Chapter Four
VIOLET
I look around at the other pedestrians milling about. No one has noticed the strange encounter.
I’ve never seen that man before in my life. I would remember if I had. So, what could I have possibly done to earn his ire?
Attempting to shake it off, I turn and head home as fast as I can without drawing unnecessary attention. I can’t get the image of the man’s eyes and the way they flashed out of my head.
Clouds glide across the sky, moving on a high wind to dim the early evening sun.
Those eyes…
Such an inhuman shade of blue. The ring of molten-red around the iris was so intense, it was almost…
Almost as if…
As if…
They belong to someone bonded to a demon.
No. It wasn’t my imagination. The color was too bright from under the shadow of his hat—the only way it could possibly be that vibrant is if the rings glowed with demon-gifted power.
No… I shake my head. I am overreacting. If it were something to worry over, surely someone would have reacted.
Paranoia digs its claws into my back, making me imagine things that couldn’t possibly be real.
The realization slams into me, and suddenly, the few blocks to the safety of home have turned into miles.
Goosebumps cover my arms. I have never seen anyone with demon-gifted power, but it is something we all learn as children.
Never go out at night unless it is unavoidable and the streets are well-lit. Avoid the shadows. And never—ever—venture into the wild after sunset. To do so is to court death by wild demons.
Footsteps clack along the sidewalk behind me. I glance back. A man is walking on the other side of the street, too far to tell if it is the man from earlier or another.
Facing forward again, I gradually pick up speed until I’m running. My heart pounds heavily.
Fear seizes my throat in its icy grip.
The weather turns, a wind kicking up as more dark clouds gather to swallow the sky.
A dark shape, little more than a dog-sized blur, shoots across the street, cutting across my path.
Wind howls as it cuts through the narrow alley. The bitter cold it brings promises a storm. But it is too late in the year for natural storms.
It can only mean one thing: the prince has summoned his dragon.
Panic rises, twisting my insides. I ignore the blooming ache in my chest and force my feet to move.
I pass through the iron gate at the edge of our property and continue up the short path toward the front door of my home.
Nearly there…
My lungs squeeze. Painfully. Uselessly trying to pull in air. Black spots dance before my eyes. As hard as I try to keep from slowing, my limbs refuse to obey. I grasp at my chest as if I could take hold of whatever has wrapped itself around my heart and untwist it.
There’s a sharp movement of a large shape along the edges of my vision. I flinch. In the next breath, I barely manage to keep from colliding with the tall figure standing between me and safety.
I open my mouth—to speak or scream—but before I get the chance, two strong hands grab me, slamming my back against something solid.
A strong arm encircles my shoulders at the same time as a sharp edge digs into the skin just below my jaw.
“Did you think you would get away so easily?” The question is more venomous growl than words.
Even if I could answer without slicing my throat open, I wouldn’t be able to draw enough breath to form words.
I am blinded by pain. And if I hadn’t felt it a thousand times before, I would think the man at my back had used that blade to pierce my lungs.
Every muscle in my body weakens as rasps scrape their way up my neck. I can’t feel my legs. My half-numb fingers grasp uselessly onto the arm holding me up.
“It has been a long time since anyone dared to break the Old Laws. Now you will pay. If you even think of struggling, then everyone in this demon-cursed town will die with you. Do you understand?”
I nod.
He releases me, and I fall, knees and palms crashing to the frigid stone drive. I can’t think as I attempt to breathe through the unrelenting pain.
Maybe this will be the time when this weakness claims my life for good, I think bitterly.
The man moves into my line of vision. Perfectly pressed slacks and shoes made of the finest materials. He gracefully lowers to a crouch.
The pressure in my head begins to swallow my consciousness.
No. No, no, no, no.
Long, slender fingers pinch my chin. His touch is icy against my skin as he tilts my face up.
Piercing electric eyes glare with cold detachment as he sneers.
There is no mistaking the pure, unfiltered hate in the expression of the man from outside the archives.
The gentlemanly hat is gone, and he wears the hood of his cloak over his head.
He scoffs and motions behind him. Then he’s hauling me up by the arm and dragging me up the front steps. The door opens for him without resistance or key, then slams shut with a loud bang.
My ears ring. I whirl, panting, and face my captor.
