Page 2 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen (Curse of the Fae #4)

Monsters

DEVI

A ll monsters look normal in the dark.

Creatures that aren’t supposed to exist can’t exactly walk around in broad daylight—especially not in a place that hasn’t completely forgotten about the Fae.

The busy streets of Inverness are empty at this hour. Even the drunkards stumbling out of bars and taverns have gone home. The tourists yearning for a change of scenery are still tucked in their warm hotel beds, while the lively shops, cafes, and restaurants remain closed.

It’s the perfect time for outcasts like me to do business.

The glare from the shops’ windows stabs at my retinas, and I pull my hood lower over my red locs, turning away from the wide, reflective glass panes. In these uncertain times, you never know who might be watching.

My army boots echo off the stone pavement as I stride toward the shadowy back alley leading to the banks of the river, where I’m to meet Nick’s friend. The scent of fresh blooms and cheap beer gives way to rain-soaked earth and a hint of something metallic that reminds me of industrial steel.

The man I'm meeting is tall but lean, with a scruffy red beard and wearing too much leather for his own good. His brows knit together when he sees me coming. He’s nervous, twitchy, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

"Oh, you’re havin’ a laugh!” he grunts, eyes to the sky.

“Beg your pardon?”

“How old are you?” he scoffs, like he can’t quite believe his bad luck.

“Older than I look, I assure you.” My eyes narrow just as my lips stretch in a sly smile, daring him to contradict me.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told Nickolas I needed his very best. It’s a very delicate operation.”

I can’t believe Nick stuck me with a rookie.

He knows better than that. But even my rebellious godson can’t pick and choose which of his sources will lead him to the most precious cargo.

I usually don’t handle middlemen, but after hearing Nick’s claim about the shipment being moved through my city, I had to come and see for myself.

I ram my hands in my jacket’s pockets to keep from flipping the stranger off. “I’m here as a favor to him. But if you don’t want me around…” I move to leave, unimpressed by his attitude, his Londoner accent scraping my ears.

He raises a hand in my direction. “Wait. I trust Nick, so I’ll trust his judgment on this.”

Typical boy club stuff. Ugh.

“You better.” I walk all the way into his bubble, relishing the way his pupils dilate, and the bob of his Adam’s apple.

A good look at him tells me he’s in love, the soft glow of his mortal heart about as obvious as his wedding band.

And it’s a strong bond, too. But there’s something else lurking underneath this love.

Indelible pain. The unexpected depths of his sorrow soften me up to his rude behavior, and I pull down my hood.

He shifts uncomfortably from side to side, no longer irate. “Are you meant to protect me, or distract them?”

I throw him a knowing wink. “I excel at both.”

He swallows hard. “Do you have the talisman?”

I reach inside my cleavage and unveil a long golden chain, tugging on it until the Aurelian talisman slips from my neck and dangles in the space between us. The polished piece of engraved metal is opalescent under the night sky, its very own light shining from within.

Even though it’s a priceless artifact, the man’s gaze is glued to me. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? A Fae?”

I chuckle darkly in the affirmative before passing him the necklace, and he staggers.

“Wow,” he breathes with a sudden, reverent head tilt.

“I didn’t believe your lot still walked this earth until just now.

” He works the chain around his neck. “I’ve been raised in the city, despite my heritage. You have to forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re so beautiful…” he trails off dreamily, his eyes glazing over.

I rein back my lure, trying to spare him the conflicting onslaught of lust, but he’s a mortal man without any magic to shield himself. He’s bound to go a little nuts in my presence. “Let’s not get carried away. Where are they being kept?” I clip.

“Err— Right.” He clears his throat. “I’ll take you there now.”

He leads me to a boat beached on the muddy riverbank. The engine growls to life, and the sharp scent of burnt gas clogs the air as he steers upriver, past the Ness Islands and under the Holm Mills Bridge.

He’s in over his head, and we both know it. Still, I can’t begrudge a thirty-something mortal on some idealistic crusade. Most of them would rather sell the talisman on the black market, not borrow it to save captive witches.

"They're being held in a barn off the river. There are cameras everywhere—hence the talisman," he explains, stopping near a steep, grassy cliff. "You should wait in the boat."

“How chivalrous… How did you plan to break in?”

