eased because of it. Her thoughts aren’t as sad or as colored by fruitless grief. It’s still there, hanging around like an unwanted guest but not nearly as strong as before. Using these tangled emotions to fuel my words inadvertently did something right for a change.

I was starting to believe we’d never get past the barrier between us, because I’ve spent months—once I accepted that my place is at her side—trying to figure out how to remain there without her fighting me every step of the way. All it took was some honesty and fighting my natural inclination to be cryptic and remain neutral. How anyone can possibly think to remain neutral around Iza, I’ll never know. I didn’t succeed. The me from before didn’t either. Somehow she’s influenced the old me, the current me and the future me to be more than a lurking psychopath.

Although, I’m still a psychopath. That’s never in question.

What does surprise me is her desire to be rid of the burden of the Feyrie; not because she doesn’t care—in fact, she cares too much—but because her heart is no longer truly in it. Some of the most important people in her life betrayed her for shallow, petty things and that’s wounded her gravely.

She no longer trusts them, or the Magiks that drive her to help them. I’m not sure if she ever will again. This has now become a task that’s she’s determined to see through, her final one for people she feels don’t see her for herself. She’s not fighting with her heart anymore, she’s fighting to save the Feyrie’s.

She’s wrong and she’s right about how the Feyrie see her. To some she is, indeed, a tool—to others she represents what they could be. Some genuinely love her, but some love what she represents. Ruthie’s betrayal cut through her tentative belief in the cause she’s willing to die for. That won’t stop her from doing it just the same.

No one can ever say she isn’t dedicated.

I didn’t lie when I said I don’t care about the Feyrie, I don’t. I’m not fighting this for them or their archaic, useless crown. There was never an intention of taking that mess of a life on at any point in time, and when Iza’s thoughts turned towards that and I saw them, I was… relieved. She doesn’t expect me to, not even to please her.

She doesn’t want it either.

Somewhere in her heart, as bruised and battered as it is, there’s a small sliver of guilt, because she wants away from all of this. I think that’s why she’s fighting so hard to remove the Schoth from existence. It eases the way for her departure.

Whether it's her walking into the sunset or her death.

One of those options, I will fully support, the other—I’ll fight every single step of the way. With prejudice. With rage. She can’t die and leave me living a ghost of a life without her. The vehemence of that belief makes me look away from her. This feeling... it’s more than love, more than obsession. It's rooted itself into the very core of my existence and as I look at it from all sides, I realize that I don’t want to pull it out. She makes me feel and experience things in a way that I’ve never done before.

No wonder the old me feel so hard for her, because in her own fucked up way, she’s irresistible. And also insane, but that’s part of her allure—how else would she survive any version of me? Even now, the softness that most females—of any species—crave, evades me, but the words that I clearly remember speaking to her, I mean just as much now.

“I’m not a creature of kindness, or one of your gentle Feyrie. I’m cruel, cold and unrelenting. I don’t know the politics of romance, nor do I care to. I’m a monster, Iza. Not a man. I can pledge my life, my loyalty and my respect… and these fucked-up emotions you make me feel. Is that enough?”

The words I spoke echo in my mind, I can taste the emotions driving them. She accepted me then. What will it take to get her to accept me now?

I considered telling her how much I have remembered but I think it will cloud, and possibly eclipse, the desire for who I am now. A false hope is not a good seed to plant. I’ve already spent too much energy on this angst; we both have. The next thing—the more important one, is putting energy into convincing her to stop martyring herself. The visualization she has about her future has no good outcomes. She’s leaving me out the equation.

What the fuck makes her think I’ll let her just die?

Her laughter, minutes ago pulled at my guts, it made me feel lighter and... aroused. A strange combination to be sure but not an entirely unfamiliar one. It doesn’t help that she’s got splatters of banshee blood all over her and doesn’t give a shit. That side of her, the true one, will always pull on the creature I am. Always.

Pushing past the emotional baggage that I drag around in her presence, I move onto where we’re headed. On the map there were five specific spots marked with purple toy dragons. There were five clustered relatively close together and she marked every one of them on the path to the center. The others she purposely sent to verified areas she suspects are easy targets.

That suits me fine.

I’m no longer hindered by a physical prison, only by Light’s power. If he hasn’t touched them with his protection, then I can rip through their defenses like paper. Not to mention Iza; she’s strong, she’s angry, and she’s ready. When it comes down to it, she’s fully capable of being more vicious than I am because she fights with her soul. I only fight to protect her. Despite her conflicted feelings for the Feyrie, her heart burns with the need to deal justice to the Schoth because of what they’ve done to her and those she cares about.

I won’t dissuade her from it, I’ll encourage it. She deserves her bloody pound of flesh.

“What are you thinking about that has you smiling?” The smile I didn’t realize I had fades, and I turn to look at her.

“Killing things.”

“Well, it’s good to know you’re looking forward to it. With just you and I, it’ll be messy—I’m kinda looking forward to it.” The corner of her lips turn up into the smile that always gets to me. “I tell them I won’t watch their backs, yet I still mostly do. There’s a much needed sort of freedom in not having to do that.” She sighs, and I know that what’s coming next makes her uncomfortable to say but she’ll say it anyway. “It took me a minute, but I realized that this is the first time we’ve been alone since—well, you came back.”

She clears her throat and continues, “When you looked at me on that rooftop, I saw a stranger. It freaked me the fuck out, and to be honest, I still mostly see a stranger. At least, compared to the man I thought knew, but,” she blows out a breath and her hair wiggles around her cheeks. “How much of him is left in there?” Her asking is surprising, but not at the same time. Iza is a forthright person and doesn’t do well with subterfuge or deception. Going either direction.

“Enough to keep me here—to always keep me here.” The car swerves when she looks at me, and she allows it to bump and rip through the grass and gravel in the median, as she stares at me. This car won’t survive this trip.

“That doesn’t really answer the question.” Not to her satisfaction.

“This is the version of me that will remain.” I had hoped to not broach this particular part of things. Thinking about it is entirely different than speaking about it. Plus, it brings this ridiculous angst back that makes me want to punch her and kiss her at the same time.

“I see,” she says, turning the car back onto the road and turning up the radio to drown out the sound of a flat tire beating against the body of the car. I try to slip into her mind but find myself blocked, more thoroughly than before. I stop pressing and sit back as comfortably as I can in the seat. Pushing her gets the same result as her pushing me. Nothing.

My thoughts drift to the plans I glimpsed in her mind before she kicked me out of it. As angry as she is and as much as she wants to kill as many Light Fey as she can, the Guide still makes her nervous. Not because of his own power but because of the power of Light that he has in his amulet. The power my brother gave him that’s weighing the odds in his favor. Iza knows she can hold her own against him without it. She doesn’t have the arrogance to think she’ll win for sure, but she has more to fight for.

The Guide only wants more power, while Iza wants to destroy the parasitic Schoth that have murdered and preyed upon her and the Feyrie for decades. Justice. That kind of motivation has won wars. It’ll push her forward when she’s too tired to walk, to fight. That edge is something her counterpart will never have and might be the deciding factor in the inevitable battle between the two of them. I can’t touch him… yet. If given the chance, I’ll be the deciding factor, even if it pisses her off—and it will.

In the back of my mind is a persistent memory about a collar, their special weapon to use against her. Before we left, I asked Jameson about it. When he explained what it was and that he was the one to help create it, I almost bashed his face in. It will have no effect on me, not that I’ll play their trade game again or let them get close enough to try. I’m not a Feyrie but Iza is, in essence, the Feyrie. It’ll be detrimental to her.

That collar will sever her connection to the Sidhe and the Dark Magiks.

Before I can say anything about it, there’s a loud boom, and the car comes to a grinding, shuddering halt.

“I think we need to get a new car,” she says and gets out. With minimal effort she pushes the car off the road and after watching smoke curl out from under the hood of the car, I get out and grab our bags out the back seat and we start walking towards town. It only takes her twenty minutes and a short trip into a ditch to make her stop trying to take her bag off my shoulder.

5

THE LAST TIME I bought a car, it was on the internet. I found what I wanted, clicked it, bought it and had it delivered. I’ve never been to a dealership before. This might be a speck of fun in an otherwise shifty situation. It amazes me that so many humans are still carrying on like life is normal and there’s not murderous Schoth killing people all over the world. A boon in my favor in this circumstance.

Walking through the parking lot packed full of cars is nice, up until the heavy set man—smelling strongly of body odor and cigarettes—heads towards us like a gryphon that’s spotted a tasty sheep. His brown hair is slicked sideways over the mostly bare scalp shining in the sun. His beady brown eyes are already sizing us up and finding us lacking. I’m thankful for my glamour; I’m a fuzz grouchy and my hair is agitated. Oh, and the blood, but it’s amazing how often people ignore such a thing.

“Don’t get any of the used cars here, they’re all junk,” Phobe cautions, out loud in hearing distance of the salesman.

“What about the new ones?”

“They’re safe but overpriced.”

Watching the human approach—a more cautious look on his face now—I subtly scope out the trucks. That’s a vehicle I haven’t had yet and with it being only Phobe and I, we don’t need a lot of room. But we will need four wheel drive. Some of the camps are off the main roads up in the mountains. It’s one of the reasons I’m going to punch Jameson in his face for giving me that small car. The canary wouldn’t have made it either, but it would have made it further.

“Good afternoon folks, what brings you out today?” he greets jovially. While his eyes take in the quality of our clothes and—his eyes flick behind us—lack of car.

“We’ll come get someone if we need any help,” I say turning away to head towards the trucks.

“I’ll keep you company, it’s not often a woman comes in to get a big, new truck. You might need information on them.” Sexist much? I look over at Phobe, who’s frowning at the salesman. I know he can see Phobe, so why did he ignore him entirely?

‘He wants you to rely on his guidance to choose the most expensive truck they have so he can take the bonus from his sales and see a bunch of naked women on poles that he pays to have sex with him.’ Phobe informs me as the frown on his face clears. This salesman has some awesome life goals—at least the pay for sex part. The women on poles might be fun to see.

“I think any questions I have, I can look up on my phone or my companion can answer for me.” I’m not a super polite person on a good day, I think people go out of their way too much, and waste time an energy on useless verbal dances.

His beady eyes narrow but he keeps that plastic smile on his face. “Will you be financing today? That’s something I can get started for you once I have some general information.”

“I’m not financing anything.” I pay for everything in full, makes life easier—this sloppy fucker doesn’t need to know that.

“How do you expect to get a car without financing?” His tone has changed from fake-friendly to downright condescending.

“Are you the only salesperson?”

“We’re a tri-county dealership, we have twelve salespeople on staff at any given time,” he brags.

Good, I don’t have to deal with this prick. “Can you go get me one of them?” His face goes through a myriad of emotions before landing on disbelief.

“But I'm the salesman of the month.”

Ignoring his comment, I add, “A woman would be great too, thanks.” I genuinely want someone else to help, because in this situation I do need it. Their car bartering system isn’t as easy as other trades. I can’t just hand them money and walk off, you have to title it and tag it and get insurance for it. So many steps for something so simple.

With a dirty look directed at me and then Phobe—who he’s noticing all the sudden—he turns and heads back towards the office in the middle of the parking lot.

“I want something in red or blue. Four wheel drive, all the bells and whistles,” I say rubbing my hands together in excitement. Without waiting on Phobe I head towards the rows of shiny trucks, my eyes already on a bright red one that’s basically calling my name. Getting to it I try the door but it’s locked. I hop up and down trying to peek in the window but am still too short.

“Are you sure one this high is a good idea?” Phobe asks dryly.

“Yes, it means I have plenty of ground clearance to run people over.”

“Should we perhaps purchase a step stool?” he teases.

“Har, har you’re so funny.” One last hop and I give up and turn to look at him pleadingly. “Give me a boost, please?” Turning me, he lifts me up easily and I look inside the truck. Fabric seats, big screen display, DVD players in the back. Nice. I pat his hand to signal for him to let me down and he drops me.

The sticker on the window says it has everything I need and lots of things I didn’t know I needed. Heated and cooled seats. Fancy stereo system. It’s perfect.

“I want this one.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to look at any others?”

“Uh-huh, where’s that other salesperson at, I want to get back on the road.”

“Ma’am…” huffing and puffing a disheveled younger lady with long, blonde hair makes her way over to us. “I was sent out here to help you.” Her eyes are wide, and full of genuineness.

“Good, I want this truck.”

“Do you already have private financing or do you need to apply?”

“I’m paying cash.” Her mouth forms an O and it takes her a minute to gather herself. Clearing her throat she runs her hands down the front of her navy blue blouse; she’s all business now.

“This is a sixty-thousand dollar truck, ma’am.”

“Yeah, I can read the sticker on the window,” I tease. “So, can we move this along a bit? I have somewhere to be soon.” Nodding emphatically she turns on her heel and heads back towards the office. Pulling out my phone I text Harvard. Harvard has earned a special place in my life as my manager—so to speak. He helps me with money and he’s damn good at it. I also pay him well for the privilege. He still manages the hotel—all of them in fact—and now me.

ME: Found a truck I want, will be putting it on the black card.

After a few seconds my phone dings.

Harvard: Okay, send me the info when you get it so I can transfer insurance to it.

Me: Thank you, Harv, you’re the best.

WHEN WE ENTER the cooled office, that still smells like someone’s lunch of spices, chicken and broccoli, everyone is staring at us. Is it really that strange to ask for a different salesperson? He can’t be the only shitty one here.

“Right this way, please,” she says, pointing towards a desk that sits apart from the others. Yeah, he’s not the only shitty salesman; anyone who put her in the corner like a bad egg, is now part of the shitty club.

“He sent you out because he doesn’t think I’m buying anything, didn’t he?” I ask as we sit in the two beige, plastic chairs in front of her desk. Giving me a tired look she nods as she sinks into her chair with a sigh.

“That’s okay, I don’t mind helping either way. It should never be about the bonus, it should be about the customer.” She gives me a friendly smile and starts typing. “I want to let you know we also have that particular model in several other colors, if that interests you.” I shake my head. She turns her monitor around and shows me all of the specifics about the truck that aren’t on the sticker. “Do you have any questions?”

“Nope, I’d be quite happy if you could speed this along a bit. There are places I need to be.” Her smile remains but her eyebrows go up in question.

“The sticker price is sixty-one-thousand.”

“What’s the cash price?” Her eyebrows notch up even further.

She leans on the desk closer to me and whispers, “Honestly, I’m supposed to drop it a couple of grand and act like I’m giving you an awesome deal, but the truth is, fifty-thousand and it’s yours.”

Opening my bag, that’s conveniently sitting at my feet, I pull out my wallet and put the black credit card on her desk.

“That will cover everything… oh, I don’t want any bullshit dealership specific stuff.” She nods and continues typing into her computer.

A man walks over to us and I can tell by the cut of his suit that he’s more than likely the owner. He stops beside the desk and first frowns at the woman—whose name I don’t know, she doesn’t have a nameplate on her desk—and then smiles at me.

“Everything going well here?” he asks, sounding doubtful.

“Yeah, if you had more salesmen like her, you’d make more money.” His mouth drops open in surprise but he recovers quickly.

“Is that so?” I nod and he looks back at the woman with a new light. “Cash purchase?” Why is everyone always so surprised about that, I can’t be the only person to ever do it? “As a sign of our appreciation I’d like to throw in a few extras. They can be dealt with while Marie is processing everything. Thank you for buying at Dinnels.” With that said, he turns and heads towards the only walled office in the place.

I wonder what extras he’s giving us?

“A tow package, some type of cover for the back of the truck and new tires,” Phobe supplies quietly. This is when mind readers are handy.

‘How is that no one is commenting on you? Even glamoured you usually rile a few folks up,’ I ask him silently.

‘My glamour is different now, I’m less… here.’

‘After we’re done here I want to stop and grab a few things at the survival place that the Internet says is near here. We’ll be spending some time camping out in the woods so I’d rather have some necessities and comforts.’

‘You do realize that he’s in there calling the law to see if you’re legit?’ The fun of the moment is gone and I stand up and walk to the office. The door is locked but with a sharp twist the knob comes off in my hands. When it creaks open he drops the phone in his hand on the desk and scampers to pick it up.

“I come here to this shit hole place to buy a car and you call the cops on me?” I demand, not feeling appreciative of the hassle this can cause me.

“You’re using a credit card that only one percent of the world possesses, you can’t tell me that doesn’t raise a few red flags,” he defends himself flimsily.

I get it, kinda, but it’s taking the small spark of excitement out of an already shitty day. If he were anyone else, and I didn’t need a car, I’d squash him with his desk. It’s cheaply made so he might even survive it.

“The Yelp review I leave you won’t be a nice one.” I just want to get the truck and leave. Not deal with law enforcement and that whole mess. Beating him up won’t fix that problem, it’ll only make me feel better.

So I’ll fight fire with fire. Pulling out my phone I call the one person that I know can fix this, quickly and without me destroying half the place.

“Yes, Miss Black?” Harvard’s voice is as posh as ever. Secretly, I call him sometimes to hear him talk.

“I’m trying to buy this truck, but because I’m using the credit card he’s calling the cops on me to verify that I’m not some drug lord from the South,” I complain into the phone.

“What’s the name of the dealership?”

“Dinnels.”

“Hold one moment, please,” he says and the music comes on the phone.

In less than a minute the desk phone on the owner’s—Marc Dinnel does have a nameplate—rings. He answers it with a wary look at me.

“Dinnels?” His eyes widen and he nods as whoever is on the other side speaks. “Of course, I’ll get it taken care of immediately.” When he hangs up he turns back to me and says, “That was your attorney,” he clears his throat and loosens his tie. “You’re the daughter of Sergean Black?” I nod, not really knowing how he knows the name but if it helps further this along I’m fine with that.

“Your father is one of the richest men in the world.” I shrug, I have no idea. “We’ll have everything taken care of shortly, I’ll get Marie to speed things up for you.” He stands and comes around the desk to hold out his hand. I stare at it for a few seconds before he drops it. “I’m sincerely sorry for the inconvenience I’ve caused you.”

“That should require a larger discount on the vehicle as a form of apology, correct?” I ask. Sure, I’m rich but there’s no shame in haggling prices—especially with someone who was going to call the cops on me.

“Of course, I’ll get this taken care of.” He hurries past me and I watch him walk over to Marie.

“Look at that, I didn’t even have to hit anyone,” I muse.

“Yet.” I turn to look at Phobe whose eyes are on the main entrance of the dealership. A small group of people—no, not people—enter and look around. They’re definitely not dressed to be buying a car. The two swords strapped to the back of the Schoth in the front, are the first clue.

Yeah, this could make me feel better, or worse. I’ll revisit it after we kill them.

“Miss Black?” Harvard questions in my ear. Shit, I forgot I was on the phone.

“Harvard, be prepared, I might have to break things here. Okay?”

“I’ll have the attorney on call. Be safe.” I hang up and tuck the phone in my pocket.

“I’m assuming they’re looking for us? More bounty hunters?” I ask Phobe.

He nods and steps out of the office. The Schoth turn in unison and their eyes focus on me, ignoring Phobe completely. I calmly walk out and stop next to Marie’s desk.

“You need to get your people out of here,” I warn.

“Pardon?” Marc asks nervously.

“Those four there,” I point at the Schoth, “are aliens,” it’s become a quick way to explain Light Fey to people. I’ve learned the hard way that no one runs when I say elf or Schoth. “So get everyone out of here, now.”

One of the Schoth help prove my point by holding up her hand with a globe of ice in it. All of the humans react at once. There are a few screams and then they all have enough sense to run the opposite direction. Marc stops by me on the way out of the door.

“Here,” he shoves a set of keys in my hands. “The truck is yours, just please don’t let them kill us.” I planned on killing them anyhow but this gives me more incentive to break less stuff.

I can’t promise nothing will get smashed and I tell him as much. “Things are going to get broken, fighting with them isn’t pretty.”

“I have good insurance,” he says, then promptly runs out the back door, leaving us alone with the Schoth. Spotting my credit card on Marie’s desk, I snag it. No reason to leave that laying about; tucking it in my pocket, I turn my full attention to the Schoth.

“Iza Black, we’ve come to collect the bounty on your head.” The male in the front, who looks like a character out of a video game, says while pulling both of his swords out from behind his back.

“Yeah, that’s what they all say before I kill them.” Smiling, I start to walk towards him, as a cop car with lights on pulls up outside. Two humans get out and take a look inside before dodging behind their car. These guys have either paid attention to the news or have enough sense to simply be cautious. Either way, I can’t let the Schoth kill them.

The globe of ice flies towards me and I step to the side, watching it sail past and collide with the flimsy wall behind me. The hole it leaves is as big as a watermelon. Yeah, I hope he has really good insurance.

Phobe disappears from beside me, moving so fast no one can track him, including me. The mage who threw the ice ball is the first casualty. She disappears into darkness, leaving behind only the echo of her screams. He doesn’t need my help, not at all, and it gives me an excuse to go outside and talk the policemen into leaving in case there are more Schoth hiding outside.

As soon as I step foot out the door I discover there are, in fact, more. Eight of them. Running, I slide over the hood of the car and land in a crouch beside the humans.

“Hey guys, I don’t know if you realize it yet, but those are aliens. You need to get in your car and leave.” Their guns won’t work, neither will their mace. I hate to see them die uselessly.

A dagger imbeds itself in the car next to my head. The next one I catch mid-air with my hand. It would’ve hit one of the cops in the face. Given how pale he is, I think he knows it too.

“Are you that girl from the video who fights these guys? The monster one?”

“Yeah, but I’m your monster. Now, wait here, don’t get up—I know it’s hard because you’re warriors, but they’ll kill you.”

“Our monster huh?” He seems amused by this and for some stupid reason it makes me smile at him.

“Okay, I’m going to go kill them but no macing me, that shit hurts.” He nods sagely and I’m up and on my feet before I see his partner’s response.

Running at the closest Schoth, I jump and knee her in the face before she can do anything more than throw her hands up. Not that it helps much, I have a lot of momentum. With a crunch of bone she flies backwards onto the hood of the car behind her. The windshield breaks from the impact and she slides down the hood to puddle on the ground, unconscious.

One down. Seven more to go.

The next one is more prepared and meets my dagger with a sword. He’s decent too, parrying most of my attacks before I get the last one in past his guard. I understand why Phobe insisted I learn now. Otherwise I’d have gotten stabbed twenty times by this point.

Pushing forward I stab him again, this time in the belly. With a cry of pain he pulls back from me, all defense. I keep pushing; we can’t leave a single one alive—not even injured. They’ll only keep coming and try to stab you in the back.

