table. He rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, gaze glued there instead of my face. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. And I’m sorry for my past, for the wrongs I’ve committed. But I have a life, like you. I don’t want to lose that. I won’t lose it.”
“Why would you lose it?”
“The queen—” he stopped himself, drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “She and I are connected.” He sighed, and seemed to age a few years in that one gesture. “In ways I can’t talk about.”
Defiance burned in his eyes. The weight of his words, the challenge in his glare; I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, toxic touch be damned. “What is the queen planning?”
“There are—were—four fae powerful enough to keep her trapped. The Keepers. Three are dead. Caroline was the third.” He bowed his head and focused hard on teasing the packets through his fingers.
“Did you know her?”
A grimace tugged his lips downward. “She was one of the oldest. We all know the ancient ones.”
“What happens if they all die?”
“She escapes.”
That monster would escape. A nightmare free in London. “Why doesn’t someone stop her, send her back to Faerie?”
“We can’t ever go back. It’s a one-way trip. There isn’t enough draíocht here to weave a return journey. Besides, I’m not sure the fae want to stop her. Those that do are too afraid. She has agents everywhere. Spies. It can be difficult to know whom to trust. If I talk to the wrong person, I’d likely end up with a dagger in my back, and if you try to stop one of her agents, another will take its place.” Over and under, he flipped the packet between his fingers.
I plucked the packet out of his grip and caught his gaze. “Reign … What I saw … Are you one of her agents?”
He looked right back at me, not a quiver of doubt, not a flinch. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” He softened his voice, smoothed it out and added a poignant note of sadness, which tugged on my heart. He didn’t need to confirm his answer; he’d admitted he was an agent by omission. He did work for her but it definitely wasn’t voluntary.
“No,” I said.
“Never? Your cozy little life isn’t exactly inspiring.”
“You know, just when I think I could like you, you go and say some fae mightier-than-thou crap and remind me just what a spoiled smug-ass celebrity brat you are.” That garnered a smile from him, shattering and sweeping away the creeping tension.
“Thank you.” He grinned, eyes brightening.
“I’m not complimenting you. You need to replace the filter between your ears. The messages aren’t getting through.” I tossed the packet at him and settled back in my seat. His answers mingled with countless unspoken questions in my head. It was a lot to take in. Too much to consider all at once. Faerie was real. The queen was escaping. And I had somehow managed to get tangled up in the middle of it. I needed time to process the information, time away from the distraction of Reign. I noticed him watching me; analyzing my face in that utterly unashamed way he did. Blatantly staring. “What?” His scrutinizing summoned a blush.
“You like to argue.”
“You’re easy to argue with.”
“You know opposites attract, right?”
“I’m not attracted to you.” A slither of nervous laughter escaped. I fidgeted in my seat. “Do women really fall for your BS? How do they even get past your love for yourself?”
He chuckled. “Most don’t care.”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Noting my enquiring expression, he rolled his eyes. “This conversation, here now, is the most real thing I’ve experienced in months, years maybe.”
I scrunched up my nose, “This conversation? This one? About magical faerie lands and spider-queens? This is real?”
“Yeah, this very one. You’re not afraid to say what you think. I like that. Some find my presence intimidating.”
Intimidating
was one
“Why would you lose it?”
“The queen—” he stopped himself, drew in a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “She and I are connected.” He sighed, and seemed to age a few years in that one gesture. “In ways I can’t talk about.”
Defiance burned in his eyes. The weight of his words, the challenge in his glare; I wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, toxic touch be damned. “What is the queen planning?”
“There are—were—four fae powerful enough to keep her trapped. The Keepers. Three are dead. Caroline was the third.” He bowed his head and focused hard on teasing the packets through his fingers.
“Did you know her?”
A grimace tugged his lips downward. “She was one of the oldest. We all know the ancient ones.”
“What happens if they all die?”
“She escapes.”
That monster would escape. A nightmare free in London. “Why doesn’t someone stop her, send her back to Faerie?”
“We can’t ever go back. It’s a one-way trip. There isn’t enough draíocht here to weave a return journey. Besides, I’m not sure the fae want to stop her. Those that do are too afraid. She has agents everywhere. Spies. It can be difficult to know whom to trust. If I talk to the wrong person, I’d likely end up with a dagger in my back, and if you try to stop one of her agents, another will take its place.” Over and under, he flipped the packet between his fingers.
I plucked the packet out of his grip and caught his gaze. “Reign … What I saw … Are you one of her agents?”
He looked right back at me, not a quiver of doubt, not a flinch. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” He softened his voice, smoothed it out and added a poignant note of sadness, which tugged on my heart. He didn’t need to confirm his answer; he’d admitted he was an agent by omission. He did work for her but it definitely wasn’t voluntary.
“No,” I said.
“Never? Your cozy little life isn’t exactly inspiring.”
“You know, just when I think I could like you, you go and say some fae mightier-than-thou crap and remind me just what a spoiled smug-ass celebrity brat you are.” That garnered a smile from him, shattering and sweeping away the creeping tension.
“Thank you.” He grinned, eyes brightening.
“I’m not complimenting you. You need to replace the filter between your ears. The messages aren’t getting through.” I tossed the packet at him and settled back in my seat. His answers mingled with countless unspoken questions in my head. It was a lot to take in. Too much to consider all at once. Faerie was real. The queen was escaping. And I had somehow managed to get tangled up in the middle of it. I needed time to process the information, time away from the distraction of Reign. I noticed him watching me; analyzing my face in that utterly unashamed way he did. Blatantly staring. “What?” His scrutinizing summoned a blush.
“You like to argue.”
“You’re easy to argue with.”
“You know opposites attract, right?”
“I’m not attracted to you.” A slither of nervous laughter escaped. I fidgeted in my seat. “Do women really fall for your BS? How do they even get past your love for yourself?”
He chuckled. “Most don’t care.”
“What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Noting my enquiring expression, he rolled his eyes. “This conversation, here now, is the most real thing I’ve experienced in months, years maybe.”
I scrunched up my nose, “This conversation? This one? About magical faerie lands and spider-queens? This is real?”
“Yeah, this very one. You’re not afraid to say what you think. I like that. Some find my presence intimidating.”
Intimidating
was one
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