Chapter 1 – Daisy
Tarian turned, Daisy’s hand still tucked into his. The animals waited within the barn-shanty, and Tarian’s Fallen were over picking through the wreckage from the darkrend. They’d had to stall while Daisy and Tarian hashed out their deal.
The creatures waited placidly, their great maws grinding dried grasses. Each stood about six feet high at the shoulder, with powerful legs ending in three hooked claws at the front and one toward the back. Thick horns ran along their heads and out to the sides, with big manes of coarse hair and something like a beard off their chins. Their wings were tucked into their sides, furry along the ridges but feathery on the actual wing part. Their tails were a combination of fur and feathers as well, most of them swishing periodically.
“What are they?” Daisy asked as Tarian gently tugged her around the first, giving it a wide berth.
“They are stormbacks. They inhabit the mountain regions and don’t have much time for my kind. They often find us too dimwitted.” He laughed. “At least, that’s what they’ll tell you.”
“That’s what…they’ll tell you?”
He pulled her to the largest of them at the back, its shaggy mane streaked with gray and black. The fur on its body was a fuzzy gray-white. The creature was as scary as it was beautiful. She wanted to pet it as much as she wanted to avoid it.
“Yes. They can communicate mentally. They don’t often use words. They are more inclined to use imagery and feelings. When they lower themselves to communicate with fae, that is. They can understand words just fine, though, so let’s keep the running dialogue to a minimum. What you’ve thought is great, but if you insult them, they won’t allow you to ride.”
The great beast let out a deep huff before stamping its foot. We are not so prickly as that, child.
“Beg to differ.” Tarian let go of her hand and put his arm in front of her. “Stratow, this is the human I spoke of. She’s a captive who doesn’t know how to shield her thoughts. She has a right to be surly and needs our forgiveness for her horrible bluntness.”
Daisy tried desperately to keep from saying a sarcastic remark. She was fine pissing off Tarian and his Fallen, but this was one beast she was inclined to mind her manners around.
The creature huffed again. She has more sense than you ever did.
Tarian grinned and winked at Daisy. “These creatures don’t enjoy fae, and enjoy giving rides like common mules even less. I was such a pest, though, that we ended up making a deal. After he tried to kill me, of course. I fulfilled my end of the deal, he did his, and then…well, what can I say? I’m likable.”
“About as likable as sand in your ass crack, yeah,” she grumbled. “A constant nuisance and really hard to get rid of.”
The creature made a sound like a low growl, and Daisy stepped back and threw up her hands.
“Hey, look, to each their own,” she said quickly. “I’m sure his personality…rubs off on you eventually. You know, in a non-abrasive sort of way.”
The beast’s growling continued, and Daisy started to sweat. She licked her lips and glanced back. The other beasts pushed in closer, blocking an easy exit. The claws on their feet glistened. Daisy felt her knife pulse within her shirt.
“That’s the sound of his amusement, not a growl,” Tarian said, grabbing her hand and tugging her around him. At the back of the shanty, there were two large doors. He dropped her hand to open them. “I figured I’d let you sweat because of those comments.” He gave her a smirk. “You like my personality just fine.”
He motioned her toward him as the Fallen came around the corner. Their appearances were uniform—the lower part of their heads were shaved with long hair on top, half done in a knot or bun. They all wore pocketed skirts, almost like kilts, outlined with fur. Leather bracers encircled their wrists, and the females wore tight, fur-lined tops in a strip across their breasts. The males only had various leather straps crossing their bare torsos, with a lot of ink on display. They all looked fierce, as well as sexy, male and female alike.
“Thank you!” Niall put up his fists in victory. “She called me sexy. Goodbye, ugliness, hello, sex god.”
“She thinks our outfits are sexy, dummy,” a female said. She had hard gray eyes and a button nose, with wheat-colored hair and knockout curves. The lady was a stunner.
“Let him have that one,” said Lennox, the one who looked like a Viking of old, with his flowing, wavy hair, reddish beard tied under his chin with leather and tassels, and his thick frame. “It’s about as good as she’s going to give him.”
Half of them burst out laughing as the stormbacks walked out of the barn, their heads bobbing with each step. Stratow glanced over the gathered fae, snorting through his nostrils as he passed.
They detest the flatlands, Tarian told her, the thought something like a faint murmur. They also get annoyed this close to the fringe. They have a keen sense of the purity of magic and are having a hard time tolerating how out of balance things have become.
Purity? she asked.
He turned to her, his large hand coming around to brace along the curve of her hip. He splayed his fingers, gently squeezing in something akin to possession, as though he couldn’t help himself.
Warmth emanated from his presence and touch, sizzling along her body. She was thankful his gaze was directed behind her, affording her the space to breathe in his delicious proximity, bathe in his sensual heat, and bask in the buzz between them that licked along her nerve endings. It had to be her ability to heighten his magic, though it felt so horribly divine.
