I go twenty shades of red and two shades of green. I must look like a particularly hideous Christmas tree. “So it’s true? You guys are really -“
“Monsters.” Altair finishes for me, smiling brightly. “Yup. Genuine magic, mystery, and mayhem, at your service.”
I stand up instantly, but the dizziness hits me too fast. I stumble back in my chair and Altair puts his warm hand over mine.
“You okay, early bird?” His face swims in my vision.
“Yeah, I’m just -“ I hold my forehead and stare at the table. “Faerie tales are for kids.”
“Yeah, you guys sure have made up a lot of stories about us, huh? But I guess we’ve encouraged them. Or at least we did in the beginning, when the Bright Place was still wide open.”
“The what?” I struggle.
“The Bright Place,” He chirps. “You know, the reality above this one that contains all the fae in the world? Dane said he took you to Van Grier’s place, so you must’ve seen some of it.”
The endlessly grassy field. The mansion.
“That was…another reality?” I hiss. “No, okay, you’re lying, because the only reality is this one. My life isn’t a science fiction movie starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, okay? It’s normal. It’s the usual.”
“Riiight,” Altair follows. “So you don’t believe me. Even after everything you saw?”
“I -“ I let out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what to believe, okay? All I want to do is give Vil back his money, and leave. That’s it. That’s all. No hocus pocus, no leaving milk on the doorstep, no dust that makes me fly - just…normal. I’ve got college to worry about, and that’s enough as it is.”
Altair stirs his own drink thoughtfully - a vodka soda with an orange wedge in it.
“Human college is expensive, right? You could pay for it with Vil’s money, if you worked for him.”
“You don’t think I haven’t thought of that?” I snap, then deflate. “Sorry.”
“No no, it’s fine,” Altair smiles. “I like a girl with a little bite in her.”
I fight my blush with all my might this time, and it mercifully stops at my neck. Altair stirs his drink the other way.
“It’s not so bad,” He admits softly, so soft I have to strain to hear him over the music. “The terms are set, and he lets you know them all beforehand. For humans it’s usually four or five years, and then they’re off the hook and rich as sin. We never see them again. Probably for the best that way.”
Five years. Rich as sin. I shake my head and ask;
“Do you work for him?”
Altair’s grim twists sardonically. “Not exactly. Our agreement is a little more…one-sided, so to speak.”
“And I’m guessing you’re not allowed to talk about it.”
“Exactly.” He touches his throat, and I gape as a band of silver appears there. “This little doo-dad makes sure I can’t say anything about certain important things.”
“Dane put one of those on my neck!” I shout. Altair nods.
“You have to ground a human to transport them to the Bright Place. If you try without a grounding, well. They don’t exactly make it one piece, let’s put it that way.”
I flinch, then go still as I feel soft fingers encircle my neck. Altair inspects the skin there with his intense, star-studded gaze.
“He really did a number on you, huh? Sorry I couldn’t stop him sooner.”
He means Dane, my bruise. “It’s fine - it’s nearly gone.”
“Some bruises don’t ever fade, sweetheart.” His voice is so sad as he says it, but he keeps his smile on. I’ve got the urge to confide in him everything all of a sudden - my troubles at home, uneasiness around Dane. Speak of the devil and he shall appear; I spot someone with short, white-blonde hair pinning a woman against a shadowed wall, the two of them entangled in a torrid, messy make-out session. She’s got her hand halfway into his white button-up shirt he’s rolled up at the cuffs, he’s got one leg of hers hitched up around the sharp bone of his hips, her short shorts leaving nothing to the imagination as his black leather pants jut against her. His broad mouth kisses up and down her tan neck, slow, languid kisses moving ever downward, until he gets to her collarbone beneath her bohemian blouse and holy shit if that was me I’d explode on the spot, I’d be useless jelly, I’d be a star supernovaing but there is no way in frozen hell that’s ever going to happen to me, Dane or no Dane -
“Hrmmm?” Altair’s voice barely breaks me out of staring. “You’ve got something for him?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I scoff, staring at the fiery table again. Altair taps his temple.
“Oh no, you don’t get off that easy. Fae stuff, remember? I can see it - you’ve got it bad.”
“He’s just - he’s just so stupidly good-looking,” I snarl, pissed he can read me but more pissed at myself for what’s being read in the first place. “You’ve gotta believe me, I’m not usually this sort of girl. I don’t - I don’t want to rabidly jump the bones of every guy I see, okay?”
Altair laughs. “Don’t gotta defend yourself to me, early bird.”
“But I do, because it’s stupid! It’s so stupid - he’s manipulative with people and rude and crass and incapable of knowing what a healthy apology looks like and also a fae I guess even if I don’t know what that really is - but my dumbass body keeps turning into a pile of mindless mush whenever he’s around and I hate it!”
I stop my mini-rant before it blows up into a full-sized one, breathing hard. Altair blinks, then claps me on the shoulder before standing.
