Chapter 3 Zera #2
Zera returned her attention to the customer, who was now glaring at her. She handed him his faecard, and he grabbed it with a huff, shooting one last venomous glare in the direction Ryker and Quinn had disappeared.
As the night wore on, with a practiced smile, Zera expertly mixed drinks and served the few customers who meandered in, all while trying to push thoughts of Maverick to the back of her mind.
She poured a shot of fire whiskey for a homesick dwarf who reminisced about the Fire Cliffs to anyone who would listen then whipped up a colorful Fairy Fizz for a giggling satyr who’d had so many cocktails he wouldn’t notice this drink didn’t have a drop of alcohol in it.
The drink would levitate him ever so subtly, making it harder for him to topple over in his current state, which was an added bonus.
The tavern was busier than usual, and it should have been enough to distract her.
But every time she caught a whiff of a scent that even remotely resembled Maverick’s caramel and citrus aroma, her heart nearly leaped from her chest. She hated how much he affected her, especially after their infuriatingly hot kiss.
She could work for werewolves, especially ones who were half-were like her son, but she would never let herself date one.
They were liars, cheaters, and worst of all, disloyal to anyone outside of their pack.
Maverick had failed to tell her that he was a spy until their lives were already at risk, and though he promised to keep her pixie-dust magic a secret, what about everyone else in that restaurant who witnessed what she’d done?
“Hey, Zera, can you make me one of those?” One of their usual customers pointed at a glowing orange-and-red drink in the hands of another patron.
“Sure thing,” she replied, forcing herself to focus on her work.
Though she never wanted to see Maverick again, Zera couldn’t shake the memory of Maverick’s piercing gray eyes or his arrogant smirk.
The way he’d teased her lip when he’d kissed her back.
Her chest tightened at the thought of him despite how much she hated him.
He was wrong for her in every way possible, and she had to keep reminding herself of this.
Zera picked up the shaker to begin making the requested cocktail, but her attention was caught by a familiar face sitting at one of the tables at the back—the forehead-tattooed druid in the brown cloak who’d nearly killed Maverick at the restaurant.
He nursed a dark, frothy ale as his ice-cold gaze flitted up at her.
A slow, sinister smile curled his lips when their gazes met. Zera’s breath hitched, her grip on the cocktail shaker tightening. She knew he was here for her—that part was obvious—but how had he known where to find her?
And if he were here for her—or worse, for Cole—she would move the fae realm to protect them both. But first, she needed to get out of there.
“Hey, are you all right?” Quinn’s concerned voice cut through Zera’s racing thoughts.
Zera glanced up as the pixie-werewolf rounded the bar. “Um, yeah. Just not feeling well. Cover me while I make a bathroom run?”
“Sure,” Quinn said, “but that’ll mean no more mixed drinks. Only what’s on tap.”
“Yeah, fine,” Zera mumbled, trying to keep her composure, but fear swept over her like a blanket of dread as the druid with runes tattooed across his forehead rose from the table.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Quinn frowned, following her gaze.
The druid with the rune-covered forehead strolled toward her with slow and deliberate steps, making it clear that he had no intention of letting her go.
“Who’s that?” Quinn asked.
“No one,” Zera lied, backing up into a platter of mugs, sending them crashing to the floor in a loud clatter.
The noise echoed through the bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Zera’s breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps as her heart pounded like a thunderstorm. She had to get out of there.
“Zera,” Quinn repeated, grabbing her arm. “Seriously, who is that? And why does he look like he wants to rip your head off?”
Zera swallowed hard. Quinn had no idea how right she was.
“Just a creepy guy from earlier tonight.”
“Say no more.” Quinn turned to face the forehead-rune druid.
Without warning, she flicked her hand toward the dangerous man, who had reached the bar. Purple light sparked from her palms, wrapping around his wrists and locking him in place.
Zera’s mouth fell open. She thought she was the only pixie who still had magic, and Quinn wasn’t even full pixie. How was that possible?
Quinn shot her a look of warning. “Go! Get out of here! I won’t be able to hold him long.”
She had no idea why Quinn would help protect her, especially since she had no reason to and didn’t have a clue what this druid was capable of. But Zera didn’t have time to question her luck.
“What about the customers?”
