Page 1 of Night Fae (Monsters of Veridia #3)

Zev was in deep shit. He knew that before he opened his eyes.

Magic pressed against his skin. A particular kind of magic that was at once familiar and oppressive.

Whatever Yuri had done, it had dragged him back to Veridia.

Worse.

This was Night Court territory.

Opening his eyes, Zev took a brief look at the street around him. Nothing but unremarkable buildings. Maybe he'd landed in one of the small towns on the outskirts of the territory?

But then a horse-drawn carriage thundered past him, and when he followed it with his gaze, he spotted obsidian spires in the distance.

The palace.

It wasn't distant enough.

Zev cursed under his breath.

He couldn't be caught here. They'd execute him for treason—or worse.

Without conscious thought, he drew on his magic to strengthen his glamour, turning his violet eyes to a common shade of brown as he stepped into the shadow of a doorway.

Just in time.

Two Court guards passed his hiding spot, wearing pristine black uniforms and the crest of the Night Church.

Zev held perfectly still, though his muscles screamed to move. To slit their throats. To punish them for their crimes.

This court had killed Rhys.

They'd kill him too, given the chance.

Zev needed to get out of here before he did something stupid.

The guards rounded the corner, voices fading.

Zev waited three more breaths before moving down the street in the opposite direction. He needed different clothes. Money. Transportation to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.

A market square opened up ahead, filled with the usual bustle of mid-day activity. Merchants called their wares, the smell of fresh bread and roasted meat wafting through the air.

It was a perfect hunting ground.

Still, Zev suppressed a sigh.

He hadn't lowered himself to the level of common thieves since he was an adolescent. Back then he'd thought it was a fun challenge to rid nobles of their goods.

Other nobles.

The thought rankled, and Zev shoved it aside.

He knew what he had to do. No point grumbling about it.

He kept to the edges, watching, picking his targets.

A well-dressed merchant turned away from his stall to argue with a customer. His coin purse hung temptingly from his belt. Zev drifted closer, timing his path to intersect just as the argument reached its peak.

"These prices are obscene!" The customer's voice rose.

"The quality speaks for itself." The merchant gestured wildly. "I got these lutes straight from the Siren Queendom!"

Zev bumped into the merchant, apologized profusely, and walked away with the coin purse tucked into his sleeve.

The weight felt promising.

His next target presented itself at a clothing stall. While the merchant helped a fussy noble with her selections, Zev's fingers found a dark traveling cloak and a plain shirt. He bundled them against his chest as if he'd just purchased them.

The tavern across the square caught his eye. The Crow's Rest. It looked like just the place he could slip into for a quick meal and some juicy tidbits of town gossip.

It would be interesting to find out what had happened in Veridia during his absence.

He slipped into a narrow alley to change. The new clothes fit well enough, and the cloak's hood would help hide his face. He counted the stolen coins. Enough for a meal and information if he played this right.

The tavern's warmth hit him as he entered. A few early patrons hunched over their drinks, while a pair of merchants conducted business in the corner. Zev chose a seat where he could watch both the door and hear the merchants' conversation.

He'd figured they might be talking about trade deals or maybe their next destination, but instead, Zev heard something that made him forget about securing a way out of the city.

"They say," a fat merchant said, "he appeared right in the middle of the Prince's breakfast."

"Appeared?" the man's gangly friend leaned in. "How?"

"It was like teleportation magic. One moment our esteemed Prince was eating his eggs, the next this human crashes onto the table. Tall fellow, tanned skin, walks with a limp. Started demanding to know where he was, if you can believe it."

The gangly man laughed. "What did the Prince do?"

"What do you think? Locked him up until they figure out how he got in. Though Marina says he's been oddly polite about it. Even gave the human his own suite instead of the dungeons."

Zev's chest tightened.

He had the worst suspicion he knew the human who'd ended up in the palace.

It had to be Malik.

Gods be damned.

Staring down at the table, Zev considered his options. The smart move would be for him to leave anyway. The Court had no immediate reason to harm a human who'd appeared by accident. Malik would probably be fine.

Probably.

No, Zev could not convince himself of that.

He'd experienced the cruelty of the Court first-hand.

Still… Did that mean it was Zev's responsibility to rescue the human from his fate?

It was, wasn't it?

If only because he and the human had been working together before they were transported here, and Zev had decided long ago that he would not abandon his friends. His allies.

He had precious few of those in any world.

And so Zev left the tavern and made his way toward the palace.

The ancient building rose before him, a masterpiece of black stone and shadow-glass. He'd spent years in those halls, learning to kill with blade and magic. Learning to obey—the prince, the Court, and most of all, his family.

He'd left that life behind, but his memories of it served him well.

Guard rotations wouldn't have changed – the Court clung to tradition like a dying man to life. Eight minutes between patrols on the east wall. Seven on the north. Patterns he'd memorized so long ago they felt carved into his bones.

He flowed from shadow to shadow, timing his movements in ways that had been drilled into him since he'd first started to walk.

If he didn't want to be seen, he wouldn't be seen.

But the guards' gazes weren't all he had to contend with.

The palace wards tingled against his skin, recognizing old blood. He held his breath, waiting to see if they would raise the alarm. But the magic settled, remembering him as one of its own despite his years away.

Zev did not belong here anymore, but he did not let that thought stop him.

Up the wall. Across the roof. Down to a window he knew would give him a view into the guest wing. He pressed against the stone, peering through darkened glass into a well-appointed sitting room.