As blood drips through his hands and down his body, I patiently use the holes in his defense against him. When I feel the presence of another close to me I stop playing with him and stab him through the chest. The life leaves his eyes before he hits the ground.

Turning I slash out with the second dagger that materializes in my other hand, and catch the mage off guard. The spell dies on his lips as he falls bonelessly over to the side, dead. Two more down.

Phobe appears briefly a few feet away and then moves again. Four, five and six down. One of the remaining males turns towards the two cops hunkered down beside their car, watching but staying out of the way. He lifts a gun and aims it at them. Running, I push myself fast enough to get there before any bullets. The first one catches me in the right shoulder, the second one I catch in the arm.

Cursing, I stand my ground in front of them. A fiend appears behind the Schoth and takes a big bite out of his shoulder. Good girl. Laughing as more appear and latch onto him I turn to the cops and usher them into their car. “Go! I got this.” There’s only one more left—a cry of pain catches my attention.

Phobe always gets to have more fun.

Standing, I wait for the bullets to push themselves out, and shake off the lingering pain. It’s over before it really began; the final one Phobe taunted but apparently left alive, is running towards me—but not to attack. He’s running in fear of the large, dark shadows pursuing him. The forlorn are playing too.

Phobe is walking slowly behind them, his eyes on me. I can’t help but appreciate the view. The forlorn catch the Schoth before he gets to the edge of the parking lot. His screams go on for several minutes before cutting off abruptly.

“Ready to go?” I ask, pointing at the truck.

Phobe stops a few inches from me and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m driving.” He snags the keys from where its hanging out of my pocket and walks away.

“Hey! It’s my truck!” I yell, following him.

6

I THINK she bought one of everything in the surplus store. The back of the truck is full of her purchases. Some of which will benefit us, some I think she bought purely for their level of shine. The dragon always has a say in collecting things, although I don’t think she knows she does it. Like the spray bottle with a fan on the end of it that she’s playing with. I see its supposed purpose, but we both know it wasn’t something she needs.

She giggles again. I take that back, maybe it is.

We won’t need any of this stuff until after we scout out the next decoy base. If that’s what it is. There’s always the chance we’ll stumble upon one of the real ones. There are dozens of bases in this country alone and some will be genuine. I think there are more of them, but they're being hidden, even from me.

The window is down and blowing her hair around her in lazy waves. A solid white streak catches my attention. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it but it is the first time a memory surfaces. Not a full one—merely a glimpse—but it's enough to know that she sacrificed something of herself to cause it. Something that made me angry. I’ll ask her about it later. I don’t want to disturb the small smile on her mouth or the lack of shadows in her eyes.

A truck full of humans pass us, yelling as they look in our windows and see Iza. The bed of the truck is holding several of them, armed with guns and various other human weapons. The tailgate has, ‘Kill all aliens’ painted on it in bright, orange letters.

I believe the humans refer to these types as ‘rednecks’.

“They’re on the way to the base, I’m guessing?” she asks, watching them with annoyance. “I support the humans defending themselves but this is…” I watch her chew her bottom lip while searching for a word that isn’t, idiot. “Suicidal. Plain and simple. They won’t survive in there against even farmers and potion makers.”

A few humans have been lucky against smaller camps but the rate of their success is slim to none. The one we’re heading to is heavily populated and even Jameson could fight against this truckload of imbeciles and probably win. I speed up and remain relatively close to them. Our plans to scout and then decide how to go in are now useless. We have to go at the same time as these… rednecks, or let them uselessly die. Not that the gene pool will suffer much from their losses.

“You know, we could let them go in and save someone from having stupid children with them?” Iza muses and I roll my lip between my teeth to keep from laughing. Our thoughts were so similar it’s almost like she read my mind. “But stupidity doesn’t necessary mean ‘bad person.’” She sighs. Yeah, we’re going in after them.

She starts moving around and tucking things in various pockets. She unpacked her leathers when we stopped to get food. As cliche as they are, their usefulness is undeniable. They protect her to some degree. Someone wove Magiks in them as they were made and I’m pretty sure the leather is from the hide of a dragon. I haven’t told her this and she isn’t suspicious about them, but I am curious as to who made them.

I ask, “Where did you get those leathers?”

“Arista gave them to me, she said they’d help out. Why? Do you want some?” She smirks as she asks that.

“I don’t need them but I can see why she gave them to you.” Her curiosity is piqued now. “They have Magiks in them,” I answer her unspoken question.

“Oh, I know that, I thought you were going to tell me they were made from the skins of my fallen enemies,” she says then snorts.

They probably are but I don’t say anything.

Iza being her normal self, asks, “They really are, aren’t they?” She laughs and shakes her head. I focus back on the road and increase our speed yet again. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can kill something and stop thinking about touching that white streak in her hair.

DUSK HAS SETTLED around us as we walk quietly behind the loud group of humans. They’re not hiding their approach at all; demonstrating yet another display of the ‘intelligence,’ this group shares. Iza occasionally laughs at them under her breath but hasn’t said anything else since we left the truck. She has let me into her mind, as I thought she would. Her plan is simple; she’s letting the humans go in first to stir up the camp’s occupants so she can better gauge what threat level they represent.

In other words, they’re bait.

The time arrives quickly, the camp is only a few miles off the main road. They don’t even have sentries to guard the entrance, their shield is minimal at best, and even the human’s arrival doesn’t cause the Schoth alarm. Their actions finally do though. They go after the small group of Schoth children playing on the outskirts.

“Hey there little alien boy, where’s your parents?” One of the men asks, raising his shotgun level with the child’s face.

The little boy is dirty and looks underfed, without that air of meanness that adults carry. Not all Schoth are born to be vile pricks; most of them are shaped that way by their upbringing, which weeds out the ones considered 'undesirable.’ To the Schoth, that’s anyone with a conscience. This child, looking frightened and abused, still has one. He’s hiding his little sister behind his back.

This isn’t going to go over well with Iza.

She walks past me and inserts herself between the humans and the children. Both groups react. A few of the children scream in fear and the humans raise all of their weapons and point them at her. I go to step forward but she subtly shakes her head.

The foolish woman is going to try and save both of them.

“Sorry guys, these kids are off limits,” she says, spreading her arms out to block more of the kids from view.

“Who the hell are you?” The ‘leader’ demands, spitting on the ground.

“I came here to do the same thing as you, but not to kids—you need to move on and find different targets. Better yet, you should probably turn around and go have a few beers at a nice bar somewhere and let other people handle this.”

“Bah, they’re going to grow up and be just like their parents. Better to catch them young and end the problem before it begins,” he says.

“Seriously? You’re willing to kill kids?” she demands, anger entering her voice for the first time.

“Duh, man eating, alien babies,” he says with a disgusted sneer.

Iza frowns and looks over her shoulder at the condition of the children, then back to the humans. “These children haven’t been corrupted yet—so that’s a no.”

“Well, then we’ll have to shoot you too,” he says with a smile.

“You’re a Feyrie,” the little boy says from behind her. She looks over her shoulder at him and nods. “But you’re helping us?” She nods again. He contemplates her with an adult level seriousness before saying, “I won’t grow up to be like my parents.”

Schoth children aren’t usually well cared for, they get the brunt of their parents ire as much as anyone else. This child might stand a chance to be something better and Iza sees it.

“I didn’t come here to do anything good today, little guy—can you keep your promise knowing that?” She gives him as much earnestness as he’s giving her. Once again he contemplates her solemnly, demonstrating a maturity and intelligence most Schoth aren’t known for.

“Where will we go?” he asks. My shadows touch him and I see that he’s being genuine. He wants to save his sister and his friends. His desire to help has gotten him punished more than any other child here, but it hasn’t stopped him either.

This boy should’ve been one of Iza’s Feyrie.

“I know a place I can take you to,” she says after a few minutes of silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of some of the humans. The group of humans has taken the ‘stand there and watch’ approach. None of them actually wanted to kill children, but they’ve lost family and friends to the Schoth plague and wanted to do something about it.

Slipping into Iza’s mind I see her hastily formed plan. Iza’s heart is going to be the death of her. She’s going to make a place specifically for them, a place she feels they can be kids and make a choice based on who they are as a person, not who other Schoth want them to be.

I’m not sure if it'll work and neither is she but Iza isn’t the type to give up easily.

“Walk that direction until you get to a big, red truck. Climb up in the back of it and wait for me there, okay?” When the humans protest she turns to them and says, “How about ten grand a piece to leave right now?” Already her mind is made up, she won’t let them have the children but she’s also trying to find a way to not kill the humans either. If they refuse the bribe, she will decide whether she wants to or not.

“Ten thousand dollars?” One asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, just to go get back in your truck and leave,” she says, pointing back the way we came.

“How do we know you’ll stick with your word?” The leader asks.

“Write your name and an email address on a piece of paper and leave it on my truck, I’ll send you the money.” There’s no other way to get them the money right now. Iza isn’t going to walk away from this camp and she’s not going to let them hurt the kids.

“I’m going to write your license plate number down and if you don’t send it, I’m going to pay you a visit,” the leader threatens. She nods and points again.

“Don’t touch the kids,” she cautions.

“For ten grand lady? I’ll kiss my mother-in-law on the mouth,” he jokes and waves for his group to follow him. Iza waits until their out of sight and then turns back to the kids. “Go now, they won’t hurt you. Hurry.” She senses the changes in the camp behind her. I’ve been keeping an eye out and the lack of attention paid to their children demonstrates clearly how good of parents Schoth are. But they are starting to stir, not to check on the children per se, but the foreign Magiks some of the more sensitive ones are feeling.

As the last child walks away Iza turns to me.

“I can’t kill kids Phobe, not even Light Fey.” Her admission doesn’t surprise me, her mind is an open book. This block in her ability to ‘kill all Schoth’ bothers her too. She hates Light Fey and has now discovered her one weakness concerning them. Their children.

In all the killing we’ve done she’s never been faced with this decision and knows that going forward, this is her limit. She thinks I’ll chide her for it, or call her a pussy. I’ll do neither. I accept this about her, I’m not a fool. This is a piece of what makes her who she is and I rather like her that way.

Someone calls out in warning from the camp.

The adults, however, are still fair game.

BLOODY AND BREATHING HEAVILY, Iza digs out her phone with her eyes unerringly on the children in the bed of the truck. The little Schoth boy from before is telling them a story to keep them quiet, a task he’s familiar with and done many times before.

“Harvard? Yeah, I need a favor…” As Iza talks quietly to Harvard, I can’t help but watch her. In her place, I can’t say that I’d have made the same choices. These children will grow up one day and potentially become those that bore them. The vipers that she’s willing to nurse and protect might very well turn and bite her. Then again, Ruthie is a Feyrie and she betrayed a woman who handed her heart out on a platter to the teenager.

A woman who fought for her and would’ve died for her.

My eyes drift to the children and the little boy—Rosic—is looking at Iza with something akin to hero worship. Perhaps they will have more respect for this sacrifice than others. Ruthie’s hardships turned her into a selfish, moody creature. These children’s hardships turned them into survivors.

Only time will tell.

“Okay, all done. We need to meet their transportation out on the main road. Harvard said he’ll have someone there in an hour or less,” she says, her eyes turning to me.

“Are you going to tell anyone?”

“Of course not, that would put them in as much danger as they were in with the Schoth,” she denies vehemently.

“Our little secret then,” I tease, trying to dislodge those shadows that are circling in her eyes.

“They will be in a place far away from all of it. Raised with love and safety and maybe they’ll grow up to be good people and be ready for this world.” Her concerns are greater than that. They will grow up and ultimately be faced with a world of people that hate them.

Iza is thinking along the same lines as I am; the difference is she’s not so much worried about them being ready for the world, but the world being ready for them.

7

SEVERAL DAYS later and nothing has changed. The camps are still busts. I was hoping to find a real one—or the Guide—to get this shit over with. Twice more I’ve sent Light Fey children into Harvard’s capable hands. In my time in the Schoth’s hands I can’t say I saw many of them with children, but the few I did see sometimes treated their own children worse than the slave they were toying with. And no matter what I tell myself, I can’t raise a hand to them; doesn’t matter if they’re Light Fey, or not.

It’s frustrating. The human from the first day wasn’t wrong. These children will grow up one day and potentially be like their parents, but maybe—just maybe—giving them choices they wouldn’t normally have might change their paths. If nothing else they can discover what life has to offer besides pain and anger. It’s probably foolish of me to hope it’s possible, but regardless of how many times I try to stamp out that hope, a tiny flame of it remains.

Someone needs to give them a chance, even if it’s their ‘enemy’.

That’s not even what’s made my week shit. We’ve gone through two camps in the last three days, and still haven’t found anything useful. Soldiers aside, I was hoping to find some intel too. That’s a big nope as well. I know the others haven’t had any luck either, not that I actually expected them to. I sent them to the camps on the fringes, ones that were isolated from the others. I knew they’d be duds. Phobe and I came to the ones that cluster together—with that formation it made me think that the ones nearer to the center would yield something more than farmers, low grade mages and children.

Tonight though, I need some sleep. My body is telling me that whether I lay down or not, it’s going to do it without me. While Phobe drives, I fight to stay awake as we drive through the gravel roads of the campground closest to us. Truth be told, I’m looking a bit forward to it. One night of calm in a constant storm, and I’m totally going to take it. This place has a river and the internet says there’s a chance of getting attacked by bears. That sounds like a good time to me. I’ve always wanted to see a bear up close and personal. It’s one of the few large predators this country has.

The other is wolves and cougars, but I’ll save those for another time.

When we pull into our camping spot, Phobe immediately starts unpacking the truck. Being lazy, I watch him walk back and forth with a sleepy interest. He’s nice to watch, I can’t help myself, even as tired as I am. When he stops next to the window of the truck and gives me the ‘look,’ I know it's time to pull my own weight.

In a moment of total genius, I decide to start with the tent. When I unpack it, the first rain cloud appears in the previously cloudless sky. When it rains, it pours. An apt human cliche. It’s also proving true—in more ways than one. Staring down at the strewn out pieces of tent, I blow out a breath and consider setting it on fire. I was hoping it was one of those pop up gigs that you just shake a bit and then stake it down. I should’ve read the package before I bought it, that’s what I get for shopping based entirely on pictures.

Digging out the instructions, I start the arduous process of putting it together. Every few minutes I look up, because Phobe is leaning against a tree watching me with this shit eating grin on his face—and an umbrella protecting him from the torrential rain. He knows damn well I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m determined to prove him wrong.

At least, for the first hour of rain.

Throwing down the instructions and the mangled mess of poles in my hands—I sit back on the soppy ground with a squelch, defeated.

“Are you ready for help yet?” he asks in amusement at my expense.

“You damn well know I am,” I grouch, once again contemplating setting the entire thing on fire and sleeping in the truck.

Chuckling he comes to kneel beside me and within ten minutes the tent is put up and ready for me to put stuff in. Namely my wet self to dry off. Which I do happily. I bought everything that said ‘camping’ in its description. Some of it I’m not even sure what it does, but it looked cool, so I impulse bought it. Especially the portable shower, not that I’m going to use it right away—I want dry clothes first. I plan on washing off in the river, just so I can say I’ve done it.

As I dig through our things for dry clothes and a snack, I start to chatter to Phobe. Eventually, it comes back around to the Schoth. “Did you notice the low numbers in the last two camps or am I imagining things?”

Yanking off my wet clothes I set them near the door of the tent and pull on some sweats and an oversized tee. Phobe watches raptly through the entire ordeal, and then has the audacity to reach over and steal a piece of jerky that’s inches from my mouth. The rain has stopped but I’m not in any hurry to go anywhere. I’m amazed I’m still awake. Settling onto the super comfortable sleeping bag, I kick back and start eating my chips and jerky.

Answering my question he says, “Yes, using the small amount of information I gleaned, the majority of them were taken to another location. The ones left behind weren’t told where or why and I’m guessing they did that because they don’t want anyone left behind to know—in case you show up.”

My other sense tingles as I hear my dad say, “Camping? This looks like fun.” Genuinely happy to hear that voice, I climb out of the tent and run to him. Grabbing him in a tight hug, I pull back and look up at him with my arms still around his waist. He looks tired and there’s dirt and blood on his face, but he’s whole and that’s what matters.

An hour ago, I had a part of someone’s intestine stuck on my pant leg.

“Gods, it’s good to see you too. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long—this is the first chance I’ve had to leave for any length of time,” he says hugging me to him again.

“What’s going on?” I ask pulling away to watch his face as he answers. He’s a good liar but I can catch him sometimes. Licking my thumb I wipe away the dirt on his cheek. He makes a face but tolerates my mothering him.

“Someone is trying to break into my realm to get to the fates.” My eyebrow raises in question. The fates exist and live in the realm of the dead? “Yes, they do. Nosy bitches know that it's one of the safest places to be. Not only does it have its own natural defenses, it has me and the guardian spirits,” he grumbles. His eyes drift pass me to Phobe.

This is the first time he’s seen the new version of him and I don’t miss his frown.

“Death no longer has a tie to you, Phobe.” I ask him what that means and he says, “I don’t know, dove—first time I’ve ever seen it. Now then,” he turns towards the river that’s about fifteen feet from the camp. “Have you tried the fishing yet?”

Apparently discussing Phobe’s sudden lack of a ‘tie to death’ isn’t high on the priority list, but I’ll let it go for now. I’m happy to have a visit from my dad, no matter how short it is.

DAD DIDN’T STAY long but for the most part he never can, especially when his realm is under threat. Bored, overtired and feeling a bit listless, I let my curiosity about the loud group of campers nearby get the best of me. Standing on the fringes of the shadows their large fire is throwing out, I watch them laugh and talk around the merrily glowing pit in the middle of their small camp. They seem so normal, finding their own moment of joy while their world is falling down around them.

“Hey,” someone calls. “Yeah, you. Do you want a beer?”

Gods, I was dumb enough to be seen.

I shake my head and start to turn and walk away when they call out again. “You hungry?” Those are two of the most irresistible words I’ve ever heard. “We have some dinner leftovers and some edibles if you’re interested.” How very nice of them to offer. Walking into their camp I keep my distance from attempted handshakes and even an attempted hug—I’m willing to take their food, not exchange skin cells—and head straight for the one holding the food.

He’s probably older than I am, with shaggy brown hair and piercings all over his face. The ones in his ears are exotic looking, turning the lobe into a big, round hole. I wonder if a quarter will fit through it? I discard the idea, I don’t want to offend the guy offering me free food. Looking down, my stomach rumbles because both of his hands are full of food. One is holding a plate with burgers and chips on it and the other is holding a large, plastic bag of brownies. I love brownies.

Taking both with a thanks I sit own on an empty stump and wolf down the cheeseburgers first. They’re a little dry, but have a nice woodsy taste to them. They’re great compared to the prepackaged sandwich I have waiting on me in the tent.

When I start on the brownies the guy says, “Might want to take it easy on those, they’re potent.”

Potent food? This sounds lovely. “Do you want me to not eat them?” I ask, not wanting to be rude after they shared their food with me. Mostly. I don’t really want to give up the brownies though.

“You don’t know what edibles are, do you?” he asks with a smile playing about his mouth.

“Sure, you eat them.” Right? I don’t sense anything malicious from any of them, in fact they all seem exceedingly happy and relaxed.

“Okay then, help yourself.” He’s laughing at me for some reason and I don’t know what it is. Shrugging, I quickly eat the entire bag. Relatively full and feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks, I sit for a moment and bask in the atmosphere.

Phobe is watching me from somewhere and he too, is amused. I wish they’d let me in on the joke that everyone seems to get but me. There wasn't any poison in the food, I’d have smelled it. The only weird thing I detected was bits of green in the brownies but humans use a lot of spices in their food and I didn’t taste anything nasty in them. Phobe’s amusement grows and so does my irritation.

Standing, I hand them back their empty bag and plate and thank them for sharing. They ask me to stay but I decline; they might be happy and relaxed, but they’re still human. And I’m not. Besides, the night air feels nice and I want to attempt to bathe myself in the river before I lay down, because when I do, I'll sleep a good ten hours or more. Now that I’m dry, my skin feels itchy and dirty. Waving, I head back to our camp to grab what I need to wash, humming to myself.

Making my way to the edge of the river, I try to gauge which part won’t go above my waist. I don’t know how to swim and the idea of drowning after everything I’ve gone through strikes me as an awful way to die. Realizing eyeballing it isn’t going to work, I pick up a long branch from the brush on the shore and use it to poke around in the water. Just off shore I find a spot that goes about halfway up the branch. Satisfied that I shouldn’t die in water a couple of feet deep, I strip and climb in, holding my ziplock bag of bathing supplies.

It’s at that point the high hits me.

8

THERE WAS a moment when I almost stopped her when she started eating the brownies. Her metabolism is fast, but eating that amount of food laced with marijuana will affect most creatures, including her. At this moment, she’s so high that everything is funny to her. She saw what she thought was a snake, named it and then tried to catch it. It was a small stick. A few minutes later she’s talking about how she can fly in the water and then almost drowns herself before she’s higher than her hips.

Now she’s standing up to her waist in water, letting it sift through her fingers. She’s laughing about it like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever seen. As high as she is, it might be.

“I’m pretty sure there were drugs in those brownies,” she says. Temporarily breaking out of her marathon of giggles.

“What makes you say that?”

“I can taste the color purple,” she whispers and then goes into another fit of giggles. “I should probably get some of this to try in its pure form. This is the most relaxed I’ve been since we fucked in the shower.” She continues giggling and starts sifting water through her fingers again.

The memories slam into me so hard they take my breath away. Like a movie, it plays behind my closed eyes, every delicious second of it. My eyes snap open to immediately fall upon her naked form. Until now, I’ve had glimpses of us being intimate but this—this is something else entirely.

My foot is raised to take a step before I catch myself. No matter how much I want that with her, again, this isn’t the time. There’s been no invitation from her and she won’t welcome me without one. Iza doesn’t give away something like that casually, ever.

Why do I feel like I’ve had that thought before?

“I think the stars are sooooo beautiful. When we were in prison it was something that I missed the most, and I was in there so long I almost forgot what they looked like. Isn’t it pretty?” I look up without hesitation. Above us the stars are pinpricks of dancing light in the dark velvet of the night sky. Millions of them sparkle above us and it makes me realize that I’ve never done something so simple as look at the night sky and enjoy it.

When I look back at her, its to discover that she’s propped herself up against a rock and is leaning back, staring at the sky with a wistful look on her face.

“I wish I could float in the water but with my luck I’ll drown, and save the Schoth the trouble of killing me,” she says, and then chuckles.

