Of course, the reason Atroth’s fae were there to begin with was because the tor’um were sheltering rebels.
I shake my head, dislodging thoughts of the Vancouver tor’um from my mind. This man can’t be Kynlee’s real dad—human and fae can’t have kids—so he has to have adopted her.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I had to get another ride home.”
“Who are you?” the man asks me.
“My name’s McKenzie,” I say. “I met Kynlee—”
“She works at the library,” Kynlee says quickly. “I had to wait for her shift to end.” She looks at me with wide, pleading eyes.
“Um.” He’s human, but he knows about the Realm. That means he has to have the Sight. He has to know what his daughter is. And if he’s her legal guardian, he has a right to know where she was, doesn’t he?
Her father stiffens. He looks at his daughter, then at me, then back at her again.
“Kynlee.” His voice is low. “Where are your gloves?”
She’s not wearing either of them. Her arms are bare, and the lightning striking across her skin is pale and erratic. Is it more frequent than usual?
It must be. He grabs her wrist as if that will help him inspect her edarratae more closely. “What have you been doing?”
Kynlee sighs in defeat. “I was just helping her, Dad.”
“Helping her with what?” He eyes me.
Ah, hell. This is going to go so badly.
I clear my throat. “She fissured me to the Realm. I shouldn’t have let her. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t immediately slam the door in my face. He peers up and down the street, searching for fae, I presume, then he shoves Kynlee inside, and says, “Stay the fuck away from my daughter.”
If I had been standing one inch closer, the slamming door would have bloodied my nose.
FIVE
IT’S JUST AFTER 10:00 P.M. when I pull into my apartment complex and turn off the engine. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I climb the steps to my second-story apartment and unlock the door. My place is tiny—a six-hundred-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment in a bad part of town—but it was renovated just before I rented it, and I can actually afford the rent without help from the fae. It’s mine—so is the used car I parked outside—and there’s something satisfying in knowing that I can make it on my own.
“Sosch,” I call after closing and locking the front door. The kimki has been living with me these last three weeks. I’m not sure if that’s by choice. He showed up in the hotel suite I was staying in a few days before I moved out, and since a fae hasn’t been in my new apartment, Sosch has been stuck with me. The only way he can get back to the Realm is by piggybacking through a fae’s fissure.
I expect to find him curled up on my couch. He’s not. He’s on the kitchen counter—a place where I’ve explicitly told him not to be half a hundred times—and he’s glaring at me like I haven’t fed him in a week.
“I fed you this morning,” I tell him, grabbing a box of Goldfish out of the cabinet. I pour the crackers into a bowl on the floor. Sosch still doesn’t look pleased. He holds grudges worse than any person I know.
Whatever. I’m too tired to cheer him up. I leave my keys on the counter, then walk to my bedroom door.
My closed bedroom door, I realize only after I’ve already started to push it open. I never shut it.
Instinctively, my muscles tighten, bracing for someone to come barreling out at me. The someone doesn’t. He doesn’t because he’s tied spread-eagle to my bed.
What the hell?
The man is awake, his mouth is duct-taped shut, and he’s glaring at me with murder in his left eye. His right eye is swollen shut. His lower lip is split, and I’m pretty damn sure I see blood on my sheets. He’s had the crap beaten out of him, and I don’t know whether I should cut him free, take the rag out of his mouth, or just leave him completely alone.
Something clatters to the floor in the bathroom on the other side of the wall. I curse under my breath, quickly pull the bedroom door shut, then dart to my couch, where I’ve hidden the sword that Lena insisted I keep. I get it unsheathed and spin toward the bathroom just as the door opens.
Lee, a human who quickly ended up on my shit list when I met him a month ago, steps out. He stops when the point of my sword touches the middle of his bloodstained shirt. His dark brown eyes look at the long blade, then his gaze meets mine.
“How did you find me?” I demand. “And who the hell have you tied to my bed?”
His eyes narrow. I have no idea why. If he thought he was going to just show up and tie a man to my bed without me asking questions or taking precautions to protect myself, he was wrong. He’s lucky I didn’t skewer him on sight.
“There’s no need for that,” he says, indicating my sword with a duck of his chin. When he makes a move to swat it out of the way, I turn the blade so that its edge, not its flat end, meets Lee’s hand. Fae keep their swords sharp. It cuts into his fingers even though his touch was light.
He pulls his hand back, cursing and clenching it into a fist.
“I think there is,” I tell him, pressing the blade’s point forward. Lee’s a quick learner. He takes a step back to prevent me from drawing blood again; and then, he sways. That’s when I notice he’s keeping his right arm pinned against his side.
“I’m hurt,” he says, moving his arm just enough to make me look closer. It’s the perfect distraction. In my peripheral vision, I see his other hand reaching behind his back.
I could shove my sword forward, aiming between his ribs. A two-handed thrust with my body weight behind it would slide the blade all the way through. The thing is, I hate hurting people, and I am not, by nature, a killer. Lee must be gambling on that because he doesn’t look worried when he pulls out a gun and levels it at my chest.
Alarm spikes through me. It’s so sudden and potent I’m disoriented for a moment. Having a gun pointed at me makes my heart rate go into overdrive. It takes no effort, no skill to pull the trigger and end a life, but logic tells me Lee doesn’t intend to kill me. He’s here because he wants something, so I don’t have a reason to be this worried. The fear moving through me isn’t entirely my own.
“What do you want?” I ask, trying to shut my emotions off from Kyol.
“Is this the way you want to have this conversation?” Lee counters. “Or would you rather put away the weapons and have a seat?”
His forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. I look at his side again, to the arm he has pressed against it. There’s more blood on him than on the man in my bed. Lee wasn’t lying about being hurt.
“Fine,” I say, lowering my sword. “Let’s talk.”
I almost choke on that last sentence. Kyol’s here. Well, not here, but he’s in my world, in Vegas. Back in the hotel room I used to stay in, I think. I never told him I moved.
I’m fine, I try to project. Kyol should be resting and recovering from his injuries; he shouldn’t be here in a city filled with tech. Go back to Corrist.
My emotions must not be speaking clearly. He doesn’t fissure out. He’s on his way to find me, using the bond like I used it in the Realm to find him.