Page 1 of Cruelly Fated (Princes of Avari #1)

One

ALLIE

T he half-troll’s sour breath washed over me.

His massive hand latched onto my ass and gave a squeeze hard enough to pitch me forward, my hips slamming into the edge of the table.

If I had a dollar for each grab-ass stunt, I would have left the low fae district yesterday, my grandpa and dignity in tow.

I inhaled through my nose, deep and steady, flicking my gaze to the ceiling. Can’t hit the patrons, can’t assault anyone while on the job…

Juggling empty beer bottles by their necks, I faced the shit-faced brute, flashed a toothy smile, and stalked off.

I’d avoid the table for the next hour, enough time for the beer to invade the half-troll’s remaining brain cells and turn him into one gigantic baby.

I might take my revenge then… A permanent marker tattoo on his forehead would do.

Or I could let our newest bouncer, who often struggled with self-control, deal with it.

I rose on my tiptoes, locating the eight-foot minotaur in no time, and raising my hand, I pointed at my last table.

The guy grinned in the darkest way possible.

Even his nose ring glimmered like it was winking at me.

Then he peeled off the wall, cracking his knuckles.

I grimaced. Perhaps I overreacted. Oh well, it’s too late to stop the monster on the prowl now.

Leaving the minotaur to his fun, I weaved between packed tables, dodging elbows and sloshing drinks.

Today was the last open night of the week, a Saturday.

I couldn’t wait for the next three days away from the noise and rowdy clients.

In fact, I looked forward to a chess rematch against Grandpa, our Sunday tradition. I mentally rubbed my hands.

Stage lights faded in and out, and I winced. Hurry up, Allie, before the club explodes into mayhem.

As I dodged through the throngs of fae, the club’s announcer roared over the speaker, “Give it up for the one and only—Luna!” The crowd’s favorite with curves made to torment and flame-red hair strutted out to a bass-heavy beat that rattled the floorboards .

Hoots cracked like thunder. Whistles shrieked. Someone bellowed in my ear, and spittle sprayed across my face. Eww…

I quickened my steps and reached the swinging door of the backroom in ten seconds flat—possibly my new record.

I breathed heavily by the time I got there, but the reward of muted noise and a space void of fae screaming into my face was worth it.

I leaned my back against the entrance and pushed through.

Lance, the other busser, saluted me, then kicked a crate in my direction. “Hiya.”

It had been such a hectic day, I hadn’t found a moment to chat with my favorite partner in crime. He took one look at me and stuck out his lower lip in a show of pity. “Rough day?”

“Ugh… That’s not how I imagined my eighteenth birthday.” I blew a raspberry and set my load down into the crate he’d slid my way.

The low fae shifter offered a sympathetic smile, hoisted five neatly stacked crates of empty bottles into his wiry arms, and headed toward the back.

I waited five beats, peering around the corner, to make sure he was out of the building.

Then, I fished a wrinkled paper from my back pocket—the art scholarship flyer I’d picked up at the school fair.

I carefully smoothed out its edges as I had done countless times before and read over the words promising scholarships to a select few applicants from my district for the Avari Institute of Art, AIA.

I kissed the paper and folded it neatly again before Lance could see .

I hadn’t told anyone I’d passed phase one of the selection process yet.

They’d scheduled my interview for next week and encouraged a letter of recommendation from my current employer.

I needed to speak with the club’s manager tonight, but thinking about it made me feel queasy.

Cold sweat slicked my palms. As stingy and volatile as Larry was, he could fire me tonight just for hinting I might leave. Loyalty meant little around here.

“Help…” A dancer burst in, face flushed and breath short, her red burlesque-style outfit swaying with feathers. Oh no. She was the next act and should have been backstage right now.

I jammed the paper into my back pocket and jogged towards her. “What’s wrong?” Another handsy customer, maybe?

“He’s here,” she gasped, pressing herself into a corner as if trying to disappear.

Understanding dawned on me. I peered into the club.

The girl’s stalker, a mole shifter with a prominent nose, prowled around the venue, likely trying to sniff her out.

Ugh. What had begun with a private dance had morphed into an unhealthy and creepy-as-hell obsession.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. “I’ve got this.”

I stepped into the club and brushed past the man.

His beady black eyes met mine for a fleeting second—enough to ensnare him in an illusion: the same club, the same bustling scene, but with Larry, not me, telling him that the girl had quit and he had no information about her whereabouts.

I thrust all my gift juice into the illusion and spun away before it dissolved so he wouldn’t recall seeing me .

I strolled into the back room, staring straight ahead. A strange twinge settled in the back of my head. I massaged the spot, frowning. I never had any physical symptoms when using my gift.

“Did it work?” I asked the girl, now peeking into the room.