“I can teach you to swim if you like,” I offer, using it as an excuse to be close to her. She sits up so suddenly she slips off the rock she’s leaning on and instantly goes underwater. I’m wading in the water before I comprehend that I’ve moved. Her head breaks the surface and she laughs while wiping the water from her eyes.

“Well, since I can actually drown in two feet of water, this is as good of a time as any.” She’s laughing as she talks and I don’t tell her that people have drowned in a bucket full before. At the Sidhe she could access the Magiks of the land itself; here she is as much at the mercy of the elements as anyone. “You’re gonna get your clothes wet,” she teases.

Holding her gaze, I pull my shirt off and toss it towards the shore. Her eyes widen and she absently licks her lips. A shiver runs through me. I like that she likes looking at me, and with the detailed memories of another time we were in the water together fresh in my mind...

I really like it.

“Okay, what do you want me to do?” she asks, standing and walking towards me.

Oh, so many things Iza. Out loud I say, “First we teach you how to tread water.”

STANDING A FEW FEET FROM HER, watching her float in the water alone fills me with the same languid feeling that touching her gives me. My own simple taste of happiness isn’t a disappointment. Teaching Iza to swim, however, wasn’t as hard as I hoped. Selfishly, I wanted to keep her in my arms a little longer, but she insists on doing it on her own.

Not that she’s quite accomplished it; my Magiks are holding her aloft.

Spinning in lazy circles in the water, she’s telling me about the stars and the human legends of them. Considering she ate enough of those brownies to get that entire camp of humans stoned for the week, I can see why she’s so mellow and giggly. It’s continuing to be entertaining to say the least.

“You know, I was just thinking—since you made my dad, does this mean you made me too?” Her eyes are closed but there’s a teasing smile on her face.

“If you make a grandfather joke I might dunk you, Iza,” I tease back. She laughs and flings her arms out to rest on the water.

“Do you know who made you?”

“Since becoming aware, I’ve asked myself that question many times. Light, Darkness and Life are too specific to have been created by randomness. The abilities that all three of us have are unique to our specific branch of talents, as are the weaknesses.” I pause and continue, “As to who or what it is, I have no idea. I searched, and found nothing, but even I can't go everywhere. There are millions, if not billions of other realms. Too many for one person to travel alone.”

“You talk more than before… I like it. It’s nice to share with you. Not that I didn’t like the quiet you, I just like you this way, too.” She giggles at herself. “Come float with me and look at the sky. Take a few minutes to simply admire something that existed before you did.” Smiling to myself I slide under the water and come up at her side. Turning to look up at the sky I let my Magiks hold me up as well. I won’t spoil it by telling her that I might have come before some of those stars.

Floating beside her, feeling the warmth of her skin close to mine—she’s right, it’s something to behold. When her fingers intertwine with mine, the night becomes even more to remember.

“There are moments—like this one, that I miss being at the Sidhe, and even around the Feyrie. I’ve gotten used to the bustle and noise of being in it. Of that feeling of home that I’ve not had since I was little. Don’t get me wrong, it gave me part of itself, so I always have it close but the feeling isn’t quite the same.” She sighs and squeezes my hand. “This responsibility is… too much sometimes. I don’t want to do it anymore. The Magiks push so hard sometimes, that it gives me flashbacks of when I was little and they were telling me I was some kind of fucking hero. It feels like I’m being used—almost in the same way—by the Magiks. It’s using me as a hammer against the Schoth, and doesn’t care what happens to me in the end.” I remain silent, watching her instead of the sky. This confession is hard on her and she’s ashamed because she feels this way.

She shouldn’t have to feel ashamed. She accepted the Magiks but when it comes down to it, she had no idea of what she was accepting. Her heart, too big for her, made the decision for her. The Magiks are using her, will continue to use her, until the balance has been restored. After that is unknown. In the history of the Shepherd, they’ve always walked a different path than the one Iza is walking.

“I mean, I did make the choice when it asked, but honestly—there has to be a point I can say fuck it and be done with this shit. And even though I’m going to do what needs to be done, my usefulness will end if the Feyrie are freed. That’s when you’re supposed to take over… but we both know you aren’t going to,” she says, her voice sad, tired instead of angry like I expected.

“You’ve done exactly what the prophecy predicted, so far. You brought them together, you gave them purpose—strength. And the bullshit about the king, I’m doing that too. Fighting, killing, destroying our enemies. Together we’re ensuring they have a safe place to live. I believe that’s enough.” The rest of the prophecy can go to hell. I’m not taking the crown, Iza isn’t going to die.

“What do we do after all of this is done? If I’m still alive, that is.”

“There are billions of worlds are out there waiting for someone to find them, Iza.” I’ll take her to every single one of them if she desires. We can open a bar and stay here on earth too. That’s a thought she’s had before. But Iza, being Iza is worried about me getting bored.

I don’t get bored.

“You still,” she clears her throat and giggles. “Want to be around me after all this?”

“Of course I do, and you don’t get a choice about it. I’ll always follow you Iza, no matter where you go.” Those words come from what resembles a soul inside of me. Iza is life, color… laughter. I’ll never leave her.

“What if you meet some hot blonde who can twerk in high heels?” she says, giggling for several minutes afterwards.

Months ago, Iza was trying to learn how to dance and ‘twerking’ was one of the moves that the woman in the video she was watching, was teaching. Iza didn’t move like the woman in the video but I liked watching it just the same. Her movements were smoother, sexier… she was also in her underwear.

“I like how you dance more,” I say, fighting my body’s response to that memory of her. Eventually, she and I will be intimate again—something I never expected to crave from another—but not yet.

She brings our joined hands to her bare stomach and sighs again.

“Would you ever want children?” She knows I know she can’t have them, and although there’s a part of her that wants them, greatly, the rest of her doesn’t. Iza doesn’t feel that her life will ever be safe for a child from her body. The past has left a scar on her from that lesson. Unfortunately, she’s not wrong. Our child would be sought by anyone seeking power.

That doesn’t mean I can’t help push the guilt from her by being honest about my own conclusions on parenthood. “Being what I am, children from my body has never been an option. They will be hunted their entire existence, no matter how strong I make them. Plus, I’m not… what do humans call it? Father material? I can’t promise that I’d give them what they need emotionally, I imagine that would damage them.”

“I feel the same, really. I’d love them and hug them, buy them whatever their heart desires—but when it comes down to the finer points, I’d suck so hard. Plus, the whole never ending bounty on our heads. We’d be the kind of parents that kids end up hating.” She says and continues, “I think it’s memories of before… and the dragon in me that makes me even consider it, honestly. It’s not something I think about a lot at all.”

“If you ever truly wanted them, I’d find a way to give them to you anyway,” I whisper. Her hand tightens on mine, digging her claws into the backs of my knuckles. She pulls and rolls over onto her side, using my hand as leverage.

Staring at me with wide black eyes, she says, “Can we go on a rollercoaster? I’ve never been on one and I want to experience it before the world becomes a total shit show.” That’s not what she really wants to say.

I love you. Is a faint whisper in her mind.

Those words are like a warm fire on a cold day. Bathing me in their truth and rawness, pulling a response from me that not even being undone could erase. Still, I don’t react. She didn’t mean for me to hear them and to show her I did will make her put her guard up once again. Something I don’t want her to do, not in this special moment shared between the two of us.

I shouldn’t have eaten so many humans. I feel her words, her actions, even more than I did before. They’ve turned me into a sentimental fucker. Looking into those black eyes, full of the love she’s not ready to share… no, the humans didn’t make me sentimental.

“Yes, we can go on your rollercoaster. I’m sure there’s a place that has them close by.” She smiles and closes her eyes, snuggling against our joined hands. That small concession is worth it. I have no desire to ride the thing but she does, and because of that… I shall. There’s no more denying myself the simple pleasures of her company and her whims. Iza is my rollercoaster.

A light snore breaks the peacefulness of the moment. I laugh, while I was lost in thought, she fell asleep.

9

I KNOW AS SOON as we hit the border of town and see the burned remnants of a dead body hanging off the sign, we’ve found more Schoth. Phobe slows down to a near crawl in the truck and we watch the houses and buildings we pass for any signs of life. There are plenty more bodies, left to rot in the street like garbage. Broken furniture and refuse lay around them in discarded piles. Treated with more dignity than the humans were given. The Schoth were here, but they aren’t anymore—this is what they leave in their wake.

Devastation.

Phobe’s shadows are spread out in all directions from us, looking for anyone hiding or alive. We get all the way to the town center before he gets something. Parking the truck, we cautiously head inside what used to be a courthouse. Ignoring the body parts and various fluids strewn across the floor, I climb the stairs cautiously.

‘It’s a Light Fey… dryad.’ He says from somewhere above me. Hurrying, I take the stairs two at a time, stopping when I see Phobe, ahead of me, looking down at something. Odd that he hasn’t killed her yet—dryads are always female—but I’m sure he has a good reason.

The minute I see it, I stop. Behind her is a human child; he’s dead—has been for a while, but she’s guarding him as if he’s not. It’s not for food, dryads don’t eat people, I think she was trying to protect the child when she was injured—gravely so. The smell of Light Magiks is strong on her, but not from her Magiks. All of it is focused around the gaping wound across her stomach. She’s not healing and any sudden movements might make her guts spill out.

This was done by her own people.

“Please… I miss my tree,” she pleads softly, looking up at me with her green eyes full of anguish.

“Why did they attack you?” I almost say kill, because she’s not going to survive her injuries.

“I did not want to war, I wanted only peace and my family… this child—he reminds me of my son. They were going to kill him and I could not let them… but they did any way.” She sobs quietly, clutching at the dead child like a lifeline. “My own sister did this to me, she broke a sacred vow for power that isn’t hers.” These words are more angry, tinged in hatred. I have a feeling if she wasn’t dying she would find her sister and kill her.

Dryads are small in stature, even more so than I am, and normally a peaceful race. But Light, the Light is enslaving his creations to wage this war. Until now, I didn’t realize the impact it had on them. To me they’re all enemies, not faces—not people.

I’ll be more cautious in the future.

“Come, there’s a park down the street. I’ll take you to it.” There are tons of trees in it, some with bodies in them but I don’t think she’ll mind. Leaning down, I pull her up and into my arms. It’s awkward at first but I’m strong enough to pull it off without any real effort. The bark-like skin of her arms brushes my neck as she wraps them around me. She smells like death and pine, and feels lighter than she looks.

Quietly, she sobs into my shoulder as her body grows increasingly colder in my arms. Death isn’t far now.

Once at the park, that’s less than a block away from the courthouse, I lay her down against the trunk of the largest tree. With a sigh, she rests her head against it and starts to be absorbed into the tree. It isn’t her tree, but it’ll do.

“Thank you for your mercy, Shepherd. You give it when my own kind have none to spare. Beware the collar—they aim to use it on you.” With the last word the breath leaves her body and she fades into the tree, her soul no longer in this world.

“No mercy, Iza?” Phobe asks, his voice slightly teasing.

“Only for those that deserve it. In this case, she deserved more than I gave her. I’m still trying to fathom a Light Fey giving their life for a human. I can’t say that it’s common.” I turn and head back into town, we still need to check for any other survivors, human or not. I have a feeling though, I won’t feel as merciful to any other Light Fey I find.

THE TOWN PROVED to be mostly a dud. We found no one else alive and continued on. This camp is moving and leaving destruction and senseless death all along its path. We will catch them soon and stop their progress with a vengeance. This is a real force that might have real answers.

We still have a long way to go, they’re days ahead of us.

I keep sneaking looks at Phobe; he hasn’t said a word about my personal journey with marijuana yet. When I woke up the next morning, miraculously in the tent, I researched what an edible was. I ate enough of the drug to inebriate a couple of elephants. I won’t lie and say it wasn’t interesting, but it's not a condition I’ll repeat any time soon.

I say stupid shit when I’m high.

He was cooking breakfast when I woke up, someone he ate must’ve given him some culinary experience—I can’t say I remember him cooking anything before. I won’t complain about it though. Those eggs tasted good, even the crunchy parts. Smiling, I look out the window and spot a hotel off the highway.

“Let’s stay there for the night. I don’t think my dad owns that one but we need to eat and get gas anyhow.” Well, I need to eat… I mean, he might but his dinner isn’t cooked at Denny’s. Is it? I look over at him and meet his amused expression. He shakes his head and I turn away to watch our approach to the hotel.

When we pull up, I’m out of the truck before he puts it in park. The clerk looks up when the door opens.

“Welcome to Clayden Inn, how can I help you today?” She’s young, probably my age, but smells of old beer and the fun she had the night before. I can’t fault her for being nice though.

“What’s your nicest suite with two beds?” I ask watching her tap away on her keyboard.

“We have a jacuzzi suite with a bedroom and a pullout, will that work?” I nod and hand over my license and credit card. “How long will you be staying with us?”

“One night.” She processes everything and hands me two keycards in this nifty little paper holder.

“Okay, Miss Black, you’re all set. Room one-thirteen, on the first floor. Take a left at the elevators and it’s at the end of the hallway.” She smiles and points in the direction we need to go. “Oh, I almost forgot. We recently added a gym for guests, you can find it to the right of the elevators.”

We get settled into our room, I claim the big bed of course and make a promise to climb into that giant tub before, restless, I decide to explore. Phobe is showering and the temptation to join him is chasing me out of the room.

Wandering, I end up at the gym. The room is packed full of all types of ‘gym’ stuff that I can’t identify to save my life. They’re interesting looking so I, of course, have to touch them. Towards the end of the first aisle there are several large men, gathered around who’s flat on his back on a bench, trying to lift this bar with round things on each end.

Pulling out my phone I Google God it and discover it’s called a weight bench. Moving closer I watch them with interest. How much is he lifting? I add the numbers together that are on each weight and get a total of one-hundred and twenty pounds. For a human that’s not terrible, I guess? I’m standing there doing the math on how much I can lift when they notice I’m there.

“Hey baby, you lift?” The smaller one with an oddly orange cast to his skin, asks.

I shrug and say, “In a manner of speaking. Are you guys,” I look at my phone again. “Body builders?” It’s okay that I have to cheat; this is a new thing for me, and a good distraction from someone who has a nicer body than the man straining to lift one-hundred and twenty pounds. I’m surprised his guts haven’t come out his ass yet, as hard as he’s straining.

Wait, is that even possible? The phone comes in handy once again and I laugh when I read the story.

“Hey, maybe you shouldn’t push it so hard—this guy,” I hold my phone out to show them the picture of the guy with his intestines inside out while holding a weight bar across his shoulders. “Had an accident from it.”

They’re not amused.The varying looks of anger on their faces is enough to make me question sharing the story. Not because I’m afraid but more because if they push it, they’ll get hurt.

“Are you saying I’m a pussy?” the one on the bench demands, slamming the bar up into the holder with a clatter of weights and sitting up. His face is so red that if I turned the light off he’d glow in the dark like a Christmas light.

“Well, yes and no? I think it was directed more towards the health of your intestines and lifting more than you feasibly can,” I explain.

“You do it then since you’re a fucking know-it-all!” He gets up and points at the bench. Shrugging, I walk over and lift the bar one handed and hold it out to him. His eyes are round as saucers as he stares at me and asks, “You lift bro?”

Laughing at the comical expressions on their faces, I put the bar back and cross my arms. “Sort of,” I say vaguely.

“Can you lift more? You’re such a little thing.” I bend over and pick up the weight bench weights an all. “Holy fuck, you’re an alien aren’t you?!”

I drop the bench with a bang and turn to him. “I can say with all honesty that I’m not an alien.”

“Bullshit, no woman your size can lift something like that. Leroy, go call the cops. We’ll keep an eye on her until she gets here.”

“Uh, I dunno man… she might not like being kept anywhere.” Leroy is obviously the smartest of the group.

“Look, I’m not an alien, I’m simply strong for my size… so why don’t you go back to blowing your asshole out and I’ll go back to my room and eat some pizza. Deal?” Yeah, he’s already calling the cops and my dreams of hot pizza go right down the toilet.

See, this is why I should never be left alone to wander, I always manage to get myself in trouble. Usually, completely by accident. Mostly because I don’t know how to pretend to be human; I either take things too literal or accidentally show my not-human status some other stupid way.

I.E: Lifting an entire weight bench with all the weights that probably weighs four-hundred pounds.

Despite them calling the cops, I don’t want to brawl with them, but I don’t want to get kicked out of the hotel either.

With a sigh, I send out a call for help. ‘Phobe, I’ve maybe done a thing.’

His answer comes quicker than I expect. ‘I’m aware, I’m standing in the doorway behind you.’ Oh. The presence at my back gets stronger as he moves closer, coming to stand beside me. I look over at him as he holds his empty hand out.

“I’m Officer Darren, what seems to be the problem gentlemen?” he asks. His voice no longer the one I know. Instead, it’s one of the many circulating around in his gullet. He has a bit of a twang to it too. It’s kinda cute.

“She’s an alien,” Leroy says, pointing at me. Well, there goes him being the smartest one.

“I think you’re mistaken. Aliens have pointy ears and are all tall, blonde. This gal here is short, with red hair and freckles.” I don’t have freckles but it’s nice of him to add them. “Rumors at the office said there might be some contaminants in the water that are making people have bursts of super strength. Perhaps, that’s the case here?” He waves towards the bench and with a sigh I pretend like I can’t pick it up.

When the real cops show up, he convinces them of the same story—minus him being local. While he talks to them over to the side I cross my arms and stare at the men who almost got me maced again. The three of them have been steadily chugging water out of the tap ever since Phobe fed them the bullshit story about super strength. What if it were contaminated? They’d look like melted sherbet popsicles.

That image makes me giggle again. Turning to see if Phobe’s done with his new friends, he is and waves for me to follow him, I say goodbye to the orange men—with my middle finger.

In the hallway he looks at me and shakes his head.

“Well, they asked me to do it,” I defend myself.

“What if they had dared you to jump off a cliff?” he counters.

“Okay mom, I get it. Can we order pizza now?” Laughing, he slips his arm around my shoulders and for the first time in a while, I let him keep it there.

10

WE CATCH up to the roving Schoth three days later. They’ve set up a camp in one of the human towns, versus the tent ones we’ve found so far. This one actually has military Schoth. Mages, assassins, infantry. Finally, something worth doing. We scout out the perimeter and look for any weaknesses in their Magikal shield that we can exploit without alerting the entire place of our arrival.

Near the house designated as the shit-house, we find one. Other than sleeping, this is when you’re the most vulnerable, yet this is their weakest spot. This should be one of the more heavily shielded spots, this and the sleeping quarters. But because they’re lazy, or foolish—maybe both, they didn’t. It’s like they're begging for me to come kill them while they poop.

Slipping through the thin tear Phobe makes in the shield, we stand ready, waiting for any sounds of alarm. When none come, we hedge around the nearest house and then my eyes zero in on it. The shining, gorgeous, massive sledgehammer that’s leaning against the wall of a house. This might be fun after all. I recently saw a movie with this blonde god in it that has a hammer. I wonder if this one will shoot lightning too?

‘No, but I’m sure you’ll still make as much of a mess with it as if it did.’ He knows me better than I realized. Smiling at him, I creep towards it and scoop it up before anyone sees me.

Phobe, at my side, points towards the barracks where several Schoth are lounging about, playing cards and drinking Fey ale. Looking past it, I spot the designated medic area, where about a dozen mages are sitting around a small fire, roasting what looks like a fully intact possum, on a spit in front of the house. I shake my head, I wonder if they realize that it needed to be skinned and gutted before cooking? Their meal isn’t going to settle well… well, it’s not going to settle at all. The whole being dead in a few minutes will cancel their dining plans. Something they should thank me for.

There are sentries lazily patrolling the border of the shield but they keep stopping to chat with their buddies. All things considered, this won’t be as easy as some of the others but it's not impossible either.

I look at Phobe and wait for the signal. When it comes to this, he’s better at it. Some habits die hard and I still sometimes run in, screaming like a banshee.

With a nod he splits off from me to the left, towards the mages, and I go right towards the infantry. We each have our strengths, and Phobe is better with the Magiks users than I am. Light spells slow me down, and in some cases, fucking hurt. One of those mages that I saw had quite a bit of umph and I’m not going to chance a confrontation with him this early on. Not with so many players on the field.

Time to take a few out. With a battle cry that would do an ogre justice, I leap around the corner of the house, hammer swinging. It catches the first Schoth in the side of the head with a crunch that’s similar to biting into a crispy bag of chips. He falls to the side, dead or dying. Before his companions can react, I’m already moving again. The hammer comes down with another crunch, splattering the head of the Schoth next to the first, in one hit. Twisting my entire body, I swing around and score with my next hit, getting two at once.

One of them goes down hard—the hammer caught his face—but the other recovers and comes after me, sword raised. Throwing myself backwards I barely miss getting eviscerated. Now this is fun. Leaping onto their small table, I kick him in the face before he can cut my legs out from under me. Flipping backwards, I bring the hammer up as I move through the air, coming down on the head of the one trying to sneak up behind me.

Schoth are predictable. If they get the chance to stab you in the back, they will. Every time.

The burn of Light Magiks hits my back, slamming me face first into the ground. Spitting out dirt, I climb to my feet, careful to not give the Schoth my back, while keeping an eye on the mage that somehow escaped Phobe. My eyes zero in on the amulet around his neck, another one of those pain in the ass things. Throwing the hammer as I run, I manifest my daggers, and take down the distracted Schoth with a quick, almost elegant one-two combo on my way to the mage.

Slipping in past the mage's last line of defense—a laughably tiny dagger he obviously doesn't know how to use, I grab for the amulet around his neck, only to be thrown back on my ass, minus it. Fucking Light Magiks. Rolling backwards, I stagger to my feet as fiends roar to life around me, heading towards the mage. If they can distract him enough, I can cut the damn amulet off, along with his head. The amulets might make the mages stronger Magikally, but it doesn’t make them immune to missing body parts.

When the ground suddenly begins rumbling under my feet immediately followed by eerie moans of pain, I let out a string of curses. He’s calling fucking zombies. Using the corpses of their victims, and mine, to cause me even more trouble. Sprinting towards him while dodging the grasping hands of dead things, I aim my dagger at his exposed throat. The amulet chain sparks protectively as I connect, sending searing pain all the way up my arm. Fighting past the initial flare of agony, I hook under the chain and pull, hard. Thankful when it snaps and falls to the ground at his feet, I scoop it up, instantly regretting my decision.

My hand is on fucking fire, and the pain is climbing. Fucking Light Magiks!

