Page 96 of Hunted By Fae

Hands out in front of me, I move through the blackness of this conquered world. The nightlights are weak against the dark, but as I crouch down and sweep my arm, the nightlight bracelet illuminates enough to show me where I am.

Not in a street, not out in the open. In a dingy alleyway.

A small lane curves around the side of the building, but that will lead me out into the glowing red of the main street, where dark fae hunt and fires blaze through concrete and steel.

The wall opposite me is short and glazed in a slippery layer of ice. The only way to scale it is by climbing the green dumpster pushed up against it, one of the lids torn off and the sour stink of rot wafting from it.

I advance on the dumpster, and the closer I get, the more pinched my face is against the stench. I grab onto the edge and hoist myself up onto its latched lid. The plastic warps beneath my weight—and I slip on the sheet of ice.

My gloved hands smack down on the edge and grip, firm.

Behind me, my legs kick against the air as though that’ll help drag myself over the slippery frost coating the plastic. But all it manages to do is catch my boot on the loose strap of my backpack.

Something spills out from the bag.

I feel the weight dip, then hear the flutter of fabric fall down the icy air.

Whatever it is, a t-shirt or a sweater or a glove, it lands on the ground.

I wince at the sound.

A faint thump, so faint that I doubt any nearby human would hear it, but to the dark fae it could be a foghorn announcing my position.

I heave myself up the dumpster, then crawl for the wall. No time to care for balance or to angle myself just right, not when the sudden blast of a gun splits the air.

I throw a wild look over my shoulder at the door, as though I can see through it and up to the eighth floor, and the weight of silence presses down on me.

My breath pins to my throat, choking me—and I only release it when the rifle fires again.

Dare has found the boys.

Now, he’ll be hunting my scent down the stairs to this alleyway—to this fucking dumpster.

I swing my legs over the wall and push.

I drop down the other side. The moment my boots land with a loud slap, there’s a tug at my neck—the snap of the binoculars falling away.

Midair, I grapple for them, the string falling in the darkness, but then I hear the plastic clatter to the hard ground.

A wince cuts through my gritted teeth.

Abandoning the binoculars, I shift my nightlight in front of me and take off down the lane. It leads me out to an untouched road where chocolate wrappers rustle in the breeze and evacuation fliers dance through the air.

The units haven’t made it to this street yet.

Still, I bolt up the road, dodging abandoned cars and fallen bicycles.

Maybe, just maybe, I might make it out of here to live another day.

And I need that day. And more after it. Because I need to get home. Not home in London.

Home in Licht—to the light lands.

Back to my fae mother. My fae brother. And maybe, if he did the smart thing and fled in the dark to the light lands and my mother offered him sanctuary, then my dad, too.

I just need to survive if I’m ever going to see them again, if I’m ever going to find out whether or not my dad is alive, or if the light lands are safe from the darkness, too.

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