Malik was there, seated at an ornate table, reaching for a goblet.

Not a good idea.

Zev pressed his palm against the glass, reaching for the wards with his magic. The window latch clicked open.

Silent as a whisper, Zev slipped inside, crossed the room in three strides, and knocked the goblet from Malik's hand. Wine splashed across the white tablecloth.

"What the—" Malik jerked back, then his eyes widened. "Zev?"

"Keep your voice down," Zev hissed. "And don't eat or drink anything they give you."

"But they fixed my leg."

Zev blinked, gaze swerving down to look at the human's legs. "They did what?"

"They gave me this potion that?—"

"They did that to buy your trust," Zev cut in. How could Malik fail to realize this?

Why did none of Zev's companions know how to be cautious?

"Are you sure about that?" Malik asked. "Where do you think the others are?"

Zev didn't have time to reply.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Multiple sets, moving with purpose.

Curses. They would be here soon.

Zev could dart away as easily as he'd gotten in—but Malik? The wards would tear him apart. Running now would mean leaving him behind.

Besides, Zev did not want to leave before he even knew what was going on.

One second, he took in the layout of the room; the next, he dashed for a heavy wardrobe, slipping inside just as the door opened.

"Ah, you haven't touched your food."

That voice…

No, it couldn't be.

A cold shiver trickled down Zev's spine. He'd expected guards or maybe some lower ranking officer to check on Malik.

He hadn't expected Lord Darius vel Nacht. Head of the Noble House of Night.

His father.

Zev's throat closed. Lord Darius's boots clicked against the floor as he approached the table. Even without seeing him, Zev could picture every detail—the perfect posture, the way his fingers would trail across the table's surface, the calculating look in the violet eyes Zev had inherited from him.

"I'm not very hungry," Malik said.

"Come now. It would be terribly rude to refuse such hospitality." A chair scraped. "Especially when we have so much to discuss."

"What do we have to discuss?" Malik sounded like he didn't want to have any kind of conversation with Darius.

Smart man.

The night fae lord was best avoided at all costs.

"I heard the most curious thing." Zev's father's voice carried the practiced lightness of a predator toying with prey. "You mentioned traveling with my son."

"Your son?" Malik's chair creaked.

"Zevran. Though I suppose he wouldn't have mentioned me." A soft laugh. "We had something of a... falling out. It pains me that we haven't been able to make amends."

In the wardrobe, Zev's fingers curled into fists.

A falling out…

That was certainly one way to call it.

"I don't know where Zev is now." Malik's voice sounded impressively steady. Zev couldn't see the human's face, but he hoped it betrayed nothing.

Zev did not want to have a chat with his old man today.

Not if it ended without Zev's blade in the man's back.

Darius's boots clicked against the floor. "But surely you can tell me where you were before? I'd be grateful for any news of my wayward child."

"Another world." Malik's voice hardened. "I didn't mean to come to Veridia."

"How fascinating. How did you come here? Crashing through our wards like that? That was powerful magic." A pause. "Nothing a human like you could wield."

"It was a Barrier Keeper's magic."

"A Barrier Keeper?" Darius did not seem to believe it, and though Zev hated the man, he couldn't blame him. If he hadn't seen the keepers with his own eyes, he might still believe their existence to be rooted in myth as well.

"It's the truth," Malik insisted. "I'm not from here, and I don't wish to stay."

"That's the only thing you've said so far that sounds like the truth."

"I haven't told a single lie."

"Humans are always lying," Lord Darius said. "Fortunately, I know how to push them toward the truth."

Zev's nails dug into the skin of his palms. This was not good. He knew exactly what his father's 'pushing' would look like. The man was threatening torture of the sort only a night fae could inflict.

He would slip into Malik's dreams and trap him there.

Malik wouldn't die inside his dreams, but that wasn't a source of comfort. It was a source of horror. Darius would not have to be careful not to inflict lasting harm. He could cut into Malik's skin and slash his organs a hundred times, and while the damage would not be real, the pain would be.

And then he could restore Malik's body and do it all over again.

Zev had been subjected to that experience himself. 'Disciplinary actions' when he was young and not yet strong enough to push other fae out of his dreams.

He never wanted to go through that again.

And he didn't think the human could withstand it.

"I'm not lying," Malik said.

"We shall see about that." Darius didn't sound the least bit convinced. "Come with me." His voice carried the kind of authority that expected instant obedience. "We'll continue this conversation somewhere more... suitable."

"I'd rather stay here."

"That wasn't a request."

This was bad. If Darius took Malik somewhere else… How could Zev help him?

"Guards." Darius's voice rose. "Escort our guest to the east wing."

Oh damn it all.

The wardrobe door swung open.

"Pick on someone your own size, Father."

Darius didn't even blink. No surprise crossed his features, just that same cold smile that had haunted Zev's nightmares for years.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering how long you'd hide in that wardrobe.

" His father's fingers traced the rim of a wine glass he'd picked up.

"The wards sang when you touched them. Did you think I wouldn't notice? "

Zev's stomach dropped. Of course someone would have been monitoring the wards after a strange human crash-landed on the prince's breakfast table.

The whole time he'd cowered in that wardrobe, his father had been baiting him.

"Though I must say," Darius continued, "your choice of hiding spot lacks imagination. You used to be more creative."

More guards filed into the room, blocking the exits. Zev's gaze darted between them, counting weapons, assessing threats.

Darius's smile widened. "Welcome home, son."