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And now the Fae have lost it as well. A part of me is bitterly glad about that.
At least, until we set off as a group toward the shadowy city.
Mack immediately designated herself the map reader, and she spouts off directions as we all jog across the metal bridge connecting the island to the mainland. Thankfully, most of the darkling clusters are concentrated south of where the Keepers are stashed. A few dark shapes flicker in the distance, scuttling across empty highways and over guardrails.
As long as we’re quiet, the darklings won’t be attracted to us. Once we’re with our Fae Keepers, though, things will change.
“Asher and the Winter Prince are together,” Mack pants as we halt near the end of the bridge. “But we’ll have to break off from the group.”
I swallow, not loving that idea.
Cruel laughter draws my attention to Reina. She’s with the twin boys and a few other Unseelie shadows. “Careful, Puke Breath. I hear orcs are attracted to certain types of stench.”
I turn around, not even bothering with a response.
“Afraid?” Reina taunts.
Without turning, I say, “No, I just have a policy not to feed trolls.”
Mack grins as we break into a jog down the closest street on our left, headed deep into a residential block of condos and luxury townhomes. I flick my gaze over the dark landscape, taking everything in. I imagine this place was gorgeous before the darklings overran it.
Just like the Spring Court palace, wisteria and jasmine drape the buildings in veils of bright colors. The homes are a mishmash of mortal and Fae architecture, the contrasting styles a collision of cultures that somehow works.
But there’s something . . . off about the air. A whisper of death and decay woven into the fabric of this place.
Even worse than the stench is the unnatural quiet.
Cities are loud, thriving organisms. Even in the residential areas, the sounds of car engines revving, children playing in the streets, and birds singing hint at life.
This place hints at the opposite, and I shudder at the thought that someday, if we don’t find a way to stop it, the scourge could completely infest our world.
Mack and I jog silently down an alleyway and burst out into the final street that leads to Asher and Valerian. They’re stashed in a collection of overpriced high-rises centered around a circular park.
As we prepare to take the concrete stairs to the third floor where the map says they are, Mack points at the churning red mass in the gardens on the other side of us.
Holy. Frick.
Finger to my lips, we pad to the door and—
The door cracks, and Asher’s handsome mug grins down at us. “Ladies.” Someone managed to find a protective gray vest that fits his giant frame, and it hangs over a black long-sleeved shirt that barely contains his bulging muscles.
His too-bright dragon eyes instantly slide to Mack as he opens the door for us. “Welcome to darkling hell.”
I follow Mack inside the dim apartment, lit only by a single flickering bulb on a side table in the living room. The place is small but gorgeous, all white stone and steel fixtures and giant windows overlooking the park.
That’s where I find Valerian. Like Asher, he’s clad in dark clothes and a vest, his midnight blue hair nearly the same black shade beneath the meager light. As my eyes adjust, I realize he’s watching me quietly with that smoldering look I find so unnerving.
His eyes soften as something passes between us. Something more substantial and terrifying than the simple jerk of the physical bond. I fight my gut reaction, which is to smile like a maniac at him.
Summer, stop with the mushy crap and save this beautiful fucker’s life.
I stroll over like I haven’t just spent the last ten minutes in controlled terror, plant my hands on my hips, and toss him a wink. “Ready for me to rescue you, Prince?”
His lips twitch with what I assume is some smart remark, but then he simply says, “I can hardly wait.”
We gather around the kitchen island. Mack shoves a spice rack out of the way, pushes a button on the GPS device, and projects a live map of the city onto the gold-flecked ivory countertop.
“We’re here,” she says, poking a finger at the residential buildings labeled Foggy Bottom. “And we need to get here by sunrise.”
