The other end locked tight to a strip of wood as thick as my arm. Unless I took the whole bed with me, I wasn't shifting it. And he'd snapped the cuff on before I knew what he was doing. No time to spread my fingers, tense my muscles, make my forearm as big as possible to get a bit more wriggle room. When you've been tied up as much as I have, you learn these things.

Still, cuffs don't work too well on double-jointed fairy hands. They're designed for humans, with their inflexible knuckles and tough skin. I grabbed my thumb and pulled.

Doonk.

The joint popped out with only a feeble complaint. Wobble, wobble. Now my thumb was all floppy.

I pushed it into my palm and eased the cuff over my welted wrist-bones. Still too thick.

I pulled my little finger backwards