He looked down at her, his eyelids hooded. I have to pour magic into the crystal chalice to activate its—yourproperties. It’s complicated and taxing, and trust me, I’m not doing it right now. This buzz isn’t magic. It’s chemistry, little dove. Our chemistry.
Call it whatever you want, but the gods created it.
Maybe. His gaze traveled over her face. Or maybe you’re so fucking beautiful that I can’t help my attraction to you. And vice versa.
She crinkled her nose at him, but she couldn’t deny that she agreed about his incredible appearance, from his breathtakingly handsome face, to his spectacular physique, to his confidence and swagger. She liked what she saw and loved watching him move. Still, she’d seen handsome men before, and she’d never felt this way. She’d never been mesmerized by their touch and delighted by their witty banter. She’d never felt this desperation—this ache—for someone.If it wasn’t magic, she was utterly fucked, because their story couldn’t end any other way besides tragically.
His chuckle was a ripple of black satin. Suit yourself. Regardless, I’m not trying to distract you in that way right now, though it is working admirably. Despite what Stratow said, stormbacks are prickly creatures. They don’t like being talked about unless they can hear what is said. They find it incredibly rude not to have their say, and rudeness is never tolerated. He might decide not to do me this huge favor, and that would add days to our journey. Days we can’t waste.
I assume they are far enough away not to hear my broadcasted comments.
His smile was faint. Yes. And so we’re going to pretend to drink in each other’s proximity while we wait for them to be ready. And maybe we’re going to…
He leaned down and touched his lips to hers. An explosion of pleasure lit up her world. She clutched him, her eyes drifting closed, her mouth opening. His tongue darted in, swiping through, filling her with his taste. Her fingers tightened, but she forced them open again, leaning away. Considered slapping him. More than considered slapping herself.
He smiled deviously. Go ahead. If the former, let’s see if you can land it. If the latter…that’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure the others would get a kick out of it, too.
She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing.
Purity of magic meaning…the rightness of it, I guess, he said, staying close but allowing some space. Fae magic isn’t like human magic. It is not isolated to the person who wields it. We derive our magic from Faerie itself. Magic here is circular. We are all part of it—we feed from it, and it from us. So if the wylds get twisted, for example—corrupted—or the Obsidian royals or various creatures get twisted, that feeds back into Faerie. It disrupts the magical system and creates a ripple effect. If a fae or creature gets too bad, like that darkrend, it cannot be redeemed. It must be destroyed so that Faerie—the magic of Faerie—can heal itself and everything can return to perfect harmony. Balance. The dawn brings the light so that it may shine. The light must give way to dusk so that the dark may have its reign. And so on. Dark and light, with dawn and dusk to balance them out. If things are too light or too dark, it pulls everything out of balance. The magic tries to compensate, and twisted magic is fed into the minds of all who draw upon it. It twists the very fabric of Faerie. Does that make sense?
The Celestial colors… Sunrise and sunset, the colors so remarkably similar but reversed in order of appearance.
He nodded.
So the stormbacks can feel the imbalance?
Yes. Even when it is subtle. They are gravely worried about Faerie, which is probably why they are lowering themselves to acting as transport. They’re doing their part. I think the wylds helping you was the same. The heart of Faerie wants to right itself, but it needs help. Our help, as I explained. He ran his thumb along the edge of her jaw. Look over my shoulder and see if the stormbacks are nearly ready. They detest being rushed.
She couldn’t look over his shoulder without rising onto her tiptoes. Instead, she angled him a bit, leaning against him and glancing at his Fallen. They waited idly, chatting amongst themselves like they had all the time in the world. She let her gaze swing toward the stormbacks, but she couldn’t help but think about the appearance of the hard chest against her. Or the perfection of his back and the amazing design covering it.
Do your tattoos mean anything or are they for appearances? she asked as the breeze caught and flung her hair.
He grabbed a strand and curled it around his fingers. The stormbacks?
Oh. She leaned away so her hair would pull out of his fingers. They’re getting into a half-circle formation, facing the north.
He sighed, looking off at the trees. I really shouldn’t be impatient. They are saving us a lot of time. It’s just…
Tattoos?
He glanced down at her again. Something indecipherable lurked in his eyes, his true emotions hidden behind his carefully cultivated humor. They mean something. He took a small step back. His arms flexed as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing each delectable inch of skin as he went. Since you enjoy looking at my nudity so much…
She pressed her lips together at the taunting tone but couldn’t deny it.
He pulled the shirt away and paused, giving her a chance to once again marvel at his incredible physique. He reached for her hand and brought it up, using her finger to trace the design across his chest that looked like a thick necklace curving against the edge of his pecs and then wrapping around his neck. Her nail scraped his flesh, raising goosebumps.
This was a necklace that was burned into my skin by Equilas when she helped trap me in the Obsidian kingdom. It’s a marker of station. Not with the Obsidian kingdom but—
As a High Sovereign. I haven’t forgotten. Or…I guess…the memory hasn’t been taken from me yet.