A grim line drags his features down. “I have the code.”

“And what if it’s been changed since you acquired it?”

“That's where this comes in handy.” He slips a slug shotgun from a hole in the boat’s hull meant for fishing poles. By Eros, this man looks ready to barrel through an organized crime operation all by himself.

My eyes narrow. “Easy there, big guy. How did you hear about this place?”

“The man who runs it… I’ve been investigating him for a decade.”

“You’re a police officer?”

“I was.” His gaze darts to the ground for an instant. “I got kicked out for not following protocol. The man who owns this place, he’s into all sorts of trade, but he’s particularly interested in witches, and he finally managed to get his hands on a couple.”

The dark circles under his eyes, the sunken shape of his cheeks beneath the beard, are telltale signs that he hasn’t been eating or sleeping enough.

I try to stay out of other people’s affairs as a rule, but this is different. “What does she look like? The one you’re looking for?” I ask.

“They took her to punish me. My daughter.” He slides a picture out of his wallet and presents it to me.

The frayed edges somehow make the freckled, redheaded girl look even younger. She must be about ten years old. Her toothy grin reminds me of my goddaughter Maxine at that age, and my stomach cramps.

“Let’s find her, then.” I step off to the riverbank first, and a mix of rocks and gravel crunches under my feet. The farm’s lights are just ahead, partially hidden behind a line of trees.

This is no ordinary place. It’s too quiet—no animal sounds, no chatter, no movement.

Only the subtle hum of cameras, their lenses most likely trained on every corner of the property.

A series of electric floodlights illuminates the area, bathing the farmhouse, barn, and outbuildings in cold white light.

I stop before crossing the broken down fence, the grass beneath my feet still saturated with rain, making the terrain muddy and slippery.

There’ll be no chance to conceal our escape path, not until we reach the boat.

I slip my hood back over my head and motion for my unlikely partner in crime to activate the talisman.

His knuckles clench around the chain, his entire body shaking with nerves and rage, his silhouette blurring as the magic of the talisman envelops him.

He’s not completely invisible, but in the dark, he’s just a shadow.

And it will definitely ensure the cameras don’t pick up his presence, the mortal technology easily diverted by the subterfuge.

“Don’t be a hero, alright? Your daughter will need you when this is all over,” I whisper.

“As long as we get her out,” he chokes out, forging ahead.

The magic I inherited from my sire—a magic I keep secret from my kin—allows me to become completely invisible as I follow the ex-cop’s muddy tracks to the seemingly abandoned barn.

The doors and windows have been boarded off, but the methodical, secure way it was done hints at the sinister truth of it.

We pause by the only door that’s still in use.

“I can open the door, but their security system will see that it’s open. Unless they’re snoozing on the job, we won’t have a lot of time,” my companion warns.

“We only need a minute.”

Inside, the illusion of a barn is gone. Sweat, blood, and urine assault my senses, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that clings to the concrete floors.

The original barn walls have been reinforced with plywood, the added layer meant to muffle the prisoners’ cries and shouts.

Two rows of cheap, metal beds litter the space, with twenty or so women and girls sleeping—or not sleeping—in them.

A series of cameras surveil the interior of the barn as well.

“There’s too many of them,” I whisper quickly.

A makeshift bathroom in the back, separated only by a curtain on a rail, offers no privacy. This isn’t some witch hunter cult, but a full-blown human trafficking operation. Young women are herded here like cattle, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder. My heart pounds in my chest.

I will end this.

The bite of power coming from the two little girls near the front confirm Nick’s suspicions that real witches are amongst the prisoners. They can’t be older than nine, holding each other for dear life. Even though I do not share their blood, my heart aches for them.

Escaping quietly isn’t an option anymore, not when there are two dozen hostages, and I let the invisibility fall, revealing our presence to the prisoners—and the cameras.

I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t help myself.

I’m exhausted from all these covert, inefficient operations.

Sneaking, stalking. Barely scratching the surface of a well-oiled machine that trades women and children. These men need to be punished for once.

Hiccups of surprise and fear echo through the barn, the women unsure whether I’m friend or foe, probably thinking I’m just here to feed them. Or buy them.

“Change of plans. You better call the cops, Roger,” I clip, making up my mind about what I need to do, no matter the consequences.