Page 109 of Hunted By Fae

I shield my precious throat before I throw back my other hand for the guy’s head, and with a grip on his ear, I swirl us around.

The woman is too slow to act.

It’s not her fault.

I’m trained. I’m better.

I’m faster.

And before she’s lifted the pistol and aimed it at me, and her finger coils around that trigger—and she fires, I’ve already done too much.

I’ve already thrown the guy in front of me, a human shield to take the bullets as I drop to my knees and switch off the nightlights.

I roll out of the way, out of the blasts of the pistol that deafen me. And I thud into the car toppled over before moving around its side.

I don’t wait, not to listen to the beautiful song of the guy’s moans, his body bullet ridden.

I don’t hang around, not even to finish her off.

I let her scream, and the shift in her dark voice turns pitchy as she scrambles for her companion, and I use the moment of distraction to run down the sidewalk until another street splinters off—and I take that.

I turn my nightlight back on to guide the way.

Any fae nearby, even a deaf one, would have heard those gunshots.

If Dare is after me…

That was the siren to let him know where I am.

I almost feel stupid for thinking he’s after me. I mean, why would a dark fae would abandon his unit to chase down an old slight? That’s beyond comprehension. The punishment for that, for abandonment, would be severe.

It doesn’t make sense that he would chase me.

And yet, I feel it in my gut, like worms coiling and slapping and writhing, a constant unease.

Rushing through the streets of the city, I veer closer to the river, and I reach down for the CB radio at my hip.

I give Tesni the signal.

It’s time.

TWENTY-THREE

TESNI

The moment the code comes through the radio, I take the scarf out of the bag, then bury the plastic under the blankets on the roof.

It’s too noisy, the crinkle of a plastic bag, and it might wake the others as we sneak out.

I wake Emily, force her to down the rest of the energy drink, then abandon watch duty.

Past the nurse’s station, we dip through the double swing doors that open to a long corridor. Neither of us turn on our lights—not yet, not as we tread through the corridor to the stairwell at the end, then down to the bottom floor.

With each soft step, I drag the scented scarf along the walls. It’s only when we’re slipping out of the stairwell and into the lobby of the hospital that Emily flicks on her torch.

Her voice is a whisper, “Why do you have that?”

I pause at the steel-framed doors and smear the scarf around the glass. “The scarf? She has something of mine, too. And yours.”