‘Throw it at me,’ Phobe says.

Instinctively, I know where he is; spinning around as I straighten from my crouch, I toss it towards him and watch. In complete fascination I stare as Phobe’s Dark Magiks rush out to intercept it, in a clash of light versus dark it explodes. His feet slide backwards from the percussion but he remains standing. He wasn’t kidding about their Magiks, was he?

The hair on my arms raises in alarm and even as I turn to intercept the Magiks I know are heading towards me, suddenly Phobe is there and takes the hit. This time without the explosion. With a smile tossed over his shoulder he runs at the mage and grabs him around the neck before slamming him on the ground. In a howling mass of shadows, the mage disappears and one more pain in the ass is gone.

Bringing my attention back to the Schoth without Magiks, I’m happy to discover there are only a few left. One of which is trying his best to run away as fast as possible. Flipping the dagger in my hand over, I grip the handle and throw it at him with overkill force behind it. When it hits him, he’s flung forward several feet into a tree where he hangs there, stuck like a morbid puppet.

When I turn to deal with the rest, they’re already dead on the ground with Phobe standing over them. The adrenaline starts to wear off and when I feel the breeze on my back, I notice that there might be a problem, I should've used the armor. Trying to look over my shoulder proves so difficult that somehow, I pass right the fuck out.

THE GENTLE ROCKING is the first thing I notice. The hard chest under my ear is another. Phobe is carrying me. I must’ve taken a harder hit from that mage than I realized for it to knock me out.

Peeking through my lashes I look up at his face. There’s blood around his mouth and on his forehead. In all the time I’ve known him, I can’t say I’ve ever seen him so messy. It looks good on him. As I unabashedly stare at him, like I have many times before, that long ass tongue of his slips out and licks the blood clean off his face.

Obviously, he knows I’m awake.

“Duh,” he teases.

He opens the truck door and I climb inside, leaving the moment of fun behind.

“Do you have any idea why I fainted?” I ask, buckling in and waiting for him to shut my door. Instead of answering it, he slams the door shut and climbs in the driver’s side. He doesn’t speak again until we’re moving.

“The mages memories were tampered with, mostly removed. The exception being the one with the amulet. The collar he spoke about is the same one that Jameson warned us of when we found him and the dryad. Except they’ve now perfected it, specifically for you.” A collar that takes away part of my soul doesn’t strike me as fun.

“That’s their game plan?”

“As far as you’re concerned yes. I also know what the signal is.”

“Well, don’t leave me hanging.” A smile touches his mouth.

“They’re waiting on the Light king to cross over. The power struggle for the throne ended before it really began, he reasserted himself and has been the one pushing for the invasion of this realm.”

“Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Yes, he’s Light’s original host.” That makes perfect sense, Light possessed the most powerful Light Fey there is, giving him free rein to do as he pleases without making explanations to anyone.

“How did he overcome someone so powerful, so quickly? I mean, didn’t you once say that the host can fight?”

“I don’t think it was quickly. In fact, I think it took a long time. The king has been sequestered for nearly a century—that’s why his coming here is such a big deal.” Phobe flicks a glance at me and then looks back to the road. “He’s not coming alone either—they’re all coming with him.”

“Who?” I’m hoping that he doesn’t mean what I think he means. Because if so, we’ve lost before we even began.

“The entire Light Fey army has been called in from every realm, he’s bringing them here, with him.” Well, that’s shitty. A small army, we can do something with—but the entire army, we’ll all die without being able to fairly fight.

“Can you do anything about it?” I ask, slightly hopeful. He mentioned he can’t eat too many Light Fey and have it knock him out, but how many is too many?

“If Light is there, not as much as I’d like. I can kill hundreds, maybe even thousands of them by myself but he can stop me. And Iza,” he looks over at me again. “I’m the only one that can stop him, and when I attempt to do that, I won’t be able to fight with you.”

“You know, you said something about knocking you out… did you mean unconscious?”

“So to speak, yes.” His wording makes me suspicious. “Before you ask, I’ll be utterly useless and so will he—depending on how strong I am when I hit him. If one of us is stronger than the other when we finally do clash, the loser will be sent back to the beginning.” He’s still watching me and yet somehow staying straight on the road.

If I were driving we’d be in the woods bent around a tree by now.

“What exactly is the beginning?” I ask cautiously.

“Where I went when he unraveled me from that physical body.” Oh, that place. I want to ask him if he lost, would he forget me again, but I don’t. I’ve just gotten used to this version of him, I don’t want a version three.

The ringing of my phone makes him finally turn away to look at the road. Glancing at the caller ID I answer, “What, Jameson?”

“Hello to you too,” he snarks. “Auryn sent me a message saying that Ruthie is stirring up trouble. She’s claiming to be the prophet of Light and somehow has Magiks.” Great, another headache.

“Where is she?” Eventually, I’ll need to go find her and deal with her. I should’ve taken the life she wasted with deception, and not have to deal with her fuckery ever again. I manage to pretend like my guts don’t twist in turmoil when I think of killing her.

“New York City. Oh, and we stumbled upon some human congressmen who aren’t acting very human. I’m pretty sure they’re glamoured Schoth.”

“Have Adriem’s team make a visit to each one to confirm. If they are, they need to be taken out before they can do any damage.”

“You can’t deal with it?” In some ways, he’s dramatically changed but in others—not so much.

“No, unless you want to come and deal with the Schoth camps in my place?”

He clears his throat and mumbles something about his bad hand and I laugh. “You’re missing a finger, not an arm you wussy. Just send Adriem—and Jameson, how do I make that collar useless?”

“Iza, I’m not sure anything can. AII I know is that the trick to getting the one off that I made was dying. I’m sure they’ve added some of their own stuff to the spell too.” Nothing he’s saying is in any way reassuring. “The entire point of it is to suppress Feyrie nature. In a sense, it nulls it out completely. That’s also what keeps the collar on. The only solution that I can see is If the Feyrie nature itself ceases to exist, then the collar will fall off. Hence, death being the only way a Feyrie can stop being a Feyrie.”

“Thanks for that unhelpful advice. Don’t get caught and lose another finger,” I say then hang up.

“I should've killed her, and let you eat him, ages ago,” I mutter, annoyed with the entire situation.

“I can still remedy either of those situations, if you’d like?” he teases, and for some reason it makes me laugh.

I’ll remedy one on my own soon enough.

11

THE NEXT CAMP is packed full of soldiers and mages, but we move through them with relative ease. Iza yanks the amulets off any mages who possess them, since I can’t breach that field of Magiks while they wear it, then tosses them to me to destroy. This time there are only three amulets, which is tiring but there are two-dozen mages who I can eat to replenish my own pool of Magiks. I don’t need to eat things to survive anymore but I do need to become stronger, and eating them is the quickest way to do it.

Iza decided to take a break and has perched herself on the hood of an old car to watch the fiends and forlorn working together, causing havoc in the group of Schoth they have pinned between them. She’s eating an apple and acting like we’re not surrounded by enemies on all sides.

I’m a little flattered that she feels safe enough to let her guard down in such a way. Walking towards her, I stop and make a face at her that I’ve seen her give me enough. She smiles and then tosses the apple core at the head of the closest Schoth, who yelps and runs from the forlorn hot on his heels, with death in its eyes.

“My stomach was growling so loud I was afraid of distracting you from the fight,” she teases. She makes a face and looks around me, climbing slowly to her feet with a grin full of teeth on her face. Looking over my shoulder, I smile as big as her.

Look who decided to finally show his face.

“Behold, beast! I will leash you once again!” Arick yells, triumphantly holding his hand in the air. The stone in it is similar to the one that held me before, but not similar enough. It glows the same but doesn’t enslave—not that he could do it alone on any day. Arick has power but it's not as great as he thinks it is. Iza makes him look like a novice in comparison.

Laughing, Iza says, “Hello there jerkface, I can’t say I’m not happy to see you. In fact, you’re going to make all of this worth it.” She cracks her knuckles as she walks towards him. “You find a new side piece yet? I know you were fond of Darvena but she wasn’t digging you anymore. Her tastes were rather,” she looks at me, “Exotic.”

“You killed her you bitch! I’ll flay your skin off your body while you’re alive for that.” Iza snorts at his threat. “You will fear me!”

“The only time I was afraid of you was when you were talking about sticking your wiener near me. That terrified me—until I saw how small it is.” As she talks she continues walking towards him.

‘You going to stand there or go get him?’’ she asks in her mind. Smiling at her as I walk past, I cut the head off the guard with Arick and grab Arick by his throat. Lifting him into the air I look up at the man who was nothing but a childish sadist—not even a good one—and slam him down on the ground.

The bones in his back give under the force, and as I release him and step back, Iza’s boot steps on his face. Leaning on her knee with her elbow she looks down at him and says, “Hey there. If you suck his dick,” she hooks her thumb towards me, “I might let you live.”

“Any...thing...I’ll do anything,” he pleads, just before he manages to get out from under her boot. Iza rolls her eyes and steps back from him.

“Seriously?” She looks at me. “You should probably eat him already, I’ll just keep doing or saying dumb shit to him and drag this out too long.”

“Feel free to torture him like he did you,” I say out loud.

She shakes her head. “There’s no fun in torturing someone who will give up the first two-minutes because he’s a pussy. Not even two-minutes.” Giving him a look of disgust she backs away from him and turns towards the truck. The fiends and forlorn have taken care of the last of the Schoth in the camp, including most of the bodies. The only sound is Arick’s sobbing.

I look down at the man who made the last little bit of my punishment a sloppy mess of forced sex with his consort, and idiotic sadism. I grab him by the ankle. The memories I have of him are faint, in some cases nonexistent, because he wasn’t important enough to remember.

But he will make a nice little snack.

WE DIRECTLY HEAD towards the nearby town. It’s full of Schoth, one in particular that Iza is itching to get ahold of. Rickher, our old 'guard' from prison. He's just a bonus though. Something—someone—else is pulling at her to go there; from what I can gather in her thoughts, it’s a Feyrie. One she’s been searching for this entire time. The one who betrays his own to the Schoth and sells children to Blood Locks. She doesn’t know his name but that’s not an important factor.

He’s also not the only Feyrie there and what pisses her off the most is that they aren’t prisoners. They’re traitors. She’s already got it in her head that any Feyrie not in chains or looking starved to death is going to die. Rather bloodthirsty of her, but in this case a necessary thing. I have no doubt that the innocent ones will be obvious to spot. With or without Magiks.

At the edge of town, Iza motions for me to stop and hops out of the truck. She disappears into the woods. Parking at the side of the road, I leave the keys in the ignition and head around the opposite direction from her. We’ll meet in the middle and go in together.

‘These ones are much more prepared than I expected. The place is crawling with mages. Have you seen any Feyrie yet? I can feel them but I haven’t spotted any.’

As she asks a small group of people come into view. Silently, I creep closer to them, letting my shadows brush against the shield protecting them. This one will take a little finesse to get into without sounding the alarm. Not only has it been cast in triplicate but they’re actively keeping it up. Blood Locks are using Light Magiks to feed the power needed to maintain it. That’s where some of the Feyrie will be, and I tell her so.

‘They’re using Feyrie as batteries.’ Her anger washes over me and I catch myself smiling. No harm in riling her up before we go in. It’ll only make her hit them harder. The added bonus is, I like it when she hits hard.

As I stand there, hidden by the shadows of the tree, their conversation reaches my sensitive ears.

“They’re saying that bitch hit the West camps. Do you think she’s heading here?” Rickher asks the overweight Feyrie sitting beside him. Rickher I know, so I ignore him for the moment and focus on the Feyrie. He’s short, heavy, and looks as if he hasn’t bathed in a few weeks. His clothes are as fine as any other Aristo I’ve seen but are ill fitting and stained.

His dark hair is long and stringy, tied with a large, green bow.

‘He looks like a Christmas ornament. One that’s wallowed in sweat and dogshit a few times.’ Iza says from close by.

‘This is the one you’re looking for?’

‘Yes. I don’t need to let the Magiks touch him to know. I can tell by looking at him. He’s comfortable with them, friendly. While the two Feyrie kneeling at his feet look like they haven’t eaten in a month and have their heads shaved.’ The anger in her voice has an almost aphrodisiac effect on me. This side of her will always draw me in and there’s no shame in it. ‘People like him piss me off. I think I might strangle him with his hair bow. It’s big enough.’

He will be her first target. Her intent is like static electricity through our bond. I can feel her fidgeting and itching to get in there.

I shall oblige her.

With surgical precision, I push my shadows into the weakest spot of the shield in front of me. Carefully, I tear pieces out, waiting several seconds in between to confirm no one is onto us. Within a few minutes I have a hole big enough for both of us to get in.

The group in front of us are sitting in the backyard of what was once someone’s home. There are discarded toys in the backyard, and blood on the patio beneath Rickher’s feet. The smell of decay and filth leak out of the hole I created.

No one in that house is alive anymore. At least, no one that called it home.

Iza creeps up beside me and after shocking me by running her hand down my arm, darts through the hole. Regaining my composure, I quickly follow. Their screams begin before my entire body is even through the hole. I look up to see Iza fling Rickher across the yard into the fence, that crumples beneath his weight. Turning immediately to the traitorous Feyrie, she stalks towards him.

Turning to the traitorous Feyrie, she stalks towards him, deadly a thundercloud in her eyes. The Feyrie scrambles upright, fear leaking through his pores in patches of sweat that soak through his fancy clothes. He trips over his own feet in the haste to get away from her, and instead falls backwards. Tangled up in the chair he landed on, he fights to right himself but the blood on the floor from his previous victim prevents him. Breathing heavily, he lays there, watching death approach him. Iza climbs over his prone, shaking form and perches on his ample stomach to look down into his purpled face. A wide, toothy smile splits her lips and the genuine glee in it makes the Feyrie wet himself.

“Hello, Damon. You don’t know me, but I know you—very well. There was this little girl in a van that introduced us. Do you remember her?” He shakes his head fervently. “No? Let me remind you.” Her dagger appears in her hand and she stabs down into his right shoulder. Pulling it out, she stabs again in his right side—then again in his chest. Placing her palm on the handle of the knife she leans some of her weight on it, twisting it as it sinks slowly deeper into his body.

“Now do you remember?” He screams incoherently. “You raped her then stabbed her to death before cutting her up and trading her body parts to Blood Locks for a few hundred human dollars.” She smiles and puts her face closer to his. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do with your body parts?”

The screech of something large in the house draws her attention.

‘He has a drake caged in there.’ Although technically Feyrie, drakes are more animal than most others. To explain them in human terms, it’s like a tiger with the IQ of a child. They’re smart, deadly and rare. I’m not sure how the Feyrie—Damon, got one but it must have cost a lot of lives in trade.

She hits the knife with her fist and pins him to the ground with it before standing up and walking into the house. Minutes later she comes back out with an emaciated drake trailing behind her. She’s an adolescent in drake years and probably an orphan too. To get to the babies you have to kill the adults. If Iza wanted a pet, this would be a perfect one for her.

The drake gives me an interested look but when Damon cries out, her green eyes zero in on him. Her emerald scales glint dully in the sunlight as she creeps towards him, her mouth open in anticipation of a meal.

“Hey, good news Damon. I figured out what I’m going to do with your body parts,” Iza says, smiling viciously as she crosses back over to him and rests her foot on his chest. “They’re going to give your little friend here enough energy to get someplace safe. Doesn’t that sound awesome?”

Damon starts to sob and beg, making wild promises and excuses; predictably, it falls on deaf ears.

Rickher starts to stir at the broken fence, drawing Iza's attention.Looking at the malnourished drake, Iza smiles and nods towards Damon encouragingly, and then dismisses both of them from her mind as she walks towards the Schoth who went out of his way to hurt her. The drake doesn’t hesitate; lunging straight for Damon’s face, she cuts off his scream before it can reach full volume, filling the air with the wet sounds of flesh being torn from bone.

No one has come to check the noise yet, they’re normal sounds for Schoth—they probably believe it’s one of the Feyrie cowering against the back of the house. As much as I want to watch her be the monster she is, there are other Schoth here requiring my attention. I’m going to let her have uninterrupted fun. I can deal with the closest lot while she’s dealing with Rickher.

12

FOR ALL THE bluster and bravado he showed while I was a prisoner, he ain’t showing any of it now. This is the third time I’ve made him cry like a baby—with only a slap. It didn’t start getting good until I broke a finger, then he started yelling every slur and name he could come up with at me. I’m a lame brained boggart turd, with the face of a troll’s ass. I also have a cunt like a dried up mud hole. I genuinely laugh at that one, not the least offended. He did try to get into that mud hole if memory serves me right.

When I break a second finger he starts begging for mercy, praying to a god that isn’t caring enough to listen. The thumb is the kicker; that’s when he starts spilling secrets. Not that I needed him to talk, in this case. Phobe can get in his head a lot easier than this. I just like breaking his body parts. When he starts going on and on about Arick I get a bit bored. Poor Rickher doesn’t know his hero is dead.

I can’t leave him in suspense like that. “Phobe ate Arick about four hours ago. After he cried a lot and shit his pants.” Rickher’s eyes widen, and I think for the first time he realizes how alone he is with me. “Aww, were you two boyfriends? That’s so cute. I had no idea you liked taking it in the—”

Chills skitter across my skin. Ducking to the side, I barely avoid the fireball that breezes by me. If I’d stayed still, it’d have hit me in the back of the head. That’s what I get for standing there running my mouth instead of killing him and being done with it.

Fun’s over.

Rolling to the side and jumping to my feet, I nearly cleave Rickher’s head off in one blow. The drake, interrupted from her meal, screeches at the two male mages that are preparing to hurl more fire at me. I catch the glow of an amulet on their necks. Shit, two of them. The fiends make their grand entrance but are stopped a few feet from the mages. Roaring in frustration they tell me that they can’t get through the shields.

I tell them to stop beating themselves uselessly against it, and watch them fade away with a clenched jaw. These two mages are going to be troublesome for me. At least twice as strong as the others—maybe even more. Elemental golems spring to life around me, closing in on me in a circle. There are times when I’m full of bluster; this isn’t one of them.

Phobe is coming, I can feel him like a bad storm heading towards us, fast. Except, he can’t touch these two until I get those godsdamn amulets off them. Both daggers form and lengthen into swords. “Fuck it,” I grumble under my breath and run at them.

I know its a mistake the minute I get close to them and the one, the Schoth dressed in all white, smiles. The fireball catches me in the chest and sends me back into the same position that Rickher was in not too long ago—except still conscious. Groaning, I climb to my feet. Man, that shit hurts.

The drake starts to rush them but I call out to her. She’s barely more than a baby and they’ll kill her, I know it. She growls at me and then turns and runs, doing exactly what I wanted her to do.

Physically shaking myself, I turn to face the mages. Hardening my resolve I plan my steps carefully.

Okay, time to start the party—Feyrie style.

SOMEHOW, I’m on the ground again. I’ve spent a lot of time on the ground in my life, usually bleeding—but this is different. My insides feel like they’re on fire, it’s so bad that the Sidhe is getting injured through me. Thankfully, this won’t kill it though; it will take a lot more than two suped up mages to destroy something as old as it is. Honestly, I’m not even sure someone like Phobe or his not-brothers would even be able to do it. The Sidhe is that ancient.

‘Iza, lure them into the field and keep some distance between you.’

‘I get the distance thing but why do I feel intent from you?’ He’s up to something, I swear. I don’t know what—wait. ‘Phobe I know you can destroy the amulets when I get them off, but what happens if you get hit by one while they’re wearing them?” I know other than using someone else to hit someone—like he did with the Guide for the first time—he can’t touch the user directly. Throwing dead bodies was good one time, can’t count it on it working again.

‘When I destroy them, it weakens me… temporarily.’ Weakens? Shit, why the hell didn’t he says that? That’s not good at all, and it's the last thing we need right now. In fact, we need the opposite—he needs to be stronger. So strong that he can take on that psycho, Light. But with these amulets, we don’t have any other choice. I don’t like it but Phobe will have to take the hits from it. Unlike me, he can survive them indefinitely.

Slowly but surely, I lead them to the field behind the house.

Dodging another fireball I manage to get my hands on one of the chains holding the amulet around the neck of the one dressed in jeans and a button up shirt. The Light Magiks instantly set my hand on fire; still I pull until it snaps from around his neck and falls to the ground. Scooping it off the ground I throw it behind me, confident that Phobe will snag it. It has to be destroyed, we can’t leave it loose.

Sorry about the pain, Phobe.

As I dodge another attack, I shake my hand to try and get the pain to lessen. This time around I didn’t even bother with the fiend armor; the Magiks go through it, and the energy it requires to maintain it isn’t worth it. The wounds aren’t healing correctly and burns are my least favorite injury. Phobe comes out of nowhere and tackles the man in jeans, rolling them both across the ground. When Phobe is once again on his feet, the mage is gone. He has the audacity to smile at me and the distraction of his grin costs me; there’s no way I’ll move fast enough to avoid the Magikal lightning net spinning towards me.

Still I try. Running for all I’m worth I almost make it out of range when the end of it catches me, and the entire thing wraps around me like I’m the catch of the day. Yelling, I stumble and fall, trying in vain to fight my way out of it. The smell of burnt skin fills the air as I roll around on the ground trying to shake it off. Like any spell, unless it’s constantly fed it will dissipate, but the damage this one can do to me before it does—I might be seeing dad sooner than expected.

Strong arms lift me and the net is ripped from my body, tearing clothing and skin with it. The relief of the searing pain is immediate and I send out a prayer to Phobe. Staggering, I barely remain standing—if not for Phobe supporting me, I’d be on my face again. Maybe for a while this time. I look up at him and watch him fling the dissolving net away and then turn to look at the mage. His mouth is gaping open and another fireball is sitting, unthrown, in his hand.

Ha, he wasn’t expecting anyone to be able to remove the spell.

“I can’t take another hit like that,” I whisper. “Why couldn’t you eat that?”

“I can’t absorb someone actively using his power like I can other Light Magiks.” Blue blood drips down his hand onto the ground and the wounds that are normally gone in seconds still remain.

This is his kryptonite too.

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” I see the future of fighting this war and if a dozen mages had more power than these two, I won’t survive. Phobe won’t either, at least not in this persona.

His burning eyes turn towards me and he leans down and gently kisses my mouth before moving his head further down to sink his teeth, lightning fast, into my shoulder. I hiss out in pleasure/pain and let him draw from me. He doesn’t need to do it this way, and that makes me think this is all for show. Holding the gaze of the mage slowly gathering his composure, and moving towards us, I push everything I have left into Phobe. Black spots tinge my vision and breathing is hard, but I’ll live. More importantly, it should give Phobe enough juice to knock the shit out of that asshole.

