Page 10 of Cruelly Fated (Princes of Avari #1)

Nine

ALLIE

A hostile bzzzzt! jolted me from sleep. I slapped my hand around the nightstand, blindly, until my fingers collided with wood and nothing—gods-damn it, where was the blasted thing? Someone had moved the world’s loudest alarm clock again.

Oh. Right. That someone would be me.

Muzzily, I pushed up on my elbows, hair a tangled halo around my face, and finally caught sight of the offending beast tucked behind the lamp.

I swatted it off with a groan, silencing the noise.

A thick breath whooshed from my chest as I flopped back onto the mattress, every muscle reluctant to move.

Sleep hadn’t come easily lately—not since Grandpa was dragged away in cuffs and my world upended itself in a slow, aching implosion.

Night after night, I’d lie awake, eyes locked on the ceiling fan’s slow rotations, chasing sleep like it was some elusive fae creature.

And then, when it finally came, it never wanted to let go.

Hence, the old trick. Mom’s trick. Move the clock to force your body into motion when your soul isn’t ready to face the day. It worked. Barely.

My job was all that paid our bills since Mom’s death, and now with no savings left, I had no safety net. I had to show up to work, even when that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I sat up with a hiss as my spine cracked and hopped to my feet, toes sinking into the worn chenille rug. Cold air wrapped around my legs as I shuffled across the room. I grabbed my phone, thumbed on music—something fast and defiant—and let the beat shake the cobwebs loose.

With exaggerated flair, I danced into the kitchen, flicked on the ancient coffeemaker, and spun around to the bathroom in a messy rhythm. I didn’t bother closing the door—what was the point when you lived alone?

Steam curled around me as I stepped out of the shower minutes later, towel twisted into a turban atop my head. Fog covered the mirror and a constant chill radiated from the floor. The air smelled faintly like stale coffee and…hope.

I padded barefoot into Mom’s bedroom, where her old makeup drawers still stood like a shrine untouched by time. Her perfume clung faintly to the wood, evoking a bittersweet ache behind my ribs. I rummaged through the lipsticks and shadow palettes.

Patrons tipped better when I painted my face and wore that brighter version of myself like armor.

The kind that smiled, flirted, and didn’t let anyone see the cracks.

I needed every coin, every whisper of luck.

Repairs had to be done before we listed the house.

And fae gods help me, I couldn’t afford another thing falling apart.

Not when everything else already had.

The music dulled mid-beat, and a jarring ringtone cut through the quiet. A default tune—the caller was no one I knew. A chill prickled my neck.

I darted back to the kitchen, bare feet slapping the cold tile. An Avari area code blinked on the screen. Could be spam. The fourth ring buzzed against my fingertips, and curiosity shoved hesitation out of the way.

I swiped green.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon. Ms. Marsh?” the clipped voice on the line asked.

“This is she.”

“I’m calling from AIA regarding your interview. ”

My heart launched into a sprint. Oh gods. Did I mess up the date? Was it today?

“Yes…?” The word barely found its way past the tightness in my throat.

“It’s been canceled.”

“Oh…” I licked my lips, voice cracking. “Has it been rescheduled?”

“No, Ms. Marsh.” She sounded annoyed. “Your application was formally withdrawn by the dean’s office. You are no longer being considered for admission to the Avari Institute of Art. Goodbye—”

“Wait!” I leaned against a wall, afraid my legs would give out any minute now. “Why? Please, tell me why. Maybe I can do something, like submit a new portfolio?”

A sigh ghosted down the line, followed by the rustle of a folder opening. Pages flipped.

“You have a close relative recently convicted of a crime.”

My throat closed. “Yes,” I whispered. “My grandfather.”

“AIA holds itself to the highest standards, Ms. Marsh. Academic, artistic, and societal. We already overlooked your low fae status. But this is beyond what we can permit. A family history like that tarnishes the institution’s legacy. I’m sure you understand. Good day.”

The call ended with a soft click .