“Stay here. I’ve got just the thing.”
“It better not be a drink,” I threaten.
“It might be a drink, but trust me, it’ll help,” He teases, and then lopes around to Quinn’s bar, leaving me to mentally fist-fight the wild urge to look in Dane’s direction again. That lady he’s kissing is extremely beautiful - all perfect hourglass curves and a soft mouth and fox-like blue eyes, a mane of naturally blonde hair. They look so good together, goddamnit. She could be his co-star in a commercial for sexy perfume or something. Just as I start wondering if my boobs will ever get that perfectly round, Dane’s turquoise eyes slide over to the side - directly on me - his mouth still on the girl’s tanned skin. He pauses, and I freeze like a deer in a truck’s headlights caught red-handed. That’s not the saying, idiot brain - just look away, look away for shit’s sake before he notices it’s you -
He straightens, pulls his mouth from the girl and gives some excuse to her, and starts to lope over.
“Fuck.” I chant. “Fuck fuck fuck fucky cheese and beans on toast, we gotta go.”
I grab my purse and stand, but in a blink Dane flops into the chair opposite me, putting his black leather boots on the table with a resounding ‘thud’ and combing a hand through his hair.
“Going somewhere, little beast?” He asks with a wicked smirk.
“I have a name,” I say, half-strangled. Not by him this time, but by my own nerves. His whole presence presses down on me, that gravity force-field he emits practically buzzing in my blood like a nasty strong sugar high.
“You have a moniker,” He corrects. “Which is what I’ll be using with you until you fuck up and Van Grier has me kill you for it.”
I resist the gut-instinct to look scared. “Sorry to burst your murder-boner, but after tonight I’m not gonna have anything to do with Vil. Or you. Ever again.”
He snorts. “You’re more naive than that dress you’re wearing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Excused,” He asserts, then whips his boots off the table and leans in. “If you think for a second Van Grier is going to give up on you after you brought that thing to life, think again.”
“You mean Sir Charles? I didn’t! All I did was bury him -“
“Some humans have the Brightness in them,” He interrupts, drumming his long fingers on the tabletop like he’s explaining it to a child testing his
patience. “Some don’t. You call them witches, warlocks, magicians, whatever. You have it. Van Grier has it, too, but not the way you have it.”
I stare at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We can see it around you,” Dane sighs. “Any fae worth their salt can. It’s a glow. Yours is irritatingly gentle and Van Grier’s is…” He trails off. “He can force us to obey, but he can’t force us to fight. That’s where you come in.”
Dane inches his fingers across the table, worming them underneath my palm. My organs start doing the electric slide at the feel of his fingertips on my skin, but he looks totally composed, flashing me a crooked smirk lit in rainbow by the strobe lights.
“You can’t kill a fae, or threaten it with death. But tie a human and fae’s life together with the Brightness, or with that idiotic trap called love, and if the human dies the fae does too. Just like that.”
He pinches the skin of my palm softly, more like a nip than anything, and I’m half-horrified and half-amazed to feel my breasts respond like they’ve got a will of its own, rising up at the mere thought of getting teased like that. Dane pulls away.
“So you see why it’s a problem,” He says. “Having you around.”
“I’m so fucking lost,” I groan. And turned-on. And disgusted at myself. And totally out of my element. But I don’t say those.
“The Bright Place is -“ He starts to explain, but it happens so fast I blink and almost miss it - silver appears around Dane’s neck, a choker glowing white. It lasts for only a second, but Dane gnashes his teeth, a shudder running through his body as he clenches and unclenches his fist.
“Are you alright?” I try. Dane’s eyes cut me to the bone.
“D-Do I look alright, you moron?”
“Fine,” I sniff. “I was just trying to help.”
I frown at the dancefloor instead of at him, wishing something would break and ease the pressure in my chest. Dane exhales after a moment, his sword gaze sheathing itself.
“I know. As you can probably tell, I’m not used to being offered help, or knowing how to accept it without -“
“Lashing out?” I offer. “Turning into a raging douchebag with the manners of a sewer rat?”
“Yes.” He grits his teeth. “That.”
It’s my turn to lean in across the table.
“Here’s a good place to start, for free, on the house from yours truly; don’t call people morons. They typically don’t like it.”
“Are you trying to convince me you’re not a moron for wearing that dress to this club?”
“This is the only dress I have, Mr. Fashion Police.”
He blinks rapidly, then narrows his gemstone eyes, the strobe polishing them to deadly gorgeous slits. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously.”
“She’s telling the truth, you know,” Altair’s warm voice butts between our cold tension, and he takes a seat beside Dane. With a smile, he slides a pink drink with a cherry in it to me. “Kampai!” He raises his own, glass to mine, and drinks. I look between my drink and Dane warily.
“Is it safe to drink here?” I ask.
“Altair isn’t the type to roofie,” Dane deadpans. Altair instantly spurts out a bit of his drink.
“Dane, you asshole!”