The second his teeth leave my skin and he’s moving across the field, I fall backwards onto my butt, hard. Phobe goes right up to him and grabs the amulet; even at this distance I see the grimace tightening his lips. He rips at the amulet so viciously, he takes the mages head off with it. Turning towards me, he takes a step and almost falls. Whoa, he wasn’t kidding about the weakened thing.

Climbing to my feet, I stand still until the dizziness passes and then slowly walk towards him. Eyes on me, he meets me in the middle and we stand there, both of us breathing heavy, both of us bleeding.

“There has to be another way,” I say, fascinated by the wounds on his arms. They’re starting to close, but for him it’s super slow. Yanking my gaze off his arms, I meet his eyes. Despite the circumstances, there’s a light of amusement in them.

“My Magiks can’t feed readily on this perversion of Magiks like it can others. Light’s Magiks are the direct opposite of mine, more pure than anything a Light Fey possess. When he gives it to them—even this tiny bit—and I feed upon it, mine has to fight against it and dominate it in order to absorb it. That takes time and energy. While that’s happening I have what you’d call a hangover.”

“So you need a nap and some antacids. What else will help?”

“A way to burn some of the excess off.” His smile stretches his face and those dimples peek out at me. Phobe has a multitude of weapons at his disposal and that smile is one of them.

Licking my lips, I take a deep, shaky breath. I’m tempted to offer sex. I want it, he wants it—the light in his eyes tells me that much. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m in the best condition for it, but I will be soon enough. After I eat and take a long nap.

Seeing everything as it is makes me feel stupid for holding out for something that’s right in my face. Sure, he’s not the exact man he was—but he’s still him. I’ve held myself back and suffered for no other reason than I wanted what was, instead of what is.

Sometimes I’m the biggest pain in the ass to myself.

His lips part and his eyes widen. Oh, he’s in my head. Any shields I’m trying to retain to keep him out drop. There’s no point in them anymore, not from him. The time of secrets is at an end.

“I think it’s time we put everything on the table, yeah?” I suggest. He nods and rests his forehead against mine.

“As much as it pisses me off to say it, I can’t stand against my brother as I am, Iza.” Raising my tired arms I cup his face, and look into his eyes.

“I know.” He sighs and turns his head to kiss the palm of my hand. “We can run, take the Feyrie and go someplace else,” I suggest. I’m not entirely sure whether I mean it or not.

“Will you condemn this world—that you’ve grown so fond of—to Schoth subjugation?” No, I won’t and that’s why he’s being the voice of reason and forcing me to face it.

“What else can we do?” It’s my nature to fight, I’ve never been one to give up, but this isn’t only about me. There are people I care about whose lives are at stake. We can take out small outposts like this, if there aren’t too many amulet wearing assholes, but an army? It doesn’t matter how strong we all are, including Phobe—we’ll lose, and everyone will die.

“You need food,” he says, nuzzling my face before pulling away. With a sigh, I trudge back towards the truck. It takes me awhile but I refuse to let him carry me. He’s not in any better shape than I am—well, he probably is, but I can see he’s tired too. He just looks prettier. A smile sneaks out and I shake my head. I would think shit like that at a time like this.

Climbing up into the truck I slump into the seat in exhaustion. Leaning my head against the window I try to stay awake and fail. Naps don’t hurt anyone.

13

THE HOTEL BAR is lively for midnight on a Thursday. Stirring the watered down, fruity drink the bartender gave me when I said ‘surprise me,’ I make a face at it. I won’t drink it, it smells like mouthwash and as much as I appreciate that invention, I don’t want to drink it. This is stopping me from completing the mission I came here on. One I’m not going to fail. Signaling the bartender I wait for him to make his way to me.

“Do you not like your drink?” he asks. I shake my head and push it towards him.

“What’s the most potent alcohol you have in this place?” Wiping the glass in his hand, he sits it down and turns to look at the alcohol bottles on the mirrored shelf behind him. With a sound of exclamation he grabs a bottle that’s hiding in the back. Facing me he grabs a shot glass and fills it to the rim.

“Try that.”

Grabbing it, I down it in one swallow; my lips goes numb and for a solid second and my stomach feels warm. Yeah, this will do. “Give me that entire bottle—no, every bottle of it that you have in the place. That is, unless you have several pans of edible brownies stashed back there too, those worked well too.”

“Ma’am if you drink an entire bottle of that, it’ll kill you,” he cautions, attempting to take the bottle. I grab it and put two, one-hundred dollar bills on the counter.

“That’s yours, now—the bottles please?” He pockets the money and goes off in search of more—I look at the label: absinthe. Screwing the cap off, I tilt it back and chug well over half the bottle. Taking a deep breath I enjoy the heat of it in my stomach. I lick my numb lips and smile at the guy three seats down that’s staring at me like I have three heads. The small buzz is gone as soon as it starts, so I chug the rest of the bottle. When the bartender comes back he looks at the empty bottle then his face grows concerned. I almost roll my eyes. Almost.

“Did you find more?” I ask, sitting a few more hundreds on the bar.

“Yes, two—but I’m not sure you should drink anymore,” he says doubtfully. Little does he know I could drink every bottle in here and still walk. Alcohol burns out of my system quickly but since there aren’t any special brownies, it’s all I got.

Seeing him still staring at me, I shrug and add another hundred to the pile. Shaking his head he sits the bottles down and grabs the money. I know that they aren’t a hundred dollars apiece so I’d say he’s getting tipped well. Money is a good motivator in most circumstances.

“I’ve never seen someone chug alcohol like that before,” the male’s voice ruins the second small buzz I manage to get. I saw him slinking towards me, but was hoping he’d move on to other things. Of course, I don’t respond. I’m not here to talk. I came here to try and relax, not that it’s working.

Phobe was in the shower when I got the grand idea to come down here—it seems to be the common time for me to wander off and get in trouble with something. My bright idea was the bar. I saw the signs for it as we were checking in. Turning the opposite direction of the guy trying to talk to me, I watch the couples dancing on the small checker tiled area designated for it. There’s a disco ball light on the ceiling that’s attempting to make it a more hip place than it is.

Everyone in here is at least thirty and more than a few are sporting wedding rings. I’d bet all the money in my pocket that most of them aren’t schmoozing with their spouses. Exhaling as my skin tingles, I realize my fun might be over. The people in the bar react to his entrance. Every single woman—and most of the men—in the room turns to watch him, some even stand and head towards him.

Good luck with that ladies.

Sliding the spinning barstool to my right I lock eyes with him. Two women have already reached him and are trying everything they can to touch him or get close to him. This makes me smile. I’m not jealous; I don’t need to be, not with him. I’m amused because he isn’t giving them a glance. Those kind of women don’t interest a man like him. Something that’s proven when he steps to the side and lets the woman who’s trying to lean against him fall against a table.

Yeah, totally don’t need to be jealous.

Grabbing a second bottle of absinthe, I open it and toss the cap on the bar. Downing another half, I put it on the bar and slide off the barstool. Watching him walk is like watching sex on legs. He oozes it out of every pore, this dark delicious mystery that makes all the ladies bits wake up and pay attention. Compared to most of the other men in the bar he’s underdressed but casual clothes look better on him than any ‘power’ suit.

His t-shirt is one I picked out for him, it says, ‘If people make you sick, maybe you should cook them longer.’ I thought it was hilarious when I saw it and in my mind it fits him better than anything I’ve seen him wear. Personality wise. The light colored jeans with holes in the knees adds to the whole persona. And of course, he’s barefoot.

Then again, so am I.

My boots are covered in gore and I wanted to be clean, not walking around dripping bits of dried guts all over the place. I considered socks but I didn’t feel like digging through my bag for them. Ultimately, I opted for bare feet. It’s working for me so far.

Phobe stops on the dance floor and about keels me over when he holds his hand out towards me.

‘Humans know how to do one thing well that I didn’t understand until now. When it feels like the world is falling down around them, they seize any opportunity they can to get lost in the maelstrom of another. Finding that unique bubble of comfort is a small, stolen celebration to them, even during conflict.” His eyes beseech me as he says, “Come to me, Iza. Get lost in me for a little while.’ No one in existence could say no to a request like that.

Feeling like I’m walking on a cloud, I cross to him and take his hand. With a gentle tug he pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. Burying my face in his chest I fall into rhythm with him. Slow, rocking motions lull me, pulling me closer to the creature that is Phobe. With his arms around me, something clicks into place. My heart beats loudly in my ears as my eyes burn with the hopelessness of it all. With the pain of losing him once and the risk of losing myself. Losing everyone.

I let go.

His arms tighten and his lips press against my cheek. Trailing slowly down my neck, they rest on the cusp of my shoulder. The smell of his shampoo fills my nose, the warmth of his skin soothes my heart and once again—for this man, I’m lost. His big hands move up my back and then back down to cup my ass and remain there. The only movement is his thumbs as they caress my skin through the thin leggings.

Here, I’m safe. In his arms I’m only a woman being held by the handsome man that she loves. I don’t have to be anyone’s hero, just myself. Turning my head I capture his seeking lips and let the feel of him take me away from here. Flying through the darkness with the music singing to my soul, I fall into the kiss. His hands burrow into my hair, holding my head hostage as the words to the song play out in real life.

Phobe ends the kiss with a small nip and then smiles down at me. Sliding his hands under my arms he pulls them around his neck and then he does something I’d never imagined from him. He starts to sing to me.

“Cos I wanna touch you baby… I wanna feel you too… I wanna see the sunrise on your sins, just me and you.” His voice is soft, barely above a whisper and yet it still has my skin feeling like he’s touching me everywhere. “Light it up… on the run… let’s make love tonight. Make it up… fall in love, fly.” A small kiss and then he continues his beautiful assault of words, in a voice that would make sirens weep for joy. “But you’ll never be alone… I’ll be with you from dusk to dawn...baby, I’m right here.” We spin around and I’m so stunned I’m limp in his arms. He’s holding me off the ground, my feet dangling inches above it.

Lifting my legs, I wrap them around his waist. There are no moments to compare this one to. Logic has no place in this moment. I can’t make my brain understand why my heart is beating in rhythm to the words leaving his mouth. All I can do is experience it and… let go.

Grabbing his face I kiss him, taking control of it. He is mine. No one will ever take him from me again. Ever. Tasting him, touching him is worth every thing. Is everything.

With a growl he takes it from me and with a small smile, I let him. With a growl he separates his hungry mouth from mine and sits me on my feet. Breathing heavily, he gives me a smile of pure mischief. Shocking me yet again, he drops to one knee and holds out a simple silver ring with an opal flashing in the light of the disco ball.

“Will you spend eternity being my monster, Iza?” he asks breathlessly. His eyes are alight with the same emotions that are alive within me. “I promise to dedicate myself only to you, forever. My heart, as it is, belongs to you. Spend eternity with me.” I swallow back tears, stupid things keep wanting to come out. I’ll ignore the fact that a few sneak out anyway.

I dreamed of marrying him, a foolish leftover fantasy of that tortured child leaking through. Before he died—he left me a ring that I still have on a chain around my neck. I wore it for months before one day I decided to take it off. Now I know why: to make room for another to take its place. There doesn’t need to be any words, he knows my answer. I hold my shaking hand out. With a smile of triumph he slides the ring on my finger and then swoops me up before I can say anything at all.

SITTING with several plates of chicken wings in front of me, I happily watch Phobe get us drinks. I gave up on the alcohol but honestly, I don’t need it anymore. Nothing can touch the buzz of Phobe—fucking proposing! I’m so happy I could lay golden eggs. Everyone in the bar cheered after he put the ring on and we made out a little more. The bartender offered me free food to celebrate. I liked the wings so much I got plenty.

I realize how silly this might be to most people, even the Feyrie, but this is us grabbing our small celebration of life. Me admitting I want it, and have all along. Life is short and mine is shorter still. This is something I dreamed of and now… it’ll happen.

It’s fucking amazing and no one can take this from me. I’ll rip their godsdamn arms off if they try.

Grabbing another wing, I let my eyes wander away from Phobe—before I decide to have the honeymoon early—because I feel dad coming, and I watch the empty chair beside me. As predicted he pops into it and immediately snags a chicken wing. He tears into it with a flash of white teeth. There are circles under his eyes and what looks like a healing wound on his cheek. He looks exhausted.

“Anything I can help with?” I ask, feeling the happy high I’m riding on dim as guilt takes up residence in my stomach.

He shakes his head and says, “You have your own shit to deal with. Stop feeling guilty.” He takes a bite out of the wing. “Hm, these are quite good.” His eyes stray to the ring on my finger. “I see he actually got this one on your finger this time. Congratulations, Iza. I expect to be invited to the wedding.”

A monster wedding, that’ll be fun. If we make it that far.

“Oh, I’m going to make sure it happens. Tonight.” With one hand he grabs another wing and with the other he does something on his phone. It’s always strange seeing him with one but with as much time as he spends in this world it makes sense for him to have one. He dials a number and holds the phone up to his ear. “What’s the name of this hotel?” he asks me mid-chew.

“Faraway,” I answer, already knowing what the sneaky man is doing. He has his own version of Harvard.

“Miller, yes—hello, I need you to purchase the Faraway hotel in Mayfield, Kansas. Also, send a preacher, a few hundred black roses, and a marriage certificate. Right. My daughter is the one getting married. Thank you.” That fast his conversation is over and he focuses on the food.

My mouth is hanging open and I force it closed. What the fuck just happened?

“You might not have your dream wedding but I’m making sure you get to have one. I hope you don’t mind the simplicity of it.” He smiles with sauce all over his face. Diving across the table at him, I take him down to the floor with a hug.

Laughing, he pats my back. “I love you. I know I haven’t been there for your life but I never want to pass up any chance to be part of it.” He says into my hair. After a few sniffs, I refuse to cry again, I climb off him and pull him to his feet. Both of us are now covered in sauce and the shells of the peanuts I was snacking on.

“I love you, Dad. Thank you for something so… incredible.”

“Anything for you.”

My mood dips into somber. “When I die again… take care of him for me. You and I both know he won’t die again, but he might forget. Help him remember me.” I’ve been wanting to talk to him about it for a while and I’ve never been good at timing, but that’s something we don’t have a lot of anymore.

“Iza…” He reaches for me and I pat his arm and sit down. I watch his mind shift gears; he’s letting it drop for now. “I’m glad to see you’ve allowed him back into your heart.” He says sitting down and starting to eat again.

“He was so changed… it took me a minute.”

“No one stays the same forever, not even you. Look at how much you’ve changed just in the last year. Not being the same person doesn’t make him any less than your Phobe. I don’t think there’s a force that exists that can keep him from you.”

“Not even death?” I tease, half heartedly. I’m fishing too and he knows it.

“That one’s tricky. He can’t take you again from the well… he needs to make sure you don’t end up there to begin with.”

Deciding to cut him some slack and get back in the festive mood I say, “You know that pretty blonde over there?” I point towards the blonde humans wearing a shiny, super tight, red dress. “She’s a prostitute, maybe you should go talk to her.” I tease, even though if he did it I’d totally pay for her.

He doesn’t look but still smiles. “If she’ll rub my back, I’ll consider it.”

Laughing, I watch Phobe return to the table with a knowing look on his face. Of course he has three drinks, he always knows. Looking at my face, then my dad’s he raises his eyebrows. That spotless face of his is getting to me. Leaping from my chair I land in his lap and rub my face all over his face.

“You need to have the Magikal face paint to be in the cool kids club,” I say as I rub my cheek against his, fully intending to rub sauce all over him. When I pull away to look at my handy work, I laugh. His tongue comes out and instead of licking his own face, he licks mine. Screeching with laughter, I fight to get away from him and end up on the floor laughing. Standing over me he crosses his arms and grins at me with his now orange face.

I consider this a win.

14

EVERYTHING WE’RE DOING IS silly and outrageous—and I’ve never seen her smile so much in a single night. There was a memory in the black hole of millions of them floating around inside of me, one that was brighter, tangible. Iza singing to herself when she was young. Memories of her dancing through the snow singing to herself, her hoarse voice soft in the cold night air. Unguarded moments like that were rare to see; she doesn’t show the creature hiding inside under those walls very often.

Seeing her walk towards me, down the long red rug someone rolled out for us, her dress a vivid white that contrasts with her hair and the color of her eyes in a way that makes me unable to look away. The dress looks beautiful on her. A true wedding dress with a long train that has fiends trailing in and out of it.

But the dress is unimportant to me. I would’ve married her covered in mud and blood and felt exactly like I do right now. The look on her face is what holds me, the light dancing in her eyes and the way she’s chewing on her lip because she’s nervous, are all part of the breathtaking package that makes up my heart.

I don’t have one in my chest, because it’s walking towards me trying not to trip over her dress hem.

I hold my hand out again, nervous—a strange feeling—until she puts hers in mine. We turn to stand before the religious man who’s half drunk and keeps giving us looks of puzzlement. Then he’s reading from that old book in his hand, the words of a god I’ve never known, words that don’t matter to me. But this moment—it gives something to Iza she’s never had before. A dream come true.

We repeat the words and then the human part of the ceremony is over.

Darkness unfurls from me, encasing the room in the shadows that make me what I am. With her hands wrapped in mine I pull her inside of me and for the first time ever, I let her see me. Let her walk through the memories, the moments that make up the part of me that’s hers. The times I’ve watched her, the times I’ve sat silent so I can hear her speak. The sound of her laughter and how it makes me feel.

Then I take her deeper. Back to the man I was, to the memories of the woman she was. They’re fragmented, but all revolve around her. The way she looks asleep, curled up naked on the floor. The silent tears tracking down her eyes in her sleep as nightmares held her in their grasp. The moments she touched me with her humor, her smile.

Her ridiculousness.

Then we go even deeper. I show her what I was before the stone, before the prison. The creature that existed and felt nothing. The moment I was summoned and devoured the first creature. The rage, the hunger—the loneliness. I show her every atom of my being, everything I am. When I take her to the moment I realized how much I loved her, a fat, jeweled tear slips down her cheek and falls off her chin onto my hand.

In my memories she sees herself as I saw her. This bright light in endless darkness—she was all I saw, all I see. Her big, haunted eyes forever branded into my memory. The curve of her smile a beacon for me no matter how far away I go. The first time her hand touched me, and the realization of how significant a simple touch from her is to me.

She steps forward and touches her lips to mine in a whisper of a kiss.

This is our stolen moment in a time of death and strife, our mark we’ll leave burned into each other’s memories for all time. No matter which road we travel, there will always be this moment. I’m old, I’m powerful, but this woman can bring me to my knees like no other.

She is my heart and as long as she graces my existence with her presence—a creature like me can know what it is to be loved.

15

WE HAD A WEDDING. I’m still absorbing the reality of it. Dad pulled the hotel staff in to give us guests and witnesses, and we’re now officially, Mr. & Mrs. Phobe Black. He took my last name, since he doesn’t actually have one. The look he gave the preacher man still makes me smile. For a split second he considered eating him because of how annoying filling out the paperwork was.

Our honeymoon involved the hot tub. Well, there was a hot tub. I’m pretty sure it’s in ten different pieces now. We may have gotten a little carried away. Okay, a lot carried away. Somehow we broke the wall too. The room next to ours didn’t appreciate us watching them get up to go pee at seven a.m. either.

And what Phobe shared with me in his shadows still takes my breath away. My eyes drift down to the wedding band on Phobe’s finger. He had one in his pocket when we wed… something I’m still in shock over. I’m actually married. Me. It’s incredible and… I think I’m still digesting the entire thing. I do know I don’t want it to end, and have kicked myself mentally in the ass a dozen times for not realizing how I felt sooner. I was so hung up on the past that I almost missed out on an irreplaceable moment in my life.

Unfortunately, while we had our night of peace, the world kept moving. That’s why we’re in the truck instead of our super comfy hotel room. The Schoth have increased their numbers, and people all over the world are starting to panic. The military is now out in full force, patrolling the roads and towns that border any active Schoth bases. The ones we took down have already been cleaned out and reoccupied by humans. Jarvis at work. He called me first thing this morning and informed me that we’d be one of the few people allowed through the barricade heading south. We need to get to Las Vegas to check in with everyone and taking a plane is out of the question for me. I have a thing about being confined, and I’d rather not fall out of the sky while on fire—that shit will hurt—with a hundred other people screaming their heads off.

There are more camps now; several dozen more, just in the US. Those are only the known ones. No one knows how many more are hidden. At first, I was all for continuing on our path, but after both us getting a bit damaged last time, we decided to regroup first. There has to be a more solid plan than zerging individual camps.

“I need to go somewhere when we get there,” Phobe says, briefly looking at me with a smile on his face. Both of us are like two teenagers with their first crush—it’s great. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Okay, gonna tell me why?” He’s been a lot more forthcoming lately, and I’d rather he keep it that way.

“Life wants to talk to me.” My mood sours a little.

“What does that prick want?” Okay, to be fair, he’s done a few good things, but none of that outweighs the prick factor. He did good things that led to bad things, too.

Phobe chuckles. “He said it was important and had nothing to do with the prophecy, so I opted to speak with him. He might have an idea on how to get through this without all your Feyrie dying.” I don’t miss the fact that he left me out of that scenario.

“Are you saying that because you have faith in him?” I doubt it, but I have to ask.

Phobe’s laugh is sharp and cold. “No, but there’s a chance he knows something we don’t.” He’s not wrong, so I don’t argue. Life seems to have a fountain of knowledge even if he doesn’t always share it. If anyone has a solution, he does.

“True enough. Do you have any suspicions?” If he doesn't, I'd be surprised, Phobe is good at guessing about people. Except maybe me, and that’s because I don’t always know what I’m going to do, let alone be consistent enough for people to accurately guess.

“I figure he wants to talk about Light. There’s nothing else we’d need to speak about.” He turns back to the road, minus his smile. Once again, he didn’t mention me. I think I’ve corrupted Phobe into the river of denial. I suppose I could give him a floaty.

Change of subject incoming. “Was that a damn tank?” I turn in my seat to watch the large, lumbering metal contraption through the back window. “I didn’t know they moved that fast. In the movies they’re always going slow,” I muse.

“We’re coming up to a checkpoint. Put your seatbelt on and be prepared, in case we have to fight our way through,” Phobe cautions, rolling down his window. I put the seatbelt on and roll my own window down. Like a dog, I hang my head out to stare at the groups of soldiers as we pass.