My phone slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor, screen flashing once before going black. I stared at it, unmoving .

The heat behind my eyes came slow at first, then surged, burning like a thousand unshed tears.

What just happened?

My last dream—shredded before it even had a chance to breathe. And not for something I did…

I slid down the wall, curling into myself as the silence around me grew too oppressive to bear.

I showed up to work without a trace of makeup. Nature’s own red liner rimmed my eyelids, eyes puffy and raw from the crying I couldn’t seem to stop. The call this morning had cracked me open—and the flood never quite dried.

Nothing a few of Mom’s leftover anxiety pills couldn’t numb.

I used to stare at that orange bottle on her nightstand and wonder why she took them.

I thought it was a weakness. Now I knew better.

Now I understood that sometimes the weight of survival got too heavy to carry without something dulling the edges.

The irony almost made me laugh—I thought I’d known my mother.

But grief had a way of peeling back the layers of memory, and lately, I’d started seeing pieces of her I’d never noticed when she was alive. Shadows in her smile. Silences too long to be just tiredness. I wasn’t sure which part scared me more—what I hadn’t seen…or what I was starting to.

What else had she hidden from me? Was Grandpa’s addiction the worst of it?

I stood frozen in the back room, sweeping the same corner of the floor over and over like I could scrub the ache out of my chest if I just tried hard enough.

A sharp whistle broke the silence.

“Well, damn. I don’t think that corner had this much attention since the club opened,” Lance’s easy voice rang out behind me, laced with his usual warmth.

But his smile faltered the moment I turned.

“Ah,” he said gently, stepping closer. “One of those days?”

I managed a thin, bitter smile. “You could say that.”

The broom stilled in my hands. I exhaled shakily.

“I don’t think I can work out front tonight.

I can’t handle people…the crowd, the noise.

Would you mind switching shifts? I’ll do the loading, unloading—hell, I’ll scrub every damn keg tap if you want, just—” My voice cracked as the words rushed out too fast, tripping over one another.

“Hey, hey.” Lance’s hand wrapped around my arm, steadying me. His eyes met mine. “You know I’ve got you. I’ll tell everyone you caught some nasty fae-borne cold—one of those rare ones that give you the itch for days. That should keep them away from the back room. ”

Some of the pressure in my ribs eased. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

He gave a lazy shrug. “You can come to the picnic. Meet my girlfriend. She’s been dying to put a face to the name.”

My lips twitched despite myself. “Are you talking about me behind my back?”

“Always.” He winked, gave a dramatic spin on his heel, and vanished into the hallway.

The silence he left behind felt lighter somehow.

Thanks to his quick thinking, I’d avoid running into Larry tonight—small mercies. Just the thought of my boss sent a ripple of unease. I shivered and shook it off, brushing my palms over my arms like I could strip the anxiety with touch alone.

One creepy problem at a time.

I scanned the cluttered back room, exhaled, and set to work.

After tonight, this place would gleam like new—or close enough.

I hefted the overstuffed trash bags and hauled them one by one to the rear exit.

Some were so bloated and misshapen I had to drag them, the plastic rubbing against the tile with a cringing, high-pitch sound.

Once outside, I dumped the darn trash into the wide bin with my remaining strength, dusted my hands off, and leaned against the brick wall.

A breeze cooled the sweat at my temples, but agitation trickled in.

A strange energy came from a figure across the parking lot leaning against a luxurious, silver car and thumbing on his cell phone.

He wore a crisp dress shirt tucked into tailored slacks, sleeves rolled like a businessman enjoying a break.

His profile screamed young, handsome, and entirely out of place.

He wasn’t the type who’d frequent an exotic club on this side of Avari.

He twisted his neck, and his gaze met mine across the distance. The air stretched tight between us as we held eye contact for a beat, then he slipped into the driver’s seat and drove off.

I frowned and climbed the two concrete steps to the back door, my heart ticking faster with each tread. That man wasn’t here for the view or the club. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the man was watching me.