Lance rounded a corner, dusting his hands off, and craned his neck to peer into the club as well. What a goof, he didn’t even know what was happening. He’d figure it out soon, though. He’d witnessed me using my gift on a few occasions.

She squealed. “He’s leaving! I don’t know what you did, but it worked.” She threw her arms around my neck in a quick hug and bounced off on her light feet.

Lance arched an eyebrow. “Nifty trick there, mind-bender.”

A small smile touched my lips. “It’s nothing. I can’t even control it for five minutes straight.” True. Low fae like us rarely possessed any of the fae gods’ gifts, and those who did wielded only a smidge of what a high fae could do.

“Need six vodkas, stat!” a bartender hollered from beyond the swinging door.

“You got that?” Lance asked, balancing another heavy load in his arms.

“Yep.” I darted to the stockroom and gathered six vodkas by their glass necks.

Back in the club, I slipped behind the bartenders and replenished the liquor wall. The shelves’ mirrors reflected the sea of patrons, their facial expressions, clothing, where and how they sat… It’s been a while since I sketched people. The visual tempted me to paint it later when I got home.

Larry’s leery stare and his slick, raven hair slid into my view.

Instinctively, I hunched my shoulders and averted my gaze.

I slinked to the back to fetch a couple more bottles, giving myself a chance to rehearse my spiel.

He usually avoided this part of the club, perhaps because it was dead here—no patrons to make money off and definitely no glamour.

I balanced two tequilas and a couple of margarita mixes in my arms and whirled around, then slammed the brakes at the sight of Larry leaning in the doorway.

“Oh, hello. I need to—” I gestured with the mixes. “—get these to the bar.” I gulped. He’d sought me out, which was never a good sign. Perhaps the ass-grabbing client had complained, but he couldn’t blame me for the bouncer’s actions, could he?

Larry cleared his throat and straightened, adjusting the collar of his white shirt that peeked from beneath his suit jacket, along with his array of ostentatious gold rings and the thick chain around his neck, all displayed for all to see.

He always dressed impeccably, though he could do without the flashy jewelry.

In many ways, he seemed to aspire to the image of a Mafia lord, his hair slicked back and shining like a character from The Godfather .

Perhaps that explained why his personality genuinely repelled me; he gave me that unsettling, crawly feeling.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he drawled .

“Me? Avoiding? No…” I laughed nervously, the sound fading quickly. He noticed. I had to fess up now . I parted my lips, but Larry beat me to it.

“I know you’re nervous,” he said, edging closer and draping an arm over my shoulders.

His gaze lingered on my cleavage and denim shorts as we walked.

“You’re graduating,” he continued, his piercing gaze finally clashing with my wary one.

Like most men, Larry towered at least a foot over me.

I didn’t like being leered at, especially from this close, especially by him.

“Yeah, I’m just a bit worried, that’s all,” I said, my mind on my pending application to the art institute—my only chance at a better future.

Larry squeezed my shoulder. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, to ease your mind. Our franchise is expanding, and they’re looking for talented and pretty girls like you.”

“To do what exactly?” I asked, suspicion tinting my voice.

“Entertain, of course. Your mother—may the fae gods bless her resting soul with eternal peace—was the best dancer I ever had. I know you’ve got that talent, too, yeah?”

I winced at the mention of her and froze in place, stunned by his proposal. Unease crawled up my spine. My thoughts scrambled. Should I bring up my AIA application? He had that intensity in his expression, the one that said he wouldn’t tolerate my refusal.

“Oh, uh… You caught me off guard… Can I think it over? My gran dpa—”

“Yes, yes, of course. How’s Old Pete?” He interjected, ushering me into the club along with him.

I forced my tied tongue to cooperate, my response ready, when he pivoted on his heel and strolled away.

What? I scrunched my eyes shut hard, reminding myself this self-absorbed miser had no soul and no genuine interest in others.

But if I got lucky, I’d be away from here, Larry, and the district soon.

My shoulders slumped lower. Getting lucky wasn’t my forte. If I didn’t take decisive action soon, I’d live my mother’s life and not my own. She’d wanted me to quit the club and move to the inner city. With AIA on my resume, I could get a lucrative job and move Grandpa too.

I toed dark scuffs on the cheap linoleum floor, lost in my thoughts, when a whistle snapped me out of my daze. Loud music whooshed in and engulfed me at once, as if someone had turned on a faucet. I shook off the dread that slipped through my bones.

A bartender motioned for the liquor in my arms. I rushed behind the bar and threw myself into work, trying to put everything behind me. It’s fine… I’m fine .

My heart knew better, though, and refused to listen. The disastrous convo with Larry looped in my head without mercy. After completing another sweep of the club, I returned to the back room and strolled toward the nearest empty barrel. I lifted the lid, stuck my head inside, and screamed.