He stilled, his brows pinching together in confusion. She didn’t miss the flash of hope lighting his gorgeous green eyes.
Every time someone looks upon this necklace, he said, not commenting on her retained memory, they get a flash of recognition. Every time, I wonder if they’ll know who I am. If I’ll regain some piece of my former life within their knowledge of me. And every time, their eyes dull after a moment. Well, dull or turn to disdain. I’m not well loved within the Obsidian Court. I’m feared, so I’m given a wide berth, but at best I’m tolerated. I do not fit in there.
Like she didn’t belong in the magical zone. She remembered his sentiment in the hotel room those many months ago. She remembered feeling connected with him. This was why.
She nodded, taking in his pain and bearing witness to his struggle. This time, she didn’t move away when he wrapped a lock of her hair around his fingertips.
These—he lifted an elbow to indicate the tattoos on his arm—are my rings of ascension. They denote the various trials I have mastered through training and perseverance.
What kind of trials?
Magic, weaponry, battle planning…various things. The trials are open to all of Faerie—to anyone who wishes to ascend. With each mastery, a title is granted and added to our name. The title increases status. The marker on the arm is proof of ascension. The royals of the Diamond Throne are pushed to collect as many as they can. It looks good for the Sovereign if you have at least ten. Most are able to do this.
She frowned as she rubbed her thumb across one of the lines. How is this proof? Someone could just make the tattoo themselves.
He broke out in goosebumps again as her thumb traced his skin. What you see is not…how they should look. It’s further mockery of my situation. If Equilas sought to make me harder than any fae has a right to be, she chose the correct tortures. If she sought to make me cruel, more cunning, more willing to destroy…she chose correctly there, too.
Her gaze flicked back and forth between his eyes, seeing the darkness lurking there. The wicked deviousness. This fae had suffered, and it had crushed him into something she could identify with. Something dark and twisted, maybe not magically, but certainly morally.
“Is he telling you he didn’t really earn all those rings yet?” Niall called over, the others all watching. A couple of them snickered.
Tarian shifted uncomfortably. “I…had an advantage.”
“Bullshit,” a female with bright red hair down to her waist said, a braid running down each side of her face. A splash of freckles stretched across her nose. “The amount of power a person possesses only helps in one of those trials. You mastered the others because of natural talent and staunch determination. We were with you—we saw the many hours you put into training.”
Daisy looked at their arms, not seeing the same lines. “Did they not want to participate?”
The Fallen looked between them, many flaring their elbows. “When Equilas stripped our wings,” the redhead said, “she also stripped away the proof of what we are. Except for the scars. Those you can still see if you look hard enough.”
“Or, in Gorlan’s case, if he constantly shoves his arm in your face so you can’t help but count all fifteen of his rings,” Niall said, pushing a darker-skinned male with thick black lashes.
“Well?” Gorlan replied. “Besides Tarian, I got more than all but one of the royal family, whom I tied. That’s kind of fucking awesome. You’d shove it in everyone’s face, too.”
“Besides the king, too,” said Darryn, Niall’s similar-looking brother. “He has sixteen.”
“He doesn’t count. It was easier back when he took the trials. He made them harder so no one could match him.”
“Joke was on him.” Niall smirked.
Daisy looked at Tarian’s arm, counting the rings. Ten down to his elbow on his right arm, ten on his left. “How many trials are there?”
“Twenty,” one of the Fallen said. “No one alive, save for Tarian, has mastered them all. Any others are recorded in ancient scrolls. They might as well be myth.”
The others puffed up in pride at Tarian’s achievements, except for Tarian himself. He ran his fingers through his unruly hair.
“What is your advantage?” she asked him.
His gaze hardened. “My advantage turned into a curse, and the trials helped solidify the Diamond Court’s wariness about the possibility of my taking the throne forcefully.”
“And your family’s wariness that when the king passed on the throne,” Lennox said in a slow, deep drawl, “he’d pass it to the most qualified of his heirs. They all knew it would be you—not because of your magic, but because of all you’d done within your few short years—”
“Enough!” Tarian barked, his command crisp and effective. Everyone fell silent. “It doesn’t matter now. My so-called advantages landed me—and all of you—in this position. It ruined our lives. All of us, including this innocent human who has to suffer because of the gods’ ill humor. Who has to fight a battle she has no part in. There’s no point in discussing it further. It won’t do any good. That advantage can’t help me now. Equilas made sure of that.”
Daisy wanted to ask again what the advantage was. She wanted to judge for herself if it helped or didn’t. The Fallen didn’t seem to think so, but it was clear they thought the sun shone out of his ass. She wondered if she’d be so generous.
His pain kept her from prying, though. The raw misery she could see before her tightened her chest in sympathy. She pushed aside the empathy threatening to overwhelm her and tucked away the gnawing curiosity. She’d delve another day when he might be more inclined to share.