Jarvis said we’d have no trouble getting through and it looks like his words are coming true. Although we’re getting lots of looks not a single person has tried to stop us, and this road is full of military. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen a single civilian since we started driving this morning.

A horrible screeching noise comes through mine and Phobe’s phones. I look and see an Emergency Alert requesting everyone to stay in their homes, armed. A foreign power has invaded US soil. This isn’t good. Something is changing. My phone rings and I answer it, knowing the blocked number is Jarvis.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Something big has come through a portal, our drones are showing us thousands of troops. Maybe tens of thousands. This has become a worldwide crisis now and no one thinks it’s manageable anymore. The president has issued a national emergency and activated the National Guard and the draft. We’re prepping for a war that we have no idea how to fight… can you help us?” For the first time, Jarvis sounds afraid and asking for the help I mentioned to him months ago.

The itch to say ‘I told you so’ is strong but I keep it to myself.

“Keep your men at a distance and don’t engage them. Evacuate whoever you can in the outlying areas but the ones inside the shields are lost… for now, maybe forever. We’re on our way to Las Vegas, let me meet up with my people and see what we can do. And Jarvis,” I look at Phobe and know that he’s not going to be happy with what comes next. “Send me the location of the portal with the army.”

“Iza,” Phobe says. Saying a million different things with one word.

“On it’s way. Any other suggestions?” Jarvis asks.

A movie I saw on TV comes to mind and the idea takes root in my brain. “Do you have a way to make non-metal guns?” Plastic isn’t a natural resource, an elemental mage can’t destroy them the same way they can metal.

“Yes, why?”

“The mages can’t touch plastic guns.”

“I’ll get right on it. About before… I’m sorry that we hurt you and your people, we were simply trying to prevent something like this from happening.” He sounds genuinely apologetic so I let that grudge go. Humans are dying left and right at the hands of those worse than any scientist.

He gets it now.

“There’s no way humans can prevent this. Just make sure we can get to vegas unhindered.” With that said I hang up the call. Nothing else that I say will reassure him, because it would all be bullshit. That’s not going to stop me from trying to fix the bullshit problem. I only need a plan.

Phobe looks at me and with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, pushes down on the gas pedal. Our time just ran out.

TEN HOURS later a tired Iza is standing before her mismatched group of Feyrie. They all look as tired as she is and none of them are feeling optimistic. She’s leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a small frown on her face—watching everyone who’s watching her. Before our arrival we got word that the Guide has come back to the Earth realm. That means Light isn’t far behind. They’re preparing a full on invasion and this world has no defense against them.

Except us.

As it stands, I can’t fight him and win. I might slow him down, I might even injure him but it won’t take him out of the fight. However, it will take me from it. That will leave Iza completely vulnerable and this time she won’t survive. No matter how strong she is—and she’s incredibly so—going against Light isn’t something her strength will matter in. Light Magiks, and even Blood Magiks, are her biggest weaknesses. Light can wield them both with

Power and skill that Iza can’t combat.

My doubts about meeting him equally, my doubts about her survival—simply piss me off.

“I guess I’m supposed to give you some bullshit speech about us overcoming all odds and killing all the bad guys. Maybe even saying we’ll get a parade and some fucked up statue to commemorate our victory in the town square,” she says, looking at each individual person in the room. “Well, I can’t.” There’s a collective gasp and she straightens from the wall to pace in agitation in front of them. “The prophecy is bullshit, the enemy is damn near invulnerable and we don’t have enough people to fill a stadium, let alone a battlefield. But,” that gaze pans around the room again. “We’re still going to try.”

“What do you mean invulnerable?” someone asks from the crowd of faces.

“Our enemy isn’t just the Schoth, there’s a hidden one—the one who took over Nika’s body and corrupted Ruthie. The one who killed Rido and Val and the other Feyrie. His name is Light, and essentially he’s a god.” She’s not holding anything back from them anymore.

Watching the emotions flit across her face, pisses me off even more. I don’t need to be in her head to know what she’s thinking. Iza is still going to fight but she’s going in there with the acceptance that they’ll lose. That takes me from pissed off to infuriated.

“The Light? The one who created Schoth?” that same voice asks in disbelief.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a nasty fucker too,” she says, her eyes finally landing on me.

“How can we fight a god?” that voice asks again.

Iza turns her head to the side, contemplating me. I can almost hear the gears in her head turning. Iza has an idea. One I’ll explore when I return. Walking through the door, I open a portal and step inside. Life has invited me to the world of one of his more mundane creations. I step out into a perfect sunset, coupled with white sandy beaches and crystal clear water as far as the eye can see. Life is standing close to where the waves lap at the sand with his back towards me. Walking towards him I wait for him to speak, because he will speak. Life has always been talkative and can beat Iza hands down in a chatter match.

“Did you know,” and it begins. “That the brain can exist with only half of itself intact?” I say nothing knowing he’ll continue whether I speak or not. “Not every creature can exist with half their brain but some do and not only exist but excel at it. Amazing that.” He turns to face me. “Iza is angry with me and refuses to see me.”

I shrug, falling in beside him when he starts to walk. “You shouldn’t have meddled in her life.” I finally say.

“The things you see in hindsight… even if someone can see the future.” For a while we walk in silence, then he starts talking again. “I’m not omnipotent, there are rules that I have to follow. It’s what keeps me from fixing my mistakes. The higher power deems it so.” I’ve always suspected the something who created us was cognizant, and hearing it out of Life’s mouth gives me a faint sense of satisfaction. The next question is, how did he find out about said rules? No one has ever come to me and said I had to follow guidelines to exist.

That’s something I’ll explore another day.

“Those rules are why a big change is coming in my—no, our futures. One I can’t meddle in or control in any way. I do ask, however, that you tell Iza I send my sincerest apologies. Out of anyone I’ve spent time with, she will always be the most endearing.”

“What does this higher power plan to do with me?”

“Nothing. You’re on a different level than I, or even Light.” He holds out his hand and on it is an amulet made from white metal, infused with Life’s Magiks. I can see them swirling around the dark jewel in the center. “This will protect you from those nasty devices Light has given those parasites.”

“Why not give it to Iza?” Her mortality is in jeopardy and she needs protection more than I do.

“She can’t handle this kind of power, it will kill her within minutes. This is some of my Magiks in its purest form and only one made from the same star dust as I, can wield it.”

“This means Light can as well?” That will make this ‘gift’ useless.

“No.” He doesn’t explain further and I don’t ask. He’s worse than I am about giving vague or non-answers. He’s got no reason to lie about it either. This amulet will help out quite a bit when it comes to the mages Light has armed with them. They won’t kill me but they slow me down, and this enables me to remove them instead of putting Iza directly in the line of fire because I can’t touch the fucking things.

I open my mouth to thank him but he stops and my words cut off.

“When the battle seems hopeless, then I can help you.”

“Why not now?” More prophetic bullshit. Doesn’t he ever tire of it?

“I have a few things left to do that I can’t leave undone. I’ll be waiting when the time comes.” With that said he disappears and all that’s left is the sound of the waves lapping on the shore. Is this what I do to Iza when she wants answers?

I’ll have to remember that because now I understand why she threatens bodily harm.

Opening a portal I return to the hallway outside of the conference room. Iza isn’t talking anymore; instead Adriem and Jameson are on their phones calling in the rest of the Feyrie. Her mind is open to me and I see that she’s leaving only a few to guard the children and summoning the rest. For once, she’s taking something seriously.

I just wish it wasn’t her dying. Again.

16

WATCHING the news doesn’t put me in a better mood. The military is taking a semi-distant, cautious stance with the Schoth. They’ve lost thousands of personnel to them in less than twenty-four hours and now they’ve lost entire states. Missouri, gone. Indiana, gone. Just to name a few. Thankfully, Jarvis listened to me and they managed to evacuate quite a few humans before the Schoth got to them. The ones behind lines… there’s no hope for them anymore. The Schoth will have already killed most of them, if for no other reason than they can.

People all over the world are freaking out and rightly so. It’s not just the U.S. affected by these unwanted, homicidal guests; entire countries have gone dark. Completely dark. Any attempt to contact them is met with outright hostility from the Schoth. Not every country has the manufacturing capabilities of the U.S., they can’t make the plastic weapons.

The only positive in this—for humans, at least—is that the plastic guns do work, but they’re temporary. They wear out after only a few shots, but those few shots have saved lives. I’m glad that I watch TV.

Wanting to see how bad things really are, I go the Tube. I type in 'alien' and hundreds of videos pop up. All of them of Schoth. Watching the first few makes my heart crack a little. Whoever took the video is quietly crying while an elemental mage dissolves the bulk of a tank—their hope of rescue—and watches it blow away in the wind. Children are screaming in the background, everyone is screaming in the background.

Video after video of the same thing. Death.

Turning it off, I flick the news back on. The monotone voice of the newscaster is much better than the screams of a dying child. On so many different levels. Gritting my teeth, I watch them map out the Schoth’s progression. They’re heading east, towards the seat of power for the U.S. They’re going after the orange guy, and in their wake they’ll leave nothing but a wasteland.

Gods, we need to do something soon, before this war is over before it begins.

Frustrated, I shift around in my seat. I’m waiting on Phobe to say something about his visit with Life. So far, nothing, and he’s sitting on the couch next to me, absently twiddling the amulet around his neck. Of course I noticed it the minute I saw him; it’s shiny and new—I always notice shiny things. Feeling my eyes and thoughts on him, he turns to look at me.

“It allows me to touch the amulets and kill the assholes attached to them.” One brief explanation down. “Life says he’s sorry for being an asshole.” I raise an eyebrow and he mirrors me. He’s sticking to that story. I imagine Life said something more complimentary to his person than that, but I’ll leave it. Phobe nailed the truth of it more accurately anyhow. “He said when the battle seems hopeless he can help us.”

That’s stupid as fuck. “It’s already hopeless,” I deadpan. It figures that he won’t do anything until there’s no other options. I wonder if being cryptic all the time is hard on his back? Carrying around that load of ‘Omnipotent prick’ has to be heavy.

“I’m not sure what he thinks he can do in that situation that he can’t do now.” Hearing Phobe unsure about anything doesn’t comfort me in the least.

“Do you think it’ll be before everyone dies?” I ask sarcastically.

Phobe shrugs and says, “It can go either way. I’m not counting on it making a difference.”

An idea strikes me as I’m watching grenades ineffectually go off on TV. “Jameson?” He pops his head around the corner of the doorway. “You know that collar you made?” He nods. “Can you make one that’s specific to Light Fey?” He frowns and taps his bottom lip with his finger.

“Yes, I think I can. Why?”

“Can we make the metal into pieces that can go in grenades or bombs?” His eyes light up at my suggestion. Jameson likes making new things and he’ll take any opportunity to do it.

“I don’t see why not, the Magiks goes in the metal that the collar was cast from. There’s no reason we can’t make it into smaller pieces. Give me twenty-four hours.” Then he’s off, heading towards the room in the basement that he’s designated as his secret lab. Not that it’s actually a secret, because the maid cleans it everyday.

“That’s actually a rather brilliant idea Iza. Why can’t you be like that all the time?” Phobe asks, his face never wavering from serious. I feel his humor but I don’t think it’s all joking.

“Dick.” He only smiles at the insult. “It’ll take at least two days for the Feyrie to get here.That gives us a little time to plan, rest and supply ourselves. Feel like going swimming?”

“You want to try and inhale half the pool while practicing your doggy paddle?” Phobe teases. Well, I think he’s teasing—he’s not wrong, so he might be completely serious. As quick as I am at learning things, swimming seems to be something I don’t have a knack for.

“Eh, why not? At least if they throw me into a river or something I can take longer to drown.”

“Sure, because you can do so much in that ten extra seconds,” he says, face serious once again. Maybe instead of me being a bad student, he’s a bad teacher? His jaw flexes when he hears my thoughts.

I can’t help but make it worse. “It's finally happened, something that you’re bad at. I mean, it had to happen eventually.” He starts to stand and I grab a towel and run downstairs to the heated pool, laughing.

The minute I walk into the enclosed pool house, the laughter fades. It’s small—incredibly so—and there’s a small crowd of people already, but I don’t let my disappointment stop me. Shucking my clothes down to my underwear—gotta save the humans a heart attack or two—I run towards the pool and leap.

Even underwater I can hear the exclamations about my partial nudity. Walking along the bottom of the pool, I head towards the shallow end. Normally I’d ignore them but people like to call the cops on me, and I’d rather not have to deal with that right now. Surfacing, I look towards the huddled group of humans and ask, “Shouldn’t you be worrying about more important things than my boobs? You know, like people-eating aliens?”

The myriad looks on their faces makes me smile. There are two women in the group of ten, and they’re the only ones who look bothered by it. At least, until I know they see Phobe. Both of their faces change into one of wonder and straight admiration. One of them even swallows. Yeah, he has that effect on me too lady. I turn around and laugh out loud as I watch him casually stroll towards me. He had the sense to put swimming trunks on but they’re not the brightly colored ones you normally see. These are black, form fitting and don’t leave all that much up to the imagination.

It’s good to know that my libido isn’t afraid of impending death.

“You going to tell him to put his shirt on ladies?” No response from them. Figures. Turning I use the wall to head towards the deeper end. Phobe wasn’t kidding, I’m not that great at swimming. As much as I like water, it doesn’t care much for me. I sink in it like a fat rock.

Phobe, ever the antagonist, takes one look at me and jumps. His arms snake around me when he hits the water and down I go to the bottom of the pool again. He turns me in his arms and smiles. With a heave, he sends me to the top of the water, and with one hand under my foot, effortlessly holds me there.

‘Can’t learn to swim hanging onto the wall, Iza,’ he says, releasing me. I start to sink once again. Fighting to remember the instructions he gave me, I doggie paddle for all I’m worth, and for the first time manage to not only stay on top, but also move around in drunken circles. The latter isn’t on purpose.

“Such a dick,” I mutter, working my arms and legs in some semblance of tandem. Humans make this look so easy; some of them even take to it immediately. Not me, I have to be the slow learner.

Phobe surfaces and lazily swims around me, occasionally commenting on how to make the experience easier. This time I’m not stoned out my mind and trying to determine the taste of water. Which I did—it tastes like water.

Eventually, I start doing better and feel more confident that I’ll survive that imagined river for a solid minute.

Done learning, for now, I slowly head towards the shallow in where I steal a floaty from the side of the pool. The group of humans are still there, lurking, but don’t protest. Fifteen minutes later, I realize that floats are evil things that attempt to drown you every single time you try to climb on it. I have yet to accomplish getting more than a single leg and arm on it at the same time. Dragging it towards the stairs that lead out of the pool, I try to step off the top and end up, once again, not on the floaty.

“Iza,” Phobe says in exasperation, and lifts me to sit me inside the contraption of doom. It weeble wobbles and I spread my legs to balance myself. When I feel secure enough, I relax and decide to see what these things are all about. Looking over the bend of my knee I see Phobe shaking his head, wearing that small smile that means I’ve done something to amuse him.

These are the moments in life you hold onto, no matter how long or short it may be.

LESS THAN FORTY-EIGHT hours later we’re on the road again. Our caravan of cars is like a long, deadly train stretching back as far as I can see. More people than I expected showed up. Feyrie that hadn’t even come to the Sidhe, are here. They know the time to fight is at hand and it’s all hands on deck. Our numbers are in the low thousands—very low, and while it seems like a lot now, compared to the tens of thousands of Schoth coming over… we’re a drop in the bucket. The one advantage we have is our brute force. Feyrie are mostly monstrous in comparison to Light Fey. Everything else is a disadvantage.

The majority of the Magiks wielders are mediocre compared to the trained, suped up mages that Light has given a shot of magikal heroin. We have a few strong ones but they’ll mostly be healing and defending, versus tossing fireballs at the Light Fey. And no matter how strong our more physical Feyrie are, the Schoth are fully trained, seasoned soldiers. They have fought things like us and won many times in the past. Alagard trained them as well as he could, but there’s only so much you can teach a Feyrie who’s weapon throughout life was a broom or a hoe. Then again, some of them surprised me.

There’s a good chance we’ll lose a lot of people, maybe even all of them—including me, but that’s the way war works. People die and unless we want to lose this home too, we have to accept that and still fight with everything we have. Even with the odds against us, I can’t give up or let them, either. I wasn’t lying when I told Phobe I wanted done with this mess, but I don’t believe in giving up and doing a shitty job, either. I’ll fight as hard as I can and push them to do the same. If nothing else, we can all go out with a bang and a shit ton of dead Schoth.

Watching the scenery outside pass with a solemness that’s not normal for me, I turn the plan around in my head. I’m not a genius when it comes to this stuff but even I know we have to head them off. We’re the only line of defense against the blonde bastards. The goal is to follow the southern coast-line before turning north, and avoid the mass of Schoth in the center of the country as long as possible. We’re going to meet up with the humans and then head the Schoth off before they get to the capital. Not that I care if they take the president, but the country will suffer even more if they lose the seat of power.

Phobe and I have Auryn and Licar with us this time around. They’re napping in the back seat, and in the bed of the truck—and every vehicle with us—is an array of weapons that, on a different kind of day, the police would arrest us for. Not that it’s an issue now. The police are protecting the people in the evacuation centers set up all over the country. Not all still remain; some of the Schoth platoons went through the green zones and wiped out entire centers, full of thousands of people.

Seeing it on the news made me even more determined to finish this once and for all.

Jameson managed to make a few crates of the grenades. We haven’t got to test them yet but I’m pretty confident they’ll work. Jameson pisses me off at times but he’s good when it comes to making stuff. They’re not like the human ones, although they do have a bit of a boom to them, but they’ll be more effective against someone wielding Light Magiks. Hopefully. With my eyes on the road ahead—and sometimes on the cool looking military vehicles—we’re on our way to what will possibly be the end of Feyrie; but killing us won’t be that easy.

Then again, killing them won’t be either.

17

SEEING a chance to give Iza one more night of something good, I picked a campsite on the beach of the ocean. They call this place the Gulf of Mexico and even I have to admit the view is beautiful. The night sky is clear, and the stars that she loves so much, paints a glittering portrait on the water below it. If nothing else, it’ll give her a place to think about what’s ahead of her in relative peace.

The humans have been evacuated from the towns surrounding us, creating a hollowness to the town that’s normally bustling with tourists this time of year. It’s a fitting reflection of the morose mood she’s fallen into. Before we left she made legal preparations for her death, in case this world survives and she doesn’t. She made sure the remaining Feyrie, and the Schoth children she sequestered away in secret, will be cared for. There won’t be a world left for any of them if we don’t come out victorious in the next few days.

Standing on the edge of the sand, watching her sitting on the beach with her arms resting on her upturned knees makes me wish—something I rarely do—that there was some miracle I could pull off to stop this from happening. If only I was the creature from so long ago; then again I can’t say that I would truly wish to be him again, because that creature didn’t know her, didn't love her.

But he might have.

Her shoulders are slumped and her mind is on things that I don’t want to see, but still look at. Iza is so assured of her death that she’s already missing life. Thinking of things she could’ve done and mourning what she hasn’t. This is not acceptable. Walking to her, I sit down behind her and wrap her in my arms. With a sigh, she leans back against me and the thoughts I was eavesdropping on come out of her mouth.

“No matter what I tell myself, I don’t see a way for us to come out of this victorious, but I know we need to. It’s such a fucked up mess that I can’t see a way out of it, Phobe. We’re less than three-thousand strong and the majority of them have never fought anyone like what we’ll face tomorrow. They’re going up against a seasoned army that’s got a multitude of conquered worlds under their belt. Thousands of them, Phobe.” Fiddling with a string on the knee of my jeans she continues, “Not that I care so much about me, but these people… they’ve survived all the shit the Schoth threw at them and still they’re going to die at their hands.”

“It’s unlike you to be so negative.”

“Bah, it’s realism. I’m just sad about it. The only way we’d win is with you, and…” She leaves the rest of the thought unsaid but I know the words that would’ve followed. You’re not strong enough to beat him.

“Promise me that you won’t go after Light head on, Iza.” He’ll kill her without any effort at all. Flick her away like a bothersome fly. He’ll cheapen her sacrifice and I can’t have that, no matter what I have to do.

“Why hasn’t he killed me already? We know he can.” The question I’ve been waiting on.

“He isn’t after you… all of this has come about because I didn’t play his game. That’s why, like a child throwing a tantrum, he unraveled my physical form. He knew I’d go back to the beginning, but he still used it to torture you. Now that same asshole child is playing another, deadlier game—all because he’s a sore loser.”

“If he were to ‘die’ wouldn’t he reset like you did, in the same position?”

“Eventually, but his form is different than mine was. He’s tied to a powerful Light Fey, maybe the most powerful one. It’s his anchor but it’s also his prison. He has to have an anchor to survive as he is. Light’s natural form is limited, he can only interact with the physical realm if he has a body. It’s why he possesses them but even that has limits. The king’s body is strong enough to hold him—that’s rare, and still has an expiration date.” I rest my cheek against her hair. If I can destroy the body, there’s a moment where I could potentially destroy him for good—but it's a big if, and I decide not to mention it.

I continue with my explanation, “I don’t have the same handicap. But… as I am, I can’t match him equally, Iza. As it stands now, since I’ve fed so voraciously, he can’t kill me or even send me back to the NetherRealm. But he can knock me out of this plane, essentially making me useless for an undetermined time.” There’s no reason to give her a bunch of useless platitudes. Not that I have any intention of making things easy for Light to get to Iza, and admitting that there’s a chance I can’t delay it long bothers me on every level.

“Dad said you can’t bring me back a second time,” my gut clenches, “Can you make sure that no one eats me? The thought of being pooped out of someone disturbs me.” Even at a time like this, she shows that dark humor—except this time, it’s tinged with sadness.

“Really, Iza?” I ask into her hair, hiding my smile. The last thing I want to do is encourage a conversation about poop. I dare someone to try and eat her; I’d eat them, showing them the charm of one bite at a time—I’ve perfected it.

“What? It’s a genuine concern. I don’t want to go into the afterlife thinking I’ll be a turd.” The thoughts of doom and gloom dim in her mind as it moves onto other things. Namely, if she’s brave enough to swim in the ocean.

Feeling someone close by, I turn and spot Knox slowly making his way towards us over the sand. Frowning, I climb to my feet; he was left back at the Sidhe with the other children. How did he get here? My shadows reach for him but Iza sees him before I can ask and climbs to her feet to run to him.

“Knox, how the hell did you get here? Did you sneak into one of the cars?” Her rapid fire questions, although chiding, still hold the love she has for the shifter child. All thoughts of death are buried beneath her concern—and elation— at seeing Knox. If his presence has this effect on her, that’s temporarily a good thing—but he will have to be returned to the Sidhe before morning.

