Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(5)

The fae grunted as he staggered a step then turned to me as I rushed forward, ready for this to be over. Swinging my hand with the stake, the sharpened edge wasn't even an inch from his chest when he spat, "Your whole world is about to end. He's—"

I shoved the iron stake into his chest, cutting off his words. The stake cut through his skin like he was made of the cheapest tissue. For a second, he stayed completely intact, and he opened his mouth, letting out a high-pitched howl that sounded like a coyote getting run over by a Mack truck.

Holy shark teeth!

Four incisors were razor sharp and elongated. They reached his lower lip and reminded me of a mutant saber-toothed tiger. Fae could bite. It wasn't pretty. Actually, all creatures from the Otherworld had a tendency to get nippy.

Snapping back, I lowered the stake as the fae was sort of sucked into itself. From the top of his shaggy head to his sneakers, he folded like a ball of paper being crumpled, going from over six feet to the size of my hand before there was a crack of sound, like one of those bang snap fireworks, and a flash of intense light.

Then there was nothing.

"As last words go, that was kind of cliché and lame," I said to the spot where the fae had stood. "I've heard better."

"I'm sure you have."

Heart slamming against my chest, I whirled around. Visions of spending the night in the city jail danced in my head. Despite the fact that I'd probably already been caught red-handed, I shoved the stake behind my back.

Thankfully, it wasn't one of the city's finest standing at the mouth of the alley, but a man wearing black pants and a white shirt. As he lazily walked forward like he was out for a midnight stroll, I felt no measure of relief.

The dude obviously saw me stab the fae. This could only mean one of two things. The man belonged to the Order, but wasn't a part of the New Orleans branch, because I didn't recognize him. Or he was a servant to the fae, a human entranced to them. They could be just as dangerous.

And when you stabbed them, they didn't pull the poof, be-gone act. They bled. They died just like everyone else did. Sometimes slowly. The Order didn't have a no-kill human policy because it was a necessary evil at times, but it had to suck something fierce to kill one.

My fingers spasmed around the stake. Please don't be a servant. Please be some whack job who thinks I'm his redheaded stepchild or something. Please. Please. "Can I help you?" I asked, bracing myself.

The man cocked his head. Oh, I didn't like this. Every muscle in my body tensed. He stood a few feet inside the mouth of the alley, and then I saw it.

Pale, washed out blue eyes, slanted at the outer corners—fae eyes. But his skin wasn't silvery. It was a rich olive color that stood out against blond hair so pale it was almost white, and that hair was long, like Legolas in the Lord of the Rings long.

Legolas was kind of hot.

Okay. I so needed to focus because this dude was not right. Every instinct in me fired off warnings. I took a step back as I eyed the newcomer. There was no glamour on this guy, and he didn't carry the typical glazed over look servants favored. He looked human but not, and there was something about him that screamed he wasn't going to get friendly in any way I'd be happy with.

The man smiled as he lifted his arm. Out of thin air, a gun appeared in his hand. Just like that. Hand empty one second and the next he was holding a gun.

What in the holy hell?

"I wish you could see your expression right about now," he said, and then lowered the gun, aiming it right at me.





Chapter Two





The man pointing a gun at me was so not a human, because the last time I checked, we didn't have nifty abilities that enabled us to conjure guns out of thin air. I didn't even think fae could do that.

But this man—this thing had to be a fae.

"Not cool." I backed up, no longer bothering to hide the stake. "Kind of tacky to bring a gun to a knife fight."

The thing laughed, and the sound was as chilling as winters in the north. No humor. No empathy or humanity attached to it. "Kind of stupid to let you walk up behind me and stab me like the last one just did."

"That's a good point." I kept slowly moving backward as my heart pounded. I was nearing the other side of the alley. There was only one option for me. "You're not a normal fae."

A tight-lipped smile appeared. "And you're not a stupid cow?"

"What are you?" I ignored the derogatory term fae called humans. Cow. Cattle. Sustenance for them. Whatever. I'd been called worse.

He opened his mouth, but that second of distraction was all I needed. Like I'd been trained a hundred times over, I centered myself and cocked back my arm. Stepping forward, I let the stake fly.

It struck true, just like I knew it would.

The pointy end embedded deep in the thing's chest, knocking him back a step. A slow, satisfied smile split my lips. "Wait, I know what you are. A dead fae."

He glanced down and his shoulders rose with a deep, irritated sigh. "Really?" Annoyance colored his tone as he reached up with his free hand and proceeded to pull the stake out of his chest. He tossed it aside, and my eyes widened as the iron stake clanged off the pavement. "How weak do you think I am, cow?"

Holy shit.

Fae did not do that. They couldn't. But this one did, and this was so bad it wasn't even funny. I did the only thing left I could do, proving I wasn't a stupid cow. If you couldn't be sure you could win the fight with a fae? When in doubt, get the f*ck out.