We are ready. Stratow’s mental voice was like a boom of thunder.
“I thought you said he was too far away to hear,” she whispered as quietly as she could.
They are. They have the ability to push out their mental voices to be heard a long way away. It’s necessary as a flier.
So you can do it, too?
He took her hand and pulled her with him. Once. I’m not a flier anymore. That magic is lost to me.
Forever? She hadn’t meant for that question to sound so crestfallen. Before finding out what he was, she couldn’t imagine a way for him to be more attractive. Those beautiful wings, though, and that beautiful, well-cut outfit that Celestial had worn would really round him out.
He gave her a strange look. That remains to be seen. Come on, we’ve stalled long enough.
It wasn’t really an answer, but then, what did it matter? If he was to be believed, and she had a sinking feeling he was, she wouldn’t be around long enough to enjoy it anyway.
“What’s a champion of the court?” she asked, tugged along to the great beasts.
Lennox shot her a guarded look as he also started forward. The others wouldn’t look at her at all.
“A great distraction for the court,” Tarian said gruffly, “and the way I will explain your presence. The way I will hide your importance.”
“I do love me a good riddle,” she replied. “But what is it?”
The stormbacks waited in a half-circle, now facing northeast. Stratow stood in the middle, at the top of the arc. His mane ruffled around his face as the wind picked up speed, blowing in the direction they were all facing.
Tarian stopped beside Stratow with her hand still in his. “The royals call it games. The gentry call it entertainment. It’s actually a blood sport. Each member of the court puts forth their champion of choice to participate in these bloody games. The entrants might be servants, some are pets, and many are slaves bought or abducted specifically for the games. In addition, the throne puts forward a collection of captured fae and prisoners to attempt to win their freedom. The goal is—”
“To survive. Yeah, I get it.” She looked up at the stormback, its wings pulled in, blocking any easy way of climbing onto its back. Not that getting up that high would be easy. It wasn’t a fence she was scaling. The odds of her looking graceful were slim to none.
“No. That would imply these games are set up for the contenders. They’re not. The games are political, like everything else. The contenders are just pawns. Some players set up their champions to fail, thereby sucking up to royalty or making another of the gentry look stronger, tightening their alliance. You never know why a player chooses a champion and what their end game is. There is a lot of maneuvering amid the show. Maneuvering I won’t bother with. No one in their right mind would form an alliance with me. I need only to buy time to get set up without the king becoming too impatient.”
“I assume using a human in these games will further your image as the butt of the court’s joke? Your champion doing well, therefore, will be a slap in the face of those same people. If I don’t die immediately, I will be a target to dispose of gruesomely and for an audience, something like they did to your girlfriend?”
He studied her for a long time as the other Fallen jumped and climbed and scrambled onto the backs of the other stormbacks, there being no stirrups to help, and no saddles or reins to hold once up there.
“I won’t have to do much schooling in the political side of things, I see,” he said. “I’m impressed. Essentially, yes. We’ll have an uphill battle from here on out.”
“I have next to zero magic except this mythical chalice situation that doesn’t help me in the least, and you’re going to pit me against powerful, bloodthirsty fae? Super. Sounds like a real fun time followed by a wonderfully peaceful grave.”
“As I said…an uphill battle.”
She shook her head. “My life has been filled with terrible luck, and you might be the worst of it.”
Chapter 2 – Alexis
Bria was already waiting when Alexis showed up at the Magical San Francisco Government Building, right next to one of two spots labeled “Demigod.” The other was occupied by a cherry-red Ferrari, an older vehicle with all sorts of sentimentality. It was the car Kieran had nearly (and purposely!) run over Lexi with, resulting in the first time she and Kieran had met. Good times.
He’d obviously been thinking about the past when he chose it to drive today. Thinking about how Daisy had resisted his integration into their lives and her tight family unit. Had secretly stolen money from him at every turn to create an “out” should he become power hungry and abusive like his Demigod father before him. Daisy had been thinking of the future and preparing should she need to rip them away from this life. At fifteen years old, she’d been trying to protect her family. Fifteen!
She didn’t feel more secure now, Lexi knew. Daisy had become an ace at investing—just in case—in both magical and non-magical markets. Had contacts everywhere. Had safe houses, secret offshore bank accounts, and friends in very low places. She was ready for the Demigod apocalypse, even though Lexi was now a Demigod herself. There was nothing Daisy wouldn’t do to help her family. Nothing. She was hard, but she was sweet, in her own way. Ravaged by life, but saw the joy in it, too. Above all, she relished in the love of her family.
And that piece-of-shit fairy fucker had stolen her from the only happiness she’d ever known. He’d pay for this. The Celestials, too. What the fuck were they doing? Besides not doing their jobs. They needed a hard lesson in work ethic, that’s what they needed.
Lexi planned to give it to them.