Trapped—I am trapped with a man who hunted me down to murder me in my home. And there is no one close enough to hear if I scream for help.
“What do you want?” I demand. The sound of my voice is clear and strong, as if I hadn’t just suffered one of my episodes.
The lingering pain is gone too.
I take a step back. Whatever that was, it couldn’t have been an episode, despite what it felt like. Either way, he is undeniably responsible. “What did you do to me?”
The man’s lip curls. “What did I do?” he repeats incredulously, taking three steps closer—a predator seconds preparing to ambush its prey. “You dare accuse me of something so petty? Others would die instantly for a lesser insult than that.”
I stand silent, refusing to waver as I wait for an answer.
His back straightens as he moves to close the remaining distance between us and looks down his nose at me. “I did not come to watch a woman crumble at my feet in hysterics.”
“I was not hysterical,” I snap.
It’s enough that I have gone most of my life being told how fragile and helpless I am because of my heart. Yet somehow, it hurts having it reduced to nothing more than a display of excessive emotion. Suddenly, it’s all made worse because it means the cure didn’t work. It was my last hope.
“Then enlighten me. What was that display?”
Why should I answer him when he hasn’t answered my questions?
He arches a brow, and whether it’s in disbelief or waiting for an explanation, I don’t care. I owe him nothing.
“You said you’ve come to make me pay. Which means you’ve already decided on my guilt. So, tell me how you plan to do so.”
A loud, humorless laugh bursts from his chest. I take several steps back, creating much-needed space.
“I wonder if you would be so bold if you knew who you were speaking to,” he says. Slowly reaching up, he pinches the edges of his hood and lowers it.
His shining black hair is pulled into a high ponytail so long that it drapes over his shoulder.
The last several inches fade to a shining white.
A pale scar slashes through one eye, from above the center of his brow to the top of his cheekbone.
It makes him look dangerous—like he could cause great pain or pleasure with little effort.
His irises are not ringed with the glow of a demon bond as I imagined earlier.
They are a brilliant, electric-blue with one a slightly lighter shade than the other.
My gaze snags on the pointed ears that give away what he is—fae.
His clothes are different now. He wears a pale blue shirt beneath a deep blue overcoat with silver frost embroidered along the edges.
The blood drains from my face because I know exactly why he is here.
“It has been a long time since anyone dared to break the Old Laws.”
His earlier words come back to me.
A sharp smirk cuts across his mouth, noticing my recognition.
He somehow figured out that I crossed the border into the fae lands. It doesn’t matter that it was by accident.
I’m thankful I at least had the wherewithal to clean up this morning. There shouldn’t be any traces left of the tea. But exactly how much does he know? I have to say something before he does.
Demons and saints, think, Violet, think!
I scour my mind for the facts. He had my glove, so he knows I trespassed. He’s here for my life, but hasn’t killed me yet, which means he might not know about the book or the flower. If he suspects either, he can’t prove it… unless he finds my notes.
I should have burned them before I left for work. Trying to do so now would only lead him to the evidence he needs to learn the full truth of my guilt.
Unless I can somehow secure my safety before.
“Were—”
“I want to bargain,” I speak over him.
The fae man goes utterly still, lips parted.
All parents warn their children against bargaining with the fae. Both parties are bound to their promises by the magic—but they will trick you in any way they can.
It’s imperative to be as specific as possible for anyone desperate enough to make a deal.
“Bargain with me,” I say again. It is enough to bring him out of his shock.
He scoffs, scanning me from head to foot with narrowed eyes. The fae shifts, moving closer, not stopping until my back hits the wall and he’s barely a hand’s length away.
My eyes are level with his chest. Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet his. I pick my words carefully. “What happened earlier wasn’t hysterics.”
He blinks, frowning.
Good. I’ve thrown him.
“Then what was that pathetic display?”
“You frightened—you followed me home and held a blade against my neck,” I snap. “I don’t want to die.”
The anger and annoyance fade from his expression, leaving a neutral expression behind.
“Do you think me foolish?” His voice is soft and low, as if he is promising something dark and forbidden. Yet, it cannot hide that it is a dangerous question.
My heart sinks like lead.
“What could a mere human even possibly have to offer?”
That… wasn’t an outright refusal.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I will help you with one thing you need—no matter what it is.”