Knox wraps his arms around her neck as she kneels in the sand before him. His eyes meet mine over her shoulder and fill with golden light. Fuck!

“Iza!” I yell and start to run but even at my speed, I’m not fast enough. The collar clicking around her neck is loud in the sudden silence. Iza pushes back from him but it’s too late. As I watch, the Feyrie part of her dims and then snuffs out altogether as it’s smothered under the woven Light Magiks in the collar. Getting in between them, I shove Knox away and he stumbles and falls backwards onto the ground.

Light gives into the temptation to taunt her and smiles with Knox’s mouth. “That soft heart of yours, Shepherd, will always be your downfall.” His eyes turn to me. “Brother, does it please you to know that when your lover dies, it will be your fault?”

My first impulse is to grab the child and wrap him in the killing shadows. Swallow him down and hide him forever from Iza. I clamp down on it and instead shrug. The look on Knox’s face as the Magiks bleed out of his eyes is sour. He’s not happy I didn’t react to his jab.

Knox’s eyes fill with confusion and then he collapses.Threat temporarily gone, I turn to Iza, who’s looking at the child with a mix of anger and loss. Her fingers are pulling against the collar burning her throat from contact with Light Magiks.

“Is he still in there?” she asks, pulling on the collar even more. It glows with the spells woven in it and already the skin beneath it is raw and bleeding.

“Yes, but having him nearby isn’t safe.”

“He can take anyone like that?” The desire to go to Knox is on her face but she doesn’t act on it. One betrayal has made Iza more cautious with the Feyrie, even the children.

“No, not anyone. But children are easy victims.” Light can push their consciousness down without much of a fight but in Knox’s case, he had to entice him to let him in. Knox has natural shields against intrusion, so for some fucked up reason the child agreed to allow Light to possess him.

“Gods, I’m so fucked.” I study her in concern. Her eyes are straight black, there’s no other colors in them now. That feature must come from the Feyrie side of her. Her teeth are still sharp, her skin still a pale bluish color, and her Medusa Strands are sluggish, but still exist. Iza has a lot of her father in her, a blessing in disguise. But the swirl of Dark Magiks and the presence of the Sidhe are no longer active in her. Both are being held down by the Magiks in the collar. Cutting her power down significantly.

“I can’t feel them anymore, not a single one of them. I can’t feel the Sidhe…” she says softly in disbelief. “How the fuck do we get this thing off?” Panic is edging her voice but she hasn’t given in yet and probably won’t.

Jameson calls out and runs towards us; with a cursory look at Knox he grimaces when he sees Iza. “I came to tell you that Knox was here and acting weird but I see he beat me here.”

“Way to state the fucking obvious, Jameson. How do I get this godsdamn collar off?!” she yells at him.

Jameson sighs, shifting around nervously. After staring at her for several seconds, he finally answers, “You can’t. No Feyrie wearing the collar can remove while alive. It’s attracted to that nature, designed for it. The only way to take it off is for you to die or somehow cut the Feyrie out of you.”

“There’s no way to cut the Feyrie out, you asshole. I can’t believe you fucking made this thing. I should’ve killed you when you betrayed me the first time you asshole. Not left you alive to create something that has fucked us all.” She stands up and stomps off, imagining killing him a hundred different ways.

Turning to Jameson I ask, “If her Feyrie nature is removed, the collar will come off?” He nods and looks to Iza disappearing over the sand, worry lining his face. “Grab the child,” I order him. I fear that if I touch him, I’ll kill him and possession or not, she won’t forgive me for that. Following in Iza’s wake I can’t help but be haunted by the story Life told me about the brain. Is there some significance to it that the fucker didn’t tell me?

WHEN I GET TO CAMP, everyone is in an uproar, they thought Iza was dead and now she’s standing in front of them, wearing the collar. To them it’s almost as bad. They can’t feel her anymore, can’t feel that unified connection to the Dark that her presence gave them. Several of them want to ask questions, but no one has been brave enough to ask her yet. Smart of them. They’ll get nothing but a foot to the ass for asking.

Iza is sitting in a fold out chair, staring into the fire, her eyes alive with her inner turmoil.

“Since that idiot made the collar, can’t he take the thing off?” Auryn demands, pacing on the other side of the fire. Iza shakes her head and remains silent. I try to creep into her thoughts but the Magiks in the collar prevents me.

What is this new hell?

Pushing back against it with force, I try to get past it. Again I’m repelled. Over and over I hit it and nothing happens. She grimaces and runs a hand along her forehead; instantly I stop. I’m causing her pain for no reason. I won’t get past the Magiks. I might go kill Jameson myself. The fucking collar has cut me off from her.

A fiend appears beside her and bashes itself against the collar, to no avail.. At least she still has the connection to them, but that’s because it didn’t come from the Feyrie side of her. That came from our connection that’s slightly muted but still very much there; I just can’t get into her mind. She holds out her hand and the fiend armor trickles out to cover her arm.

“Well, there’s this anyhow,” she says and shakes her hand as it disappears. She extends her claws and makes a small cut across the top of her arm. It doesn’t heal instantly. In fact, it doesn’t heal at all. The healing part did come from her Feyrie side. “That’s a problem,” she muses and leans back in the chair with blood dripping down her arm.

“What do I do with him?” Jameson asks, walking into the camp with an unconscious Knox in his arms. Iza doesn’t even look towards them and for once I can’t read her face or body language.

“Lock him in the back of the van for now. It’s an old police van and still has the cage in it,” Auryn says, taking charge when Iza remains quiet. She turns back to Iza. “What are we going to do now?”

She looks up and in her eyes I see emptiness. “We still fight, nothing will change that Auryn,” Iza answers. Auryn nods her head and motions for people to follow her away from the fire. She’s giving Iza space and time to absorb this change in circumstance.

“Iza, you’ll need to be more cautious.” I’ve never been one to give her platitudes and I won’t start now. Especially now.

“I know,” is her simple reply. Even without the Feyrie part of her, she’ll still do incredible damage, but she’ll also take incredible damage. Light wasn’t wrong, this is my fault. I should’ve known that Light would use someone she has a weakness for. I foolishly thought he couldn’t get to her any longer.

She stands and without looking at me says, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Watching her look so defeated pulls at me, and I can’t let that look remain. I’ve done it her way for a while, now it's time to do it my way. I turn towards where Auryn and the others have gathered. Losing or not, we’re going to take down as many of them as we can beforehand.

And I’m going to go after Light whether I’ll win or not.

18

THE FORCE CAMPED at the foot of the small hill doesn’t make me feel any better about the outcome of this war. This is only half the army they’ve transported here—that we know of. The rest are a day behind and escorting the Light Fey King himself, with his little tagalong prick, the Guide. This particular group has already engaged the military on several fronts and swept through them like a hot knife through butter. Leaving us to deal with them and we still need to go through these guys in order to be prepared for the second wave. If we wait until they combine, the future is grim to say the least.

Behind me stand the Feyrie, armed and ready to unleash upon the Schoth below us, and if necessary, go to their own deaths. Behind them, in quiet formations are the humans who—despite my cautioning—have decided to stand with us as well. With the help of Jarvis, they improvised on the plastic guns and now have a multitude of usable weapons at their disposal. Including some of the grenades that Jameson made. Unfortunately the supplies to make them were limited and we’ve only got a few precious crates to use. I also asked him if a collar would work on the Light King. Phobe was the one who informed me that other than a slight discomfort, it would have no impact on him.

That sucks too. Collaring him was an idea that gave me some hope.

Jameson and some of the other Magiks users, provided the humans with some temporary protections against Light Magiks, enchanting those that they could to make them temporarily more than human. It’s not much, but it’ll help them survive longer and fight harder. There are thousands of them but only a few hundred are spelled—but it's better than nothing.

The Feyrie, as strong as some of us—no, them—are, will go in first and hopefully do enough damage for the humans to play clean up and retreat before the second half gets here. I’ve got to fight at half-power and I’m not entirely sure of everything I have left to use.

Fist clenched, I turn and head back towards our small camp. I’m still as physically strong as I was, but my healing is shit. It’s fast enough I can survive shallow wounds but anything life threatening and I’m toast. Annoyed with the cause of this problem, I tug on it, pulling even when it starts to hurt. At the verge of inflicting severe pain I finally stop. There’s no point in it, but I can’t help myself. My body is pushing for it to be removed. The skin underneath it is one big open wound from where the Light Magiks are constantly burning me, and nothing soothes it. Arista tried to heal it, to no avail. She couldn’t even heal the small, self inflicted cut on my arm.

One good hit from the Guide or Light, I’m out of the fight, possibly permanently.

My eyes drift to Phobe, standing at the edge of the clearing, watching me. The amulet around his neck shines like a beacon to me and I send a silent thank you out into the cosmos to Life for that small bit of help. It’ll keep Phobe safe and potentially be the deciding factor in the next few hours.

His face grows colder as he looks back the direction I came from. Since the collar was put on, we can’t communicate telepathically anymore. It blocks him from reading my mind as well. Once upon a time, hell even at times now, I’ve wanted privacy from his all seeing eyes, but I also don’t like having it forced beyond my control either. The good thing is, the bond between us is untouched. I feel him as potently as I did before this stupid noose was put around my neck.

Jarvis strolls up to me, forcing my attention off the dark man watching me.

“When are we planning on moving on them?” he asks, his hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like a man in charge. Of the humans, he mostly is. Him and I butted heads once when we first met up and he learned the hard way that he has no say over my people or me. I emphatically reminded him that we do what the fuck we want.

“Soon. They know we’re here and if we don’t move first, they will. That will give them too much of an advantage,” I answer, looking at Phobe once again. He nods. “We go in first with you bringing up the rear. Don’t engage them—play defense.”

“See you on the field,” he says, turning and immediately calling out orders.

I turn to face the Feyrie and find them all standing, silent and waiting for me.

“Drop your glamour. Let this world see what—and who—defends them,” I say quietly. We will no longer hide from their eyes. Satisfaction and pride slides through me when some of the humans gasp in shock at seeing them in their true forms for the first time. Turning slightly to the military assembled, watching almost as stoically as the Feyrie, I say, “We monsters fight for this world, not because we have to, but because you need us to. After this is over, remember that. Remember the ones who will bleed for you.”

For several tense seconds, there’s no sound then the first soldier salutes me. In a cascade of motion, their hands all raise as they stand there, accepting what’s to come. “SIR, YES SIR,” they call out in unison. That’s pretty nifty.

Turning back to the Feyrie I open my mouth to speak but Phobe steps in front of me. This is different. Knowing he knows more about this shit than I do, I step back and allow him to say what he wants to. It’s not often he speaks to anyone but me, so this must be important.

“Dragons, Nightmares and anything else large—massive sweeps, take out as many as you can in one blow. Don’t hold back, give them everything you have, use every weapon at your disposal. We don’t need prisoners, we need corpses. Mages, shield the heavy infantry, get them as close to the elementalists as possible. Those are the ones that can do the most damage and are the most damaging to the humans. Healers, stay in back—in front of the human line. You only heal from a distance. Any injured need to be pushed to the back towards them. The rest of you, straight line to the spell casters that are being protected in the back, we need to take them out as soon as possible. Use the grenades ONLY on the casters.” Each order is clipped and cold, there’s no patience for argument in his tone. Checking him out, because wow, how can I not, I watch his shadows creeping in and out of his skin. He’s standing there in nothing more than a shirt and jeans, yet has more presence than anyone else here, and everyone—even Jarvis—is staring at him in rapt attention.

“Where will you and Iza be?” Auryn asks, not because she thinks we won’t be fighting but because she’s now as suspicious as I am about his plans.

“Coming from the back. We’ll meet you in the middle.”

How exactly does he plan to get us to the back? Great shadowy wings unfurl from his back as he grows in size. Oh, that’s how. Turning to me with eyes of fire he takes two steps and grabs me, before leaping into the sky and moving us away from the Feyrie.

Looking up into his contorted face, full of teeth and death, I ask, “Where were you hiding this gem?”

“I don’t know,” he answers without looking down at me. A lost memory perhaps? Or was this him in the beginning?

Taking us high into the sky, we pass above the shield the Schoth have erected above themselves. As I look down at the thousands of soldiers and mages, a shiver of apprehension goes through me. Phobe’s arms tighten on me as he tucks his wings, diving straight down. My eyes water from the force of the wind. If this were a different time and place, I’d have whooped in joy. Instead, I remain silent and grab a handful of his clothing, torn when he unfurled his shadowy wings, for balance. Landing a lot more softly than I expect, he sets me on my feet right as I hear the horn go off in the Schoth camp. They see our people moving down the hill.

“No going back now, huh?” I semi-tease. Phobe grabs my shoulders and kisses me hard before turning and hitting the shield with his fist. Light Magiks crackles and snaps around the crack that instantly appears; Phobe isn’t going for finesse this time around. He hits it again and pieces of it fall inwards, like broken glass.

Behind the shield, the camp is on full alert, and a group of them head towards us, while the rest peel off towards the larger force of Feyrie. With a feral smile, Phobe pushes hard and breaks through the hole in the shield. Inky blackness seeps out of him in waves. I’ve never seen this many before and it’s a sight to behold. The forlorn roar in challenge, and as their combined might hit the first group of mages, our attackers disappear into the shadowy maw of the forlorn maw with barely a peep.

Whoa. Pulling myself out of my temporary stupor, I follow in Phobe's wake, and run towards another group coming at us. Leaping, I take down the shocked Schoth as quickly as I can reach them. As Light Magiks fly towards me, shadows leap up to intercept it before it touches me. Phobe is protecting my back, damn multitasker.

Phobe leads the way as a one man killing machine. Dozens of Schoth disappear in big gulps of darkness. As he absorbs them, he grows stronger; as he grows stronger, he kills more quickly. I merely pick off the stragglers. Body after body, scream after scream, we work in tandem to take down as many Schoth as we can while heading towards the main force of mages that have already engaged the other Feyrie.

Taking a chance to glance at our forces I see a massive spider tossing out swaths of webbing to entrap people. Licar, a gigantic bear finishes them off. To the left, Schoth infantry fly into the air as Adriem swings his massive head. Dragon’s breath of fire and ice, rain down onto the Schoth in waves of death. That’s not counting the other Feyrie who are tearing through the infantry like the scary monsters they are.

In front of me, Phobe grunts as several mages wearing Light’s amulets, chain-cast spells at him. With a low growl he swings out with his right arm and pushes back the spells. Darkness rears up and devours the Magiks as he walks unerringly towards them. He’s totally got this; all they managed to do was irritate him. Taking a deep breath, I turn and guard his back against the endless waves of Schoth.

THE BATTLE RAGES on for several hours until, after what feels like an eternity, the last Schoth falls. Covered in blood and other gore I stop and stand, breathing heavily, to survey the field. Sadly, several dozen Feyrie fell during the battle; their bodies are already being gathered by other Feyrie and taken to the back. Without my connection to them, I’m not sure how many we lost, but I know by sight some of those I see on the ground, unmoving. Carefully, I pick my way over the mounds of dead bodies until I find each one of them.

Among the first ones I get to is Ryan, the beta shifter. His green eyes are clouded and stare up at nothing, his chest torn open, exposing his ribs and chest bone. He didn’t go down without a fight. At least six dead Schoth surround him, their bodies holding the marks of his claws that ended their lives. A heroic death is his final repentance for all that he did to his own kind. I bend and close his eyes, giving him the last dignity in death that I can.

The next one is Alagard. My eyes burn when I see him, but I hold back the tears. He’s in his natural dragon form, his neck torn open and his eyes gone. In his open mouth lay the body of a gryphon, with more laying nearby. Gryphons are the natural enemies of dragons and Alagard did something most dragons could not. He took the fucking things out with him, alone. Good for him. His death is a blow to Feyrie and will be noticed. I pat the scales of his neck and pick up a loose one to take with me.

Still, I turn and keep walking; there are more dead to say goodbye to.

In total we lost a hundred and twenty souls to the Schoth, and have another forty-three injured severely enough that they won’t be fighting again anytime soon. Compared to how many Schoth we fought, and defeated, it’s a small number of casualties. They will need to be mourned properly when this is done.

Michael walks towards me, covered in blood, his clothes torn and even singed in some places, but he’s alive and that’s good enough for me. It’s also a testament to how strong he is, he’s proven himself beyond a shadow of a doubt. That doesn’t mean I approve of him being here, it simply means I can’t win an argument about it.

Exhausted, I make my way over to where Auryn and Licar are moving the dead Feyrie and arranging them in a line until they can be moved to the Sidhe. The desire to sit and let my more fragile body rest is enough motivation for me to start helping others who are carrying the Schoth bodies to pile in two separate piles. One is for burning while the other is for… other things.

Another battle will be fought here tomorrow and we need the field open.

Jarvis joins me at one of the burning piles of bodies. He’s dirty and pale faced but still intact.

“We didn’t lose a single human life today because of you, but we know that you lost some of your own. After this war is over with, we’d like to erect a memorial to them.” Humans and their memorials. Alagard would get a kick out of it.

“That’s only half the army, don’t celebrate victory yet,” Phobe says coming to stand beside me. “The second half is the more dangerous one. Consider this practice.” Phobe isn’t one to mince words and I can’t criticize him for it. I was considering saying something similar. Probably ruder.

Jarvis contemplates Phobe with a thoroughness one only uses to size up something that scares you. I don’t blame him, I saw what Phobe can really do for the first time—that was beyond scary and I’ve seen some shit in my life. I had an idea of what he was capable of, and while the bloodthirsty part of me completely appreciates it—well, all of me does, seeing Phobe unleashed was a glorious experience

The humans are probably not appreciating his power in quite the same way. A single man who can take down thousands of Schoth, single handedly—yeah, that’d scare most people. Even some of the Feyrie are giving him a wide berth. I won’t point out to them that he probably saved most of their lives being what he is and they should be thankful. Now isn’t the time.

“Everyone needs to eat, and what some of them eat will disturb you. It’s best if you take your men and women off the field and get them cleaned up and rested for tomorrow when the rest of the Schoth get here,” I say, turning to head towards the small pond I saw not too far away. I need to wash the blood off and take a minute to gather my composure and sneak a rest. I don’t want them to see how tired I am; it’ll fuck them up.

I fought hard today, as did every other single Feyrie on that field, but I wasn’t able to fight at my best and it bothers me. Following on Phobe’s coattails to keep from getting myself nuked with Light Magiks significantly bothers me, no matter how practical it was. Sure, I held my own and I’ll continue to, but it’s at a cost. I took some damage, surface wounds really, but I feel every one of them and they’re painful and need to be cared for. I’m not sure I’ve ever healed this slow in my life, even when I was full of whatever poison shit Paul and Mary put in me. But, if not for Phobe’s shadows always there to protect me, this situation would be different. The fiends were always there to protect me too, but they’re not as strong as the forlorn who are fed power from Phobe.

I don’t feel like I could’ve come out as well without either of them. I’ve become a liability.

“No, you haven’t,” Phobe says from behind me. I slide out of my boots and strip off my stiff clothing. The cold water numbs the various cuts and bruises on my skin as I wade into the water up to my waist.

“You able to read my mind again?” I doubt it but asking, it’s better than assuming.

“No, but I can read your face. You like blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault.” I make a face, he’s calling me a martyr again. “You fought as equally as every other Feyrie on that front, better than some of them and you’re technically crippled.” Thanks for the reminder, Phobe. “Don’t take yourself out of the fight mentally, then you will lose for real.”

“You had my back.”

“And you had mine. Stop feeling sorry for yourself Iza, be prepared for another day of this and revel in it like you should be. Like you would be if you didn’t think you were less because of that fucking collar.” I start to move deeper into the water but my feet freeze in their tracks as his words sink in. Is that what I’m doing? Feeling sorry for myself?

Hell. I am. I can’t fucking have that, not now. Not when I need to have my shit together more than anything.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes, Phobe, but you’re a smart one." His heat slides up behind me and those arms that killed so messily hours ago, wrap around me in comfort.

“You think I’m a pretty one too,” he teases, as his breath tickles my ear.

“True, but I love you more for your brain.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them; surprisingly, I don’t regret it.

“Where’d you put the soap?” Laughing, I fall back against him and just breathe. When he and I first started this journey together—what feels like decades ago—I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Honestly, before he spoke to me that first time, maybe even after, I thought he might end up killing me. I was a right pain in his ass and well, that hasn’t changed. But now, now he holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him and I don’t know what my life would be like without this.

“Did you get enough to eat?” I ask, walking my fingers down his forearm to tangle with his. His body is pulsing with power, a lot of it.

“It was a nice snack, but I still need more.” He’s honest if nothing else. I’m glad he doesn’t blow smoke up my ass; we’d have never survived the prison.

“Tomorrow you get the full buffet.”

“Stay close to your Feyrie tomorrow,” he cautions and then his left hand slides down my body and starts doing wonderful things to it. As my head lolls back against his shoulder, I accept the distraction for what it is and forget everything but him.

19

DAWN GREETS us with rain and a heavy blanket of fog. Standing at the edges of the field, I watch the first Schoth battalion march into view. They’re pure infantry but of the shinier variety. This is a small part of the king’s personal army and the golden armor they’re wearing shows it. In perfect formation they march to the middle of the field until each row stops and draws their sword. The middle rows turn and face each other, making a big enough gap for a mounted group to pass through.

As the horses come into view, decked out in gold and diamonds, I get my first genuine look at the Light Fey King. Aesthetically I can see why he’s the king. He’s the most stunning Schoth I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of them, but that’s not even the most eye catching part. It’s the power all around him. He looks like a sun, sitting on top of that horse. He’s nearly blinding with it.

Absently, I tug at the collar and when I realize what I’m doing, I shove my hands in my pockets. I might not have access to my Feyrie bits anymore but my body is still as allergic to Light Magiks. I can see why Phobe said to stay away from him. He’s dangerous to me; that motherfucker can kill me with his pinky finger.

Next to him, the Guide is grinning like he won the Schoth lotto, but beside the glory of the Light King, he looks like nothing more than a common Schoth. The amulet on the prick’s neck has a tether trailing out of it to tangle with the power surrounding the king. He’s got more umph than the other mages have had so far. Golden eyes lit with power survey us. No, that’s not the king anymore—Light is wearing the king’s skin like a comfy sweatshirt.

When doubt trickles into my thoughts, I squash it. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, we still have to fight like we’re going to win. We have to push ourselves and give it absolutely every ounce of fight we have or not only will the people on this field die, half the world will quickly follow suit. Billions of humans will die an undeserved death at the hands of these sadistic assholes.