She flung open the door of the beat-up old Bronco and stepped out in clothes she’d picked herself. Let the magazines and gossip columns talk shit—for once, she didn’t care. Daisy wasn’t there to pick out her clothes and style her. Now the columnists would know Lexi hadn’t grown a sense of fashion; it was still all thanks to her “filthy” Chester ward who “didn’t belong” in the magical zone.
Fuck those people.
“Well, hello,” Bria said, her platinum-blond hair falling straight to her shoulders. She wore a light blue Nirvana T-shirt, acid-wash jeans, and a spiked dog collar around her neck. She had never cared about the fashion columns. “Love those pants. Are we preparing for a flood?”
Lexi left her handbag in the Bronco and the doors unlocked. She half hoped someone was stupid enough to steal it. It would really help her mood if she could get some of this pent-up pain-turned-aggression out of her system.
“Oh! And we’re free-boobin’ it, too?” Bria cracked a grin and stepped out of the way. “Nice! I’m diggin’ it. How’s the mental health?”
“How do you think?”
“I think you keep jabbing me in the spirit box by accident, and it is not so pleasurable.”
A spirit box was the casing of a person’s soul, and as a Spirit Walker (not so affectionately called a Soul Stealer), Lexi had the power to crack that thing open and rip the spirit right out. She could kill with a flick of her power. Then, if she wanted, she could stuff that spirit back in, tether it to the dead body, and reanimate it, creating the walking dead. She had a rare type of magic that was generally regarded as horribly terrifying. It was a “glad she’s on our side” situation in magical San Francisco.
“Sorry,” she told Bria, pulling back and tamping down her power. “I’m not doing great. It’s been two days since Daisy was taken right under our noses. We were in the fucking car, Bria! Our whole team was with her, and we couldn’t keep those…things from grabbing her unconscious body.”
Her stomach filled with lead at the memory of those disgusting, shadowy fae things swooping in and scooping up Daisy’s limp form. Lexi had felt the bright effervescence of her soul, so she knew her ward was still alive, but the image still haunted her and racked her with guilt. She was supposed to be protecting Daisy, not offering her up to the enemy. To the creatures—fae— they’d known about but hadn’t done anything to fortify against.
They’d failed her, and they all knew it.
“Self-loathing doesn’t get the job done,” Lexi mumbled dutifully, quoting Zorn. He’d said that to her a lot over the last couple days. To himself, probably, too.
“No, but it does help us make terrible decisions, like buying every tub of ice cream in the store and eating until you throw up. The good news is, I’ve found a couple new favorite flavors. Bad news…well, last night didn’t end well. It’ll be okay. You’ll see, Lexi. That little gremlin is adept at staying alive, Kieran is amaze-bouche at complex planning, and our team is excellent in the trenches. With Zorn’s lifelong collection of notes on all things Faerie, we’ll get her back and hopefully kill a great many fae as we do.”
Their inner crew, what they’d all come to think of as their family, stood around the oval table in the conference room. Kieran glanced up when she entered the room, his blue eyes fierce and his hair mussed from running his fingers through it. The others continued to look at the documents rolled out across the large table.
“What’ve we got?” she asked as Jack scooted over to make room. He wore a tan suit that barely fit around his huge arms.
It was Amber who spoke. “I’ve checked three well-known portals to the fae realm. All are open and operational. None are guarded by fae—not on this side or the other. If the fae mean to set a trap, it isn’t around the portal.” She paused for a beat. “But the people who service the portals say there has been a lot of activity in the last few years. More and more each year.”
“Do we know why?” Lexi asked.
“The attendant who asked the fae, a year back, was killed for the question.” Zorn straightened. “No one else has dared. But given the other information we’ve been able to collect from various fae entering this realm—creatures as well, however they are getting through—we can assume the Celestials aren’t doing what they are supposed to do. I can believe there is one very clever, very powerful fae, but bands of them?” He shook his head. “This problem goes beyond Daisy. We’ve seen more death and violence recently, as well. The fae coming over are not trying as hard to fit in. The longer they are ignored, or the more that are let through, the bigger the problem we’ll face until their magic takes root. In which case…”
Disaster.
If that magic rooted and grew, it would change the face of their world. They were seeing the beginning stages. If they allowed this problem to linger, it would turn nasty in a hurry.
She nodded, waiting for more.
“We think we have a lead on her, but…” He put his fists on the table. “The fae that took her into the portal seemed to be from the Sapphire kingdom, given their skin was greenish. They smelled like…sea salt and kelp. The fae we saw on our cameras, when the body was dropped off on the lawn, didn’t match that description. We have multiple factions of fae interested in Daisy. We don’t know where she was taken.” He paused, and she could see his struggle to keep his emotions at bay. “We don’t know where to go to look for her.”
