I slide into a defensive position against the wall. A soft glow from my reading lamp illuminates the space, revealing Fen seated in the chair facing my door. He wanted me to see him immediately. I’m still mad that he’s here again, uninvited after everything that went down tonight.
"Give me one reason not to shoot you," I say, finger hovering over the trigger, body coiled like a spring despite the exhaustion pulling at my muscles. "Again."
"I returned your car," Fen replies, his deep voice rumbling through the darkness. "As promised."
I flick on the kitchen light, needing to see his face more clearly. He sits perfectly still in my reading chair, golden eyes reflecting the sudden brightness like the predator he is. He's wearing the same dark Henley and jeans from earlier, but his hair is loose now, falling in pale waves around his shoulders.
"You returned my car," I repeat, each word dripping with sarcasm. "How thoughtful. After stealing it and leaving me stranded at a warehouse in the middle of nowhere."
"It was Cormac's decision," he says, his jaw tightening. "Not mine."
"And yet you went with him." The betrayal stings more than it should. We're not partners. We're not anything. Technically we’re enemies. "You chose him."
His expression darkens. "I didn't choose him."
"Really? Because from where I was standing in the middle of an industrial wasteland watching my car disappear, it sure looked like a choice."
I holster my weapon but maintain distance between us. The anger radiating from me is almost a physical presence, hot and sharp and dangerous.
"He tied me in that car and made the handle disappear, but we did need to get Tharin to safety," Fen says, rising from the chair. Standing, he makes my living room seem impossibly small. "If they had tracked him to you?—"
"Who's 'they'?" I demand. "And why the hell would anyone follow him to me? I'm GUIDE. I handle dangerous magickal entities for a living."
“GUIDE executes people. It doesn’t solve problems. This situation is different." He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "Astrid, what we're dealing with affects the entire universe. They are harvesting magick."
The professional in me perks up, filing away this information even as the woman in me stays furious. "Explain. Now."
Fen steps closer, his massive frame blocking the light. "They're trafficking magickal beings. Draining them of power. And they're trafficking women too—both magical and human."
"Who is?" I press, professional curiosity momentarily overriding my anger.
“The group calls themselves Enclave." His eyes never leave mine. "Tharin escaped when they were moving him. He's from another planet. And he says there are at least a dozen more captives in that warehouse."
"We’ve run into the Enclave before. Magickal mafia assholes, mostly. We’ve never found any evidence about them trafficking women? Human women?"
"Both magical and human,” Fen answers.
Fuck.
“Wait, you said Tharin was from another planet… Like you?”
“He’s from Vanir. I’m from Asgard.”
“There’s two other planets, with…”
“There’s eight.”
I turn to stare at the city lights through my window, my reflection ghostlike against the nighttime backdrop. Eight planets. Eight fucking planets with magical beings. I know he’s mentioned planets before. I just didn’t really take the time to process that I was talking to an alien. That… I’m an alien? But neither of my parents have any magick. It doesn’t make sense.
"Cormac wanted to protect you," Fen says quietly. "Leaving you behind was his idea of keeping you safe."
I whirl back to face him, the anger brought right back to the surface. "And you went along with it. After everything you've said about me 'belonging' with you."
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. "I didn't want to leave you. The entire drive, I was ready to tear the car apart to get back to you."
"But you didn't," I shoot back, stepping closer, invading his space now. "You left."
"I didn’t want to kill him and that’s what I would’ve had to do. All I want to do is protect you! I came back as soon as I could." His voice rises slightly, control slipping. "If they had captured you too?—"