“I said ‘isn’t’,” Dane rolls his eyes.
Altair looks at him suspiciously, then says; “You don’t kill them, right?”
“Of course I don’t,” Dane scoffs. “I just beat them until they can’t shit straight anymore.”
“Good to know I’m not the only victim of your anger issues,” I frown at my drink. Dane just traces his finger on the table absently and glowers. Altair wipes his mouth with a napkin before he speaks;
“Dane’s got a nose for sin. He’s in charge of keeping track of criminal activity in the club. And everywhere Van Grier goes. But mostly in the club. It’s mainly just guys trying to take advantage of girls.”
“Guys?” Dane snorts. “Men who take advantage of others for their own gain don’t deserve to referred to with something as mild as ‘guys’. Call them what they are - walking, breathing scum.”
“That’s the first thing out of your mouth I’ll agree with.” I pick the cherry in my glass out, tying the stem of it with my fingers. “But it’s weird, because I could’ve sworn I saw you in the corner ‘taking advantage’ of someone before you came over here.”
“Jealousy isn’t a good color on you either, little beast,” Dane inspects his nails. “Make no mistake - all women want fae. And all men too, while we’re at it. It just so happens I prefer the women, as Altair here prefers the men.”
Altair rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and I gape at Dane.
“You really do have the manners of a sewer rat!”
“What?” Dane sneers. “What did I do this time, Your Beastliness?”
“You can’t just go around outing people without their permission!”
“Outing?” Dane narrows his eyes, then looks to Altair. “What is she talking about?”
Altair pats my hand reassuringly, that same warm smile on his face. “It’s nice of you to worry about me. But don’t. I’m fae - much less susceptible to the pain and injury my human partners might endure in a similar circumstance. The worst I get for it is a mournful cry or two from lady fae, and a bloodminister harping at me about ‘producing an offspring’ or some garbage like that. I dunno what he says exactly, I’ve started tuning it out.”
Altair goes still, his broad shoulders sagging minutely. “Started. Past tense. Haven’t had to tune one out since I was captured.”
“Captured? By who?”
“Who else?” Altair’s dark, star-studded eyes glance up at the VIP room’s tinted windows. He opens his mouth, but I see a glint of silver around his neck, and he abruptly closes it. Maybe he can’t say it without getting a bolt of pain, like Dane clearly did. Just him looking in that direction means only one thing; Van Grier.
Dane slams his feet on the ground as he stands, making me and Altair jump.
“I’ve had enough of talking.” Dane’s gaze rivets to the blonde still waiting for him in the corner, her eyes smoldering in our direction. He calls over his shoulder. “If you need me, Altair, don’t. I’ll be busy.”
I watch his lean frame part the dancefloor like a sea, people instinctively knowing to get out of his way. He saunters back to the girl and I tear my eyes off just as she wraps her arms around his neck. Altair shakes his head.
“I think he’s the one out of all us who’s taking the capture the hardest. He was glorious. We all were, but him most of all. You should’ve seen him - he was like fire, white fire that came out of nowhere and swept away all the evil in the Bright Place. And now…” Altair sighs. “Now he comforts himself with sex and booze and blood.”
“You guys,” I whisper. “You guys aren’t really supernatural.”
“Like the TV show?” Altair perks up. “I love that TV show. I love TV in general - humans have done such a good job making things up to consume their limited life spans with.”
I’m dead silent. Altair leans in suddenly, smelling like copper and rainwater and the salt of the sea, the little smile on his face almost playful, but somehow sad deep beneath that.
“That man in the corner,” Altair murmurs. I look where he’s pointing, to a guy in a green shirt and jeans. “He’s about to walk over to the bar, to the girl in the bright pink dress, and ask her to dance.”
“You can’t really know that -“
The guy starts walking to the bar, stopping in front of the girl in the pink dress and I feel like an ice-hand’s grabbed my heart. They talk, and I watch in dumbstruck awe as they move to the dancefloor together. I turn to Altair, fear clinging to me.
“You -“
“Yes,” He cuts me off, the stars in his eyes glittering like windswept diamonds. He looks so wild, like an avalanche or a tidal wave, something unstoppable and greater t
han me, greater than any human. “We really are supernatural.”
“And captured?” I manage.
“And captured,” He repeats softly. “Caged.”
I look over at Dane, for once my body shutting up and my brain ruling - I hadn’t seen it before, but now I do; he grinds against the blonde girl with a feral desperation, his teeth at her throat like he’s trying to get…lost.
This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea and I’m going to pay for it, aren’t I? I’m not the girl who decides to do the brave thing - I’m the passive-aggressive coward who hides in her apartment hating her upstairs neighbors. I’m the prideful girl who hates the idea of leaning on others for help, who has to do everything her way or it doesn’t feel right and she gives up. I’m the coward who’s never kissed a boy, or a girl. I’m the coward who stays in her room and studies and selfishly tries to make things better for herself.