Lexi bit her lip. This was her piece of the puzzle. She could slip into spirit, leaving her body behind, and track a soul. Once she found it, she could figure out where the person was in the world. Time was of the essence, though. Leave the body behind for too long and it would die without its soul. It wouldn’t allow the soul to re-dock. Have someone else find her body without her soul in it, and they could kill her as easily as a sleeping person. Maybe more so, since she’d have to travel back to re-inhabit, and a sleeping person would just wake up. For those reasons, extra precautions were always required.
She wouldn’t have given a shit about those precautions the night Daisy was taken except for being in a moving vehicle. She’d never chased her body while in spirit. She didn’t want to try and fail—and die—when Daisy needed her. By the time she’d gotten home and safeguarded herself, Lexi couldn’t find Daisy’s soul. She could feel it, but it was a strange…echo, almost. Neither in existence nor gone. She hadn’t known what to make of it. Then the next day, the soul was gone entirely. Vanished.
Based on the time frame, they were guessing the echo must’ve been when Daisy had crossed the portal. In this world but…not. She wasn’t in the underworld—Lexi had checked. No one could hide a soul from her, save for Hades himself, and she knew the undertaker personally. Hades didn’t know what was going on.
Then, when her soul vanished, Lexi could only guess—dearly hope—that Daisy had crossed into Faerie, a place ruled by other gods. Older gods with a different spirit plane. One Daisy was hopefully not in. Lexi had to believe her kid was still alive. She had to believe she could still get Daisy back.
To do that, they had to go after her. Lexi desperately hoped she could track Daisy once in the other realm. They didn’t have time to blindly check several kingdoms. Daisy’s life was dependent upon Lexi’s being able to use her magic across the portal.
Chapter 3 – Daisy
Tarian climbed up onto the large beast after her. He scooted forward as far as he could, fitting into a groove between Stratow’s ribs and the start of his back. He then put his hand against her lower back and shoved, sliding her until she was basically bowing around Stratow’s head, with her legs curved around his thick neck and applying a lot of extra weight.
You weigh nothing, the beast countered within her mind.
“Grab his mane tightly,” Tarian said. “Really tight. If you feel like you’re going to fall off, think it as loudly as you can. Takeoff is dangerous for us on his back, and there aren’t usually two riders. The storms are the most dangerous of all, though he’ll afford us some protection through those, as will I.”
“Storms?” Daisy tried to look back at him as muscles bunched and moved beneath her. “What do you mean, storms?”
Images flashed through her mind of blistering lightning, turbulent skies, freezing cold, and rushing winds.
“Yes, I know what a storm is,” she said as Stratow huffed and clawed at the ground. “Why are we going to fly through one?”
“They are stormbacks. They create the storms. Now hold on tightly and squeeze with your legs. He has assured me that he won’t let you fall, but…do what you can to help.”
“Why is he assuring you? Why isn’t he assuring me?”
“He is. You’re just not understanding him.”
No images flashed through her mind. No emotions. If he was communicating, she had no idea how.
Stratow tensed and bowed, his front legs bending and his head coming down. She gripped his mane tightly as he sprang forward.
She screamed, thrown backward by the force of his sudden gallop. Her cheeks flapped in the wind rushing against her face, and her body jolted with each step. A sports bra would’ve gone a long way in this situation. The ground blurred around her, the trees whipping by so fast they lost their shape.
Her butt slid backward as her mind flashed to the knife in her loose and horribly out-of-shape bra. She squeezed with her legs and loosened one of her hands to clutch it, ensuring it didn’t fall.
Don’t you fucking dare, Tarian yelled in her mind. It’s going to get dicier in just a—
Stratow launched into the sky, the power of the move so intense it felt like her teeth were trying to find the back of her throat. Her eyes watered. Her hands slipped on the silky mane.
Hang on, dove, Tarian said with a rough edge to his voice. I’m right behind you. If you slip, push back to me. Slide into my body and I’ll hold us on.
She couldn’t focus enough to ask how he was holding on. The creature was climbing at an insane angle, the massive wings reaching out much farther than she had anticipated they could. Each flap propelled them at a force that tore at her grip. That made her butt continue to slide.
Almost there, Tarian said encouragingly. Just a little more.
Was walking really such a terrible idea?
Too late now, he said, and she could hear the strain in his mental voice.
Wings pumping, Stratow started to level off. Her hands stopped sliding and her legs found their purchase. The wind still tore at her cheeks, and if she opened her mouth, they’d flap, but the fear of sliding off reduced.
You made it, Tarian said, his hand on her lower back. That’s the worst of the climb. Stormbacks typically take off by gliding. It’s why mountains are the best places for them. Taking off from flat land means they need the winds to be right, space to get speed, and it requires a lot of exertion. His mental touch changed slightly, and she realized he was no longer talking to her. Thank you for the effort, friend.
A feeling of humble gratitude swept over her, and she knew Tarian felt it, too. That must’ve been Stratow’s response.