We’re all that’s stopping that from happening. Gods help us all.

The king stops his horse at the front of his army and looks down his nose at the distance between us. The smug look on his face is one I ache to rip off with my claws, but it won’t be me that has that satisfaction, not this time. His attendants raise their trumpets and the sharp bursts of the instruments make the air heavy with tension.

“If you surrender now, I won’t kill everyone,” Light calls out. The fake sincerity in his voice makes me nauseous with its falseness. He’d do no such thing. My answer is short and simple: I raise my middle finger. The King's smarmy smile drops, to be replaced with a look of annoyance. “What are you idiots waiting on? Attack them!” he yells and points at us.

The Schoth shift nervously on their feet, afraid of his anger even though I'm the one who pissed him off, and then start the long march across the field. I can’t say I have any pity for them; he didn’t order them to rape, torture and murder the humans in their path.

Phobe, intimately familiar with their strategy, was prepared for it. The night before he had people busy digging holes in the field. Which pays off when the first wave of them hit the booby traps. Falling into deep holes, they scream as they’re impaled with barbed, metal spikes. Don’t ever let it be said that the human military can’t find what they need in a hurry. They had hundreds of them custom made and shipped here within six hours of Phobe’s request.

The ones refusing to march further are forced onward by their generals and infamous king. Resolutely, the Schoth start their less confident march forward, now aware that there are potentially more traps on the field. They’re right, of course. They’re all over the place, and by the time they get close enough to engage us they’ve lost at least a thousand troops to pit traps and well laid Magikal traps.

That’s a thousand troops we won’t have to fight. And Phobe’s not even done yet.

“Dragons!” Phobe yells to be heard over the din of noise. With the whooshing flap of leathery wings, the dragons lift into the air and flying in a V formation, create a line of fire and ice around another section of infantry, cutting them off from their peers and herding them into another trap.

“Auryn!” Phobe calls out again. A giant spider tunnels up from the ground underneath them, grabbing them in her web and dragging them down to their deaths. Another grab and even more follow, then she disappears from sight, following the plan Phobe drilled into everyone last night.

I didn’t say one word; it's a good plan and a lot better than anything I can come up with.

“Goblins!” Phobe calls out and the little guys appear in a straight line ahead of us. Goblins are really good with one weapon: a bow. Lighting their spelled arrows with Magikal fire they notch them, waiting for the next signal. Phobe raises his arm, and the goblins launch their deadly missiles into the sky. They whistle through the air as the Schoth raise their shields with arrogant sneers on their faces.

I can read their thoughts on their faces: ‘No arrow can harm us through our super-special shield.’

So they think. “Big boom,” I whisper as the first arrow hits a target. The explosion is potent enough to be felt even at this distance. Several more go off in short order, and yet another section of the army is gone. The king sits on his horse, watching dispassionately as his soldiers die; he doesn’t lift a finger to help them—because it’s not about them.

“Mages, guard their backs! Feyrie, let’s go,” Phobe orders, leaping into the air, minus those snazzy wings, and comes down on the heads of several Schoth. Shaking my head at his entrance, I run towards the broken line of Schoth.

The fiend armor flips out, covering me from head to toe as long, black swords fill my hands. Jumping over the holes in the ground, I hit the first Schoth with my knees and take him to the ground, then, with a swipe of my sword his head flops to the side. The skin of his neck is barely holding the head on. And just to be morbid, I cut through it, and watch it roll across the grass, in satisfaction.

Twisting at the waist, I stab up and get the Schoth to my right, pushing the blade to the side, I gut him and move on. Over and over I slash and stab, slipping and sliding through blood and guts until a familiar presence catches my attention. Jameson is several feet from me, slinging a staff around like he knows what he’s doing but that’s not what holds my gaze. He’s fighting with a desperation of one whose giving it all or nothing. Then I see why. Crumpled at his feet is Michael, unmoving but still breathing.

Damnit!

Running towards them, I hurriedly take out only the ones in my way, avoiding getting sidetracked by others. Michael can’t die here, not like this. Grabbing Jameson’s shoulder, I catch the end of the staff he swings at my head in reflex.

“Take him and go, now!” I shout, pointing towards the line of healers at the end of the field.

Pain slices into my back and shoulder, looking at my back I see two arrows sticking out of my body. The Magiks inside of them burrows into me, searing my muscles and skin. Jameson sees the arrows and with a nod from me, pulls one out of my shoulder while I fend off a Schoth running at us, sword drawn. Stabbing the soldier in the chest, I turn enough for Jameson to pull the other out.

He’s looking at it with worry, and says, “Iza, it’s in your spinal cord, if I pull it out—it can potentially kill you.”

“If you don’t it will. Pull. It. Out!’ I grit my teeth when he grabs it and pulls. It feels like half my back goes with it when it finally breaks free of my skin.

“Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought, I can’t heal it but I can—“ he doesn’t finish the thought. Wrapping his arms around me he presses his chest tightly against my back. His body jerks several times and then his weight hangs limply against me. Turning, I catch him with my arms, careful to keep him upright. Several arrows are buried in his back and though I see his Magiks trying to heal them, it's not going to be enough.

“Oh, you big idiot what did you do?” I ask, going to the ground with him on his side sprawled across my knees. Michael stirs and pushes to a sitting position, his eyes dazed from the headwound I can see above his eyebrow. He gives me a look of confusion and then sees Jameson.

“Hey… I wasn’t a coward this time… that’s gotta earn me some brownie points?” he asks his voice faint and trembling in pain.

“You were pretty godsdamn brave Jameson, they’ll give you a statue for sure,” I reassure him, more sad than I thought I’d be watching him die. Why didn’t he let me take the arrows and keep fighting? The sappy fool. Swallowing everything but a smile for him, I tease, “All the ladies will drop their panties for the local hero. I’ll have to beat them off you with a big stick,” I’m determined to make his last moments of laughter instead of sadness.

He laughs and blood runs out of the corner of his mouth, our gazes holding—speaking silently to each other—his eyes are full of apology and love, while mine are full of acceptance. The life bleeds out of them and as I feel his body go still a tear escapes for the first time.

Jameson, the boob just sacrificed his life for me and made me feel guilty for thinking he’s an idiot..

“Michael, can you carry him?” Looking shocked he nods and stands on wobbly legs. Spinning, I meet the sword with my own that was meant to take off Michael’s head and instead the Schoth loses his. “Are you sure?” I ask, flinging the blood off my sword. Michael nods and scoops him up, running and dodging towards the healers. There’s no saving Jameson, but I can’t leave his body out on the field. He’s my nerd after all.

Scanning the mass of bodies, I look for a familiar face and find the big dinosaur one of Adriem. “Watch them,” I mouth to him and turn to dive back into the fray. Michael will make it to the healers and be out of the fight.

Now, though, I’m pissed.

20

IZA IS SURROUNDED and will soon be overwhelmed—and Light and his fucking Schoth are standing in my way. I’ll never get to her in time, no matter what I do. Growling, I run at the Schoth in my path and they’re lost in the darkness as I tear past them. Light climbs down off his horse, straightens his cuff and smiles at me. Waiting for me to get to him, to attack him. He knows he’s the stronger of the two of us and is confident in his victory. Past his shoulder, Iza is fighting for everything she’s worth but she’s injured and the light of her that shines so brightly is slowly dimming.

“You’ll never make it to her in time, brother. Once again you’ll lose that mortal that’s so precious to you, except this time—it’ll be forever,” Light gloats.

My eyes are only for her. Those black eyes that I see everywhere I look, lift to meet mine. Weakly, she swings her sword but it’s knocked out of her hand as the Schoth in golden armor of the king’s private guard, stabs his sword through her stomach. Hands on his shoulders, she smiles at me, her teeth white in the dark, red blood coating of her face. With a quick move she grabs his head and twists it, breaking his neck as they fall together.

“No!” I yell.

Time slows and then completely stops. Light is frozen in mid step a look of satisfaction on his hated face. I try to move towards her but I’m held prisoner in a power stronger than my own.

Life is here.

“I didn’t realize the kind of creature he’d become. Vile and greedy, caring only for his next conquest. I spent all that time worrying about you being the one to end everything when all along, it was him.” He walks into my line of sight, a look of disgust on his wrinkled face as he looks at Light. “That’s a mistake I need to help fix, but brother—you’re the only one that can stop him.” His hand lands on my shoulder as he looks into my eyes.

“Even without me, the essence of life itself will continue. I’m a foolish creature who believed that I alone was responsible for it. My arrogance has nearly destroyed the very reason I exist. You have to do the one thing I can’t.”

“And that’s what? He’s taken the only thing from me that matters,” I grit out from between clenched teeth.

“Has he?” he questions bringing his other hand to rest on my shoulder. “You have to kill him and his entire army.” To hear Life talk of killing things is a new thing, he’s never spoke of it before. Capture, imprisonment, stowing someone away on a world void of life—all of these. Death, this is a first.

“How do you propose I do that?” I ask sarcastically.

“You eat me.”

Shock makes me ask, “Is this a joke?”

“No,” he says smiling kindly.

“Okay.” This time it’s his face filled with shock.

“So eager to see me gone?”

I shrug and respond, “No, I’m eager to see her live.”

Life laughs and then embraces me. Unable to move, I do nothing. He may feel a fondness for me and Light but I don’t share the sentiment.

But I do owe him more than saying nothing. “Thank you.”

“Have you ever actually said those two words before? That woman has done amazing things with you. I can only imagine what you’ll be like in twenty-years,” he teases. “Okay, get on with it.” He stands up straight, shoulders back in preparation of death. Shadows trickle out of me and as gently as I’m able, I wrap them around my smiling brother. As his bright light disappears into the shadows his smile doesn’t fade and I watch his face until I can’t see him anymore. When the shadows clear, he’s gone and his Magiks hit me like a punch in the gut.

As it filters in and combines with mine, his endless memories leave me locked in the same position for several seconds. As I exhale, long and deep it merges completely with my power, I open my eyes. I’ve never been this powerful before, not even in the beginning.

Rolling my neck, I turn my full attention to Light.

Time is once again moving normally and he’s still got the smug look on his face. As he stares at me, it slowly fades and he looks at me with a new look in his eyes. Apprehension.

“How is it that in your weakened state you stand before me as an equal?” he demands.

Chuckling, I let power flow through my body, let him see it.

“There’s nothing equal about us, Light. Life sends his regards.” As I leap at him, his power reaches out for me and then we clash. The explosion is instantaneous but I hold onto the man that has been the bane of my existence for eternity. Light and darkness shoot out in every direction until the dark rebounds and eclipses the golden brilliance in its dark mouth.

As the smoke clears, I look down at the still body of the king. With Life’s help I was twice as strong as Light and managed to do more than simply reset him. I knocked him back to creation. He’s been reduced to the essence of a ray of sunlight. Watching the body twitch as Light’s Magiks seek an escape, is fitting considering what he’s done. One last twitch and the Light starts to seep out of the body into the air, but I’m ready for it. It gathers in a cloud above the body and before it can stream up into the sky, I snag it with my shadows. Drinking him down into the heart of darkness.

Light is no more.

21

THE FIENDS GAVE me their all, literally. Every single one of them connected to me and fought as long as they could alongside me. For a while we held our own, hacking our way through Schoth after Schoth, but some of them could fend us off. Attacking us back, the fiends blocked as much of the damage as they could but now, they’re drained and I’m having a hard time communicating with them. I really hope that none of them died. I can’t bear anyone else dying for me.

Forcing my head to turn to the side, I watch Phobe run at Light with a new power in his eyes. When they clash an explosion rocks the entire field. Everyone near it is thrown back and my ears ring from the force of it. Eager to see him, but too weak to move, my eyes strain to see him in the fog of dirt and smoke. After what feels like an eternity of trying in vain, my eyes become heavy and no matter how much, I fight they start to close.

Death is calling me once again.

Memories boil to the surface, pulling me down into their depths. My mom’s smiling face as she reaches for me. My dad who’s fighting his own war—blowing raspberries on my cheeks and sneaking me chocolates. Alagard, teasing me with a sword he says I’m too big to carry. Jameson, talking about his plants and potions and another of him hiding a dirty magazine behind his back, as I walk by his open bedroom door.

Ruthie smiling at me that first time. Little Knox… gods, little Knox. He’ll be safe, the humans took him back to the Sidhe, there they can help him after what happened. Michael with his pink cheeks and quick mind. The gorgon babies finding loving parents. So many people have come and gone through my life and now I’m seeing them all. Face after face whizzes through my mind as I try to slow it down and hold onto them.

My father’s voice cries out my name, full of anguish and anger. He can’t get to me but he’s trying so hard. I love my daddy, and I’m thankful that I got to see him before… before it’s all over.

Whatever god is listening, keep the rest of them as safe as possible. I won’t be here to watch them.

22

RUNNING TO HER, I kneel at her side and get a sick sense of déjà vu as I pull her onto my knees. The darkness inside of her that once fought so hard to help her live, is now smothered underneath the cursed Magiks of the collar that still remains despite Light’s demise. The spell on it wasn’t created by him and he had no power over it.

“Do something Darkness! Please… do not let my daughter perish when I’ve only just found her!” Sergean yells, kneeling beside us in the bloody mud. His voice is full of grief, he knows she’s at the cusp of her final breaths.

Life’s words float through my mind. A memory from us both. Half a brain can survive… The epiphany hits me almost as hard as tasting her the first time. Cradling her face in my hands, I turn her head to look into her eyes. They open and widen in surprise.

“Not that I’m… bitching about seeing you… but how?”

“Life gave himself to me,” I answer.

“That… sounds kinky,” she teases. Swallowing, her eyes dim even more. “Did we win?”

“Oh, yeah,” I reassure her.

“Awesome. Can you… make sure they’re not… assholes?” she asks and I smile despite the situation. Leave it to her to worry about them even as she lay dying. But I have other plans.

She sees her dad, who has silent tears tracking down his cheeks and says, “Hey daddy, I was just thinking about you… did you ever get that… hooker?” Sergean chokes on a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. I look at him and he nods.

Leaning down he kisses her forehead and whispers something in her ear and then once again he’s gone. Pulled back to his realm by the rules that hold his as much prisoner as the stone ever did me. We might have to fix that one day soon, with Life gone—things can change.

Focusing completely on Iza I ask, “Are you ready to fly with me away from all of this?” Her eyebrow goes up and I kiss her bloody mouth.

Her breathing labors as she takes gasping breaths in between every few words. “I’d love to but there’s this… whole ‘dead’ thing in the… way.” As if I’d let death take her from me. I kiss her again and pull her closer to me. My shadows caress her and slip inside of her soul.

I made the decision the moment she told me that she didn’t want to be the Shepherd anymore. Now, I tell her. “Licar will be king, Auryn his queen. You’re free, Iza,” I whisper against her mouth. Internally, I’m looking for all traces of her that makes her Feyrie.

“That’s… good. They don’t need monsters,” she coughs wetly, “like you and I… anymore. They need healing and guidance. All… we’re good for is… death.” She’s right and she’s wrong, but it doesn’t matter anymore. “Shame we don’t get… that happy ending the… movies talk about.” She sounds so lost saying it that I want to give it to her even more. We may not get the happy ending her books and movies portray, because we will always have to fight, but that doesn't mean we can’t try.

“Let’s start with a happy for now,” I whisper.

She smiles again. “Hey… I can dig that. Especially, if there’s… sex and cheeseburgers involved.”

“Anything.” I push more shadows into her and finally find all the darkness inside of her, it welcomes me like a long lost lover.

“Phobe… what are you doing?”

“Possibly killing you,” I reply honestly. She shrugs and gives me one of those smiles that has everything that makes up her dear, little, wicked heart.

“I don’t mind… dying in your arms. You’ll never be able to shake… enough of the guilt to get… another girlfriend.” I laugh, I can’t help it. This is Iza I’m holding in my arms.

My smile fades. “Until I met you I was alone. Always alone. I didn’t even realize how much so until you smiled at me for the first time. I’m not going back to that, Iza. Instead,” I swallow the darkness inside of her, “I’m going to make you like I am.”

“You can do that?”

“I hope.”

“That’s a word… you don’t say… often.” She coughs again and I hold her tighter against me. “I don’t know whether to be nervous or… happy you said it.”

“You won’t be connected to your Feyrie anymore.” Not that I care about her connection with them, but she needs to understand this change.

“Psh, they don’t need me anymore… and I… don’t need them.” I raise an eyebrow at that statement, she doesn’t sound upset by the prospect.

Standing, I pull her with me to her feet and like ripping a bandaid off I pull every single cell of the darkness out of her and shove my essence back in its place. Her mouth opens in a scream as she they spread out into every atom of her being.

We stand there for hours as I pour everything I can spare into her. As each ragged cry leaves her, until she’s hoarse from it, I hold her tight to me. As the sun sets her cries lessen and then stop altogether. Her eyes snap open as the collar unlatches and falls from her neck. The battered skin where it laid beneath it, heals immediately. When she looks at me, with wide swirling black eyes, I can see the stars of eternity in them.

Elation fills me. It worked.

“Does this mean I get to eat people?” I chuckle because she sounds so excited about the prospect. I pull her into a hug and hold her tight as my wings unfurl and we rise into the dusky sky.

Sensing she’s still waiting for an answer, I say, “Yes, your powers will need to be fed.” She looks below us at the crowd of Feyrie forming and then looks at me and frowns.

“Do you want to say goodbye?” I ask.

“Yes.” She frowns and her own wings unfurl and after a second of confusion, she gives them a few experimental flaps. She really does learn fast—at everything but swimming. I release her and she hovers there, getting her bearings, before gliding clumsily towards the ground to float a few feet above their heads.

“Licar, Auryn, you will watch over them now. I have other things to do.”

“But we need you—“ Auryn starts to say.

Iza cuts her off and says, “Na, the war is over. They need someone like you to put them back together and guide them. This world is now your home and the humans here know you exist.” She smiles sadly. “Give our fallen their due.” Iza beats her wings a few times and rises clumsily into the air. Midway to me, she stops again and turns to look at the Feyrie.

Pointing a finger at them she warns, “But if you ever turn into power hungry assholes, you’ll see me again.” Then she roars and her new—now, true—face is shown in all its glory. Their deep silence erupts into cheers. With it echoing behind her she crookedly flies to where I’m hovering, watching her.

Coming even with me she says, “You know, there’s a few people I need to visit—here and in that place we met.” I kiss her and as I do the universe is laid out before me. A portal opens above us and the darkness welcomes us home.

EPILOGUE

“OH, yeah. Phobe, I have something to tell you.” Her voice echoes in the darkness of the portals we’re traveling.

“What?” I ask dreading her answer. I can no longer force my way into her mind, in the eyes of creation—we’re equals.

“Well, now that I know the fiends are okay, I discovered that a few of them are pregnant, and I promised I’d help them deliver their adorable little babies.” That is not what I expected her to say.

“Are you fucking serious?” Only Iza would think flesh eating demons are adorable.

“What? I’ve heard those forlorn bustards of yours getting it on with them ever since you came back from the dead. Their enthusiasm gives me a fucking headache.”

“Iza.”

“Well, it’s best to get these things out in the open.” She looks around her and makes a face. “I don’t want to live in this place either. This whole floating around in the dark thing makes me feel like a turd in the toilet bowl.” She pauses and I hide a smile. “I need a soft bed too, I’ve gotten used to them.” She’s come a long way from someone who lived in a cell and slept on a filthy floor.

“You don’t need to sleep,” I remind her.

“Yeah, but there are plenty of other things we can do on it.” My smile slips free this time. “And showering, I love showering. And now I can walk around naked without anyone getting all weird about it.” She stops and swings around to grab my arms. “Wait! Does this mean I have to give up real food?” she demands.

By the look on her face, she’s acting like she’s being told she’s going to die again. I sigh. “No, but you don’t need it to survive anymore.”

She continues on, “I need TV! The last season of Supernatural will be on soon and I can’t live without seeing it.”

“Iza,” I say patiently.

“You and I both know that it's better for me—and everyone else—if I have things to keep me occupied, because when I’m bored, I accidentally break things.” I won’t tell her that I like it when she breaks things, sometimes even when it's me. I’ll let her discover it herself.

“You can have whatever you desire.” Those words might very well come back to haunt me one day.

“Good. This means we can live in the hotel in Vegas. I can go play the machines and see more of that shadow where they’re naked on a trapeze,” she says in an animated voice.

“Beg pardon?” I don’t know whether to laugh or be a little bothered she wants to see nude people.

“They paint their bodies with glitter that shines like unicorn poop in those disco lights all along the stage.” She starts flying again, reassured her life will have things in it that bring her comfort—including me. “Do you think I can be good enough to be one of those trapeze people? I hear rich old men pay big bucks to eat sushi off them.” Sure, if she wants me to kill them. “Na, never mind, I’d end up killing one of them for touching me in the wrong spot.” And that is a perfect example of one of the many reasons I love her.

If anyone ever tries to take her away from me again, I’ll do worse than kill them. I’ll cover them in glitter and put them on a damn trapeze, then kill them.

“Are you thinking about killing people?” I grunt, she caught me there. She swings around again and wraps her arms around my neck. “You’re so hot,” she teases and kisses me. When she pulls away and smiles, it’s all teeth and dark promises. “Can we have sex in this place?”

Laughing, I pull her legs around my waist. “We can try.”

Her laughter makes me realize that it’s possible for monsters like us to find happiness, especially in moments like this. It won’t always be the case, we are what we are, but I’m holding my soul in my arms and that’s good enough for me.

I plan to keep ahold of her from now until eternity.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This concludes the Facets of Feyrie Series. The true end of a series is always a sad thing. The world you immerse yourself in, is gone. Part of me is sad, but another part is satisfied that I did it as much justice as I could. I let them live through words and made them into something that some people can dream about one day. I hope that you enjoyed this series and traveled and cried and raged along with Iza and Phobe. This journey started twenty-years ago and ended with what I’d consider a bang. And a sort of Happy Ending. So I might have fibbed about no happy endings, yeah?

Thanks for coming with me.

ABOUT ZOE PARKER

Zoe is the type of person that thinks that writing about herself in third person is giggle worthy. She also laughs at those T-REX costumes that flap about when you run. Zoe has a hard time writing about normal things and has a soft spot for the antihero and the monster in the closet. For all we know they're lonely and trying to make friends. They're just doing it badly. She also likes pickles and peanut butter, yuck.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Dedication

To the Reader

Obliteration

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About Zoe Parker

Also by Zoe Parker