1
I am being huntedin broad daylight by an elven knight.
Of all the fae, elves are supposedly the fiercest warriors. They have the finest weapons, centuries of training, and a relentless drive to win. Mom always said if you want someone powerful dead, find an elf.
But in my case, he probably just wants to mug me.
I clocked him shortly after I left my local hipster café, carrying my boss’s Nitro Cold Brew with Bulletproof Upgrade in a cardboard tray. (I got myself an iced soy milk with a shot of vanilla, which should give you a hint of exactly hownotbadass I am.) It’s 8:30 a.m. in the Tenderloin—way too early for the drug dealers and hustlers to clutter the sidewalks, but all the regular working folks are out and getting ready for their day. I probably would have missed a normal tail in all that human noise, but an elf has so much magic, it’s like being snuck up on by a tornado of lightning. It doesn’t hurt that he has his sword out. And that it’s made of sharp,glittering ice that flurries a trail of snow. That kinda draws the eye.
I wonder for a second what the normals are seeing. The dude’s in actual shining armor. ThisisSan Francisco, but he’s gone full snowy Renaissance Faire and not even the suits are giving him a second glance. His glamour must be on point.
But he’s not doing anything to hide from me,which is a flex—that kind of selective filtering takes some real power. He wants me to know he’s coming. He wants me to be scared.
I’d askWhy me?but the answer’s easy: Somehow he’s picked up on my incubus nature, and elves are notorious bullies. (At least according to my mom. I’ve never actually met one before, but the pointy ears and flawless skin are a dead giveaway.)
My apartment is between the coffee shop and my boss’s office. It’s only a couple blocks away, and he’s still several yards behind. If I booked it, I could probably make it to my lobby. Maybe I’d even get the door closed before he was through. But a bunch of families live in my building, and their kids hang out on the stairs. He’ll almost certainly be faster,and something tells me that Elf-With-Blade-Unsheathed wouldn’t want witnesses. And what’s a few dead humans to someone who can literally make himself invisible?
I know what my boss, Ms. Stryker, would do. She’d stop, turn, and confront him, right here, right now. Demand to know his purpose and give him hell if she didn’t like his answer. That’s what you’re supposed to dowith bullies. Call their bluff. Make them put up or shut up.
I throw the cardboard tray down onto the curb and run like my ass is on fire.
I sprint past my apartment building toward Market Street. All the stores on this block are still closed and gated. Some restaurants are open, but there’s nothing to stop him from hurting people in there, either. My one chance is to get to the police station on Eddy Street. Almost no humans can use magic, and tax dollars don’t actually show up to work in my neighborhood, but San Francisco is a big city. They might have someone trained to handle supernatural threats. And anyway, it’s the freaking police! I don’t care how arrogant Lord-of-the-Rings-dude is, he’s still a paranormal—even he wouldn’t wantthatmuch attention, right?
A fed incubus can supposedly run over a mile a minute. A hungry one about half that. I’ve never fed, not even once, so my speed is the same as a normal human. A normal, kinda chubby,can’t-afford-a-gym-membership human.
I dodge around the actual normals, who don’t bother to get out of my way, and make it to Eddy. Without looking over my shoulder once (which takes serious willpower!), I even get around the corner. I focus fully on getting my short, little legs to pretend they’re Olympic material and kick into overdrive.
And it doesn’t matter in the least, because somehow the elf is already there. His hand slams into my throat, and he swings me up like I'm nothing. Rams my whole body against a brick wall. The friction yanks the fabric of myOld Navy polo shirt tight around my neck and causes one of the front buttons to rip halfway out. I’m five-foot-six in shoes. He’s well over six feet, and all of it looks like lean muscle. Wonder what gymhegoes to?
At least he put his sword away.
“Alvin Alonso,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “I need you to do something for me.”
My back’s on fire. The wind’s knocked out of me. He’s literally choking my throat. And he’s talking to me like I’m his secretary and it’s just another Friday morning.Of course, I’d be delighted to help you, Mr. Big-Strong-Fae—how can I offer you excellent service today?
Did I mention elves are notorious assholes?
I try to speak, and nothing but click-like choking noises come out of my mouth. It’s only then that he realizes his hand is stopping actual air from reaching my lungs.
“Oh. Yes. Of course,” he says, pouting like he’s just noticed gum on his shoe.
He releases my throat and drops that hand to my chest, letting my feet hit the ground. He’s still pinning me, but at least I can speak again. If I were Ms. Stryker, I’d be asking how the hell he knows my name. I mean, I’ve never met the dude, and that’s kind of a big deal, right? But the police station is just across the street. There are even three cops walking to the parking lot right this second. So instead, I yell my head off.
“Help! Help! Someone help! I’m being attacked!Helpme!”
The police don’t look over. They don’t even slow their steps. The fae must have glamoured us both so tight, Icould spontaneously combust and no one would notice. But the moment I start yelling, Elf Boy rears back his head and loosens his grip.
Well, heck, those pointy ears of his must besensitive.
So I belt out full-blast, right in his face. “Get OFF me, you big fat jerk!” Then I knee him right in the balls.
Or, at least, I try to. I miss by at least several inches, and he has a codpiece anyway, but I am still able to get out from under him.
I start to run, but four steps in, he grabs me by the back of my khakis and yanks me up against the wall again.Wham!Then he’s on me, pinning me against the rough red brick with his whole body. You’d think that would really hurt, but it turns out elven plate mail is actually not pokey at all. I swear I can feel his muscles flexing through it. Just like I can feel his sweet, cool breath against my ear when he says, “Stopthat.”
Despite being born a literal sex demon, I’m short and thick, with a moonlike face. He’s got the sleek silver hair, chiseled jaw, and drop-dead, conventionally gorgeous movie-star features of all the Winter fae. (Because there is no justice in this world.) This is as close as I’ve gotten to an attractive man in a long time, orever, and I’m honestly so desperate it might be possible to find this whole thing kinda hot.
If he didn’t have a dagger pressed against my throat, that is.