She ducked a bit as they continued to climb in elevation, the air starting to thin and cool. In no time, she was shivering and gasping for breath.
It’s okay. Here, lean back into me. She felt Tarian’s hands on her upper arms, coaxing her to lean back.
Had he lost his fucking mind? The wind threatened to rip her right off this creature’s back and fling her into the great, wide abyss. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but usually, when she encountered them, she had something to hold on to or a metal enclosure around her.
Concern radiated through her as she gasped harder. It wasn’t her emotion, though. It came from Stratow. He leveled out, and she felt a hard grip on the back of her shirt. Tarian yanked, ripping fabric and forcing her to slide back.
She screamed again and wasn’t embarrassed about it. She tried to clutch on to the mane as her fingers slipped, but the yank was too hard and unexpected, and suddenly, she was sliding. Falling back. Her legs kicked at nothing as air washed around her.
Tarian’s strong arm wrapped around her middle. His hand splayed against her ribs, and even through her clothes, she could feel the heat of his touch. The hard planes of his chest pushed against her back as he leaned over her, enveloping her in a warmth that couldn’t just be from his body. The wind stopped rushing her face, and the atmosphere gained density, offering more oxygen.
She took a deep breath, somehow inhaling his delicious scent despite the wind. Her body shook, not from cold, but from fear. You could’ve put that bubble around me while I was still clinging to the mane.
I’m sorry, he whispered in her mind, his face brushing against hers and nestling into her hair. I panicked. I didn’t realize humans couldn’t tolerate the change in air pressure and temperature from flight. I have you now. You’ll be okay.
His legs gripped the stormback, and his hand fit in a deep groove at the back of the stormback’s wing. For all intents and purposes, he’d had a handle to hold and purchase for his legs while she’d been up at the neck sitting. She’d gotten the shit end of the stick on that one.
His arm squeezed her tighter, and his thumb moved, stroking against her, the tip barely sliding along the underside of her breast. This time the shiver wasn’t from cold or fear. The force is greater back here, and I worried you wouldn’t have the grip strength to hold on. If you’d slipped from the neck, you would’ve slid into me. I could’ve held us both.
It would’ve been nice if he’d done that in the beginning with his oh-so-mighty grip strength, the weasel. It would’ve kept her from thoughts of certain death.
A vibration under her legs and a rolling sea of mirth indicated Stratow thought all this was humorous. She didn’t see the joke.
That’s because you’re the punch line, Tarian said, and she glanced to the side, wondering how much effort it would take to push him off. The rumbling continued.
Other stormbacks flew in close, the Fallen atop them looking at ease and windswept, but with concerned expressions. They really needed to focus on hanging on better. A little turbulence and those fuckers would be headed for the ground.
The rumbling intensified.
Honestly, what is so funny? she thought in exasperation.
A clusterfuck of emotions ran through her. They were complete gibberish. She wasn’t good at stormback communication.
She thought about looking over the side to see how high up they were but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not with only Mr. Grip Strength to keep her on this beast. Their angle had changed again, back to climbing. Her stomach was getting queasy, and now would be the worst time to figure out she actually was afraid of heights.
He says you are not like any fae he’s ever met, Tarian said.
He does know I’m human, right? And why doesn’t he speak in words anymore? She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. It would be embarrassing to throw up. It would be more embarrassing if she had to use the restroom.
He probably couldn’t be bothered. That, or he’s trying to force you to communicate with him properly.
She shook her head, not wasting effort on answering. She didn’t have many cordial things to say, anyway. The fear was getting to her. She’d probably blurt out the wrong thing, he’d roll to the side, and bye-bye, dumb human.
How are you now? Tarian asked, his strength surrounding her. She had to own that it helped. The warmth certainly did.
She thought about looking over the side again. When her bowels started to roll, she decided she’d better not.
I’m okay, she thought, focusing on breathing. I thought I had beaten fear. Occasionally, I feel it when I’m going up against a magical person I’m not ready for, but otherwise, I thought I was pretty tough. That I could stare death in the face without blinking. That I could stay logical in the worst situation. I’ve trained for it, you know? But fuck, bro, this is throwing me for a loop. And that darkrend—that thing scared the crap out of me. I might not be any good to you, Tarian. I mean, besides the lack of magic, I might not have the courage for any of this. I’m having some…second thoughts.
Still clutching her tightly, Tarian held out a thumbs-up for the others. He didn’t comment for a moment as he watched them pull away. It felt like he was giving her some privacy, the moment turning intimate, allowing her to work through these thoughts.
The leap in her heart at the possibility was unexpected and even a touch unsettling. The warmth within her that he should care, that he might try to comfort her, help her, was even more so.
Fuck, this is a terrible situation. A really terrible, awful situation. For the first time in a long time, emotion welled up, and tears filled her eyes. Homesickness. Desperation. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to fly to her doom. She wanted to go home and see Lexi and Mordecai again. She wanted to chat with Bria, play games with Amber, and crack jokes with the guys. She shouldn’t be here. She couldn’t do this.