“I’ve got it. I’m the alpha’s cousin, remember? Now go!”
With a grateful nod, Zera bolted toward the tavern’s back exit, her heart pounding in her ears. She could feel the druid’s gaze burn into her as she slipped through the door, praying that Quinn could hold him off long enough for her to get away.
Outside, the cool night air offered temporary relief from the chaos inside. Thank the fae gods Quinn had been there to help, though Zera hoped Quinn wasn’t harmed because of it.
The distant crashing of more glass signaled that Quinn was doing her best to keep the druid occupied, but Zera knew it wouldn’t last forever.
A cold sweat broke out on Zera’s forehead as she sprinted through the dark parking lot, her pulse pounding like a drum.
“Come on, come on,” she muttered, fumbling with her keys while keeping an eye on the back door of the tavern.
Her hands shook as she tried to steady herself and focus on making it to her car. She should’ve parked closer.
A metal crash echoed as the back door slammed open, followed by the crunch of boots on the gravel parking lot.
Zera’s gaze jerked back to the tavern, and her heart felt like it was stuck in her throat as the druid stepped out into the night, his creepy smile still plastered on his rune-covered face.
“Running won’t save you, little pixie,” he called after her, drawing shapes in the air. His fingers traced intricate patterns, and within moments, a ball of fire formed in the palm of his hand.
Zera cursed, panic setting in as she tried to reach for her inner pixie-dust magic. But she was still drained from casting her illusion at the restaurant earlier, and nothing happened.
In desperation, she threw herself behind the nearby dumpster as the druid hurled the fireball toward her. The flames licked the edge of the dumpster, scorching the metal but missing her by mere inches.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she shouted back, hoping to buy herself some time.
As the druid prepared another attack, Zera scrambled to her feet and made a break for her car, parked a short distance away.
She somehow got it unlocked and dove inside as another fireball whizzed past her, singing her bare shoulder.
She’d left her coat in the tavern, but there was no way she was going back inside to get it.
Why was this rune-covered druid after her? And how did he know she would be here?
Another red-hot fireball slammed into her car so hard the glass cracked but didn’t shatter. Not yet. If she didn’t move, this druid would kill her, and she wasn’t about to let that happen. The only thing she could think of was getting home to Cole. Alive.
She started the engine, slammed her foot on the accelerator, and peeled out onto the open road.
Her eyes flitted to her rearview mirror, at the druid somehow keeping up with her. The spiral flames hovered above the druid’s palms, a stark contrast to the dark night that surrounded them. Was he flying?
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She would never be able to outrun this fae. She needed help—and there was only one person she could think of who might be able to save her.
“Bloody arrogant werewolf,” she hissed, cursing herself for even considering calling Maverick.
He was the last person she wanted to rely on. She never wanted to speak to that lying wolf again. But what could she do?
Her mind raced as she tried to think of a plan, one that didn’t involve working with the enemy.
She weaved through the empty streets of Havenwood while monitoring the rearview mirror. The druid was relentless in his pursuit, and it was clear his power was limitless. He could probably do this all night, but even now the heavy weight of sleep threatened to drag Zera down.
It was late, and her eyelids grew heavy, her focus wavering as exhaustion seeped into her bones. She couldn’t afford to lose control now, not with the druid still on her tail. But she knew she couldn’t keep driving like this.
She glanced down at her faestone tucked in a cup holder. Deep down, she knew it was the only solution, and if it meant getting back home safe and sound to see her son again, she would do it.
Metal screeched as the druid’s magic collided with the rear end of Zera’s vehicle. The force of the impact jolted Zera forward in her seat, and she struggled to maintain control of her car. The trunk erupted into flames, but her car remained drivable.
“Damn it!” Her heart raced as adrenaline coursed through her veins.
That was it. She had to call Maverick. It was the only option, but would he even help her after she’d left him the way she had?
She shook her head, trying to clear away the lingering doubt and uncertainty.
She’d saved his life, right? As far as she was concerned, he owed her.
He was her last hope, even if he was a cocky, lying son of a werewolf.
She snatched her faestone out of the cup holder and navigated through the FaeMatch app to find his number. Her heart thumped wildly, as if trying to break free, drowning out the sound of screeching tires and the howl of the wind outside her car.