Shh, shh, shh, Tarian cooed softly, huddling around her. Soothing emotions also came from Stratow. I know this is hard. It’s a lot, all of this. You’re in an entirely different realm with strange and dangerous new creatures. All without preparing. That darkrend scared me, too. It scared us all. Flying like this, when your kind is not used to it—not even naturally capable of it—has got to be terrifying. But you are tough, Daisy. You’re the toughest, most courageous human I’ve met. You’re smart and you’re fierce and you do not say die. That darkrend scared you, but it did not get the better of you like it did the rest of us. I know you will do whatever is necessary to reach the end of this. You’ll protect your family. You’ll kill a bunch of fae even though the odds are against you. You, above anyone, will survive. You were built for it. There is a way. We simply need to find it.
He hugged her tightly, his other arm coming around to join the first. A tear overflowed, and she had to clench her jaw to keep the sobs at bay, surprised by his speech. Surprised by how much hearing those words meant to her. Surprised by how much she wanted to fall apart in his arms.
She struggled to pull it all back in. To regain some of her former strength.
Right now, you don’t need to be tough, he murmured. Right now, you can give in and let go. Purge. We have a few hours. Lean against me. I won’t let you fall.
With that, she completely fell apart. She allowed herself to drop her guard and give in to it. Give in to this moment, to the fear and the uncertainty. With him holding her, she closed her eyes and gave herself over to his safekeeping.
The tears came, fat and painful. The memories of her life with her family played through her mind bittersweetly. She hoped they had stayed in the human realm—stayed safe. She hoped they’d lead long lives filled with love and laughter and adventure.
Thinking of them, she was reminded of why she had agreed to this in the first place. It was there she found renewed strength. Because even if she would never see them again, they would live on. They’d be sad to lose her, but they’d have each other. They’d laugh at family dinners and relax with a glass of wine in the living room together. Someone would take over guarding Mordecai’s back, probably Bria, and everyone would make sure to check in with Dylan periodically to ensure he was doing okay. They’d handle this. Their light and love would continue, and she would continue through their memories.
Her crying reduced to sniffles, and she stared out at nothing for a while, the crisp air sweeping by them, nothing but a light breeze within Tarian’s magical bubble. The air smelled fresh and rich, a balm for all that ailed her. The sky sparkled overhead, like someone had sneezed glitter all over it.
I thought fae were supposed to be vicious and awful, she mused idly, watching the other stormbacks and their riders soar around them. Not comforting and supportive and uplifting.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Tarian who answered her.
Fae are mirrors of Faerie, Stratow murmured, using words this time. As a whole, they are the light and the dark and the in-between. They are, in themselves, a balance. Some are effervescent and pure, too sweet for the senses, and some are the reapers of death and destruction. But most are both. They are vile and vicious and willing to slit a throat for their own gain, but in a society that lives forever, that is necessary for population control. They also practice moderation and goodwill. That is how the kingdoms thrive. It is how the society grows. Most fae pretend at constant cruelty, and members of the court are unpardonably egotistical and priggish, but most fae will surprise you when you most need to be surprised.
She nodded, turning her head so the side of her face rested against Tarian’s neck. His palm gently cradled her face, his thumb wiping away a tear. He didn’t speak, and the air around them was subdued, as if he were fascinated by her turn of emotions. As if he had to wipe away her tears, used to seeing her so strong, so determined, and doubting they were real. In awe of her allowing him to see her walls crack and break away. His nose traced a line on her cheek before his lips softly pressed against her temple. His actions soothed her frayed edges. She could feel him all around her. His strength. His comforting touch.
She understood what Stratow had said. It was how the human world worked, after all. Good people and bad, with the mostly insufferable Demigods to rule over it all. On the magical side, at least. She didn’t really know how the Chester side worked other than in theory.
The same, Tarian said. I’ve had dealings with both. They are not so very different creatures, magical and non-magical humans. The issue is power. Chesters view magic as power, and they fear it. They work hard to defend themselves against it. They create borders and bombs and weapons. They do not realize that, in their innovation, they have become equally powerful. Their weapons could create so much more destruction—from a distance—than a Demigod and their army. But of course, one on one, it is another story. Very at odds, that realm. It’s fascinating to learn about. I greatly enjoy my time there.
No one else enjoys your time there, she grumbled without thinking.
The rumbling started again. Stratow liked it when she picked on Tarian.
Yes, he does, Tarian said dryly.
They fell into silence for a while, the wind drying Daisy’s eyes as she contemplated what was to come. She needed to prepare. She needed more information. And so, she requested from Tarian all he knew. He complied by filling her head to bursting with images and anecdotes and names and appearances, political maneuvering and how he’d been playing the game. There was so much complex information that she shut her eyes again, focusing solely on that and forgetting everything else around them.
That was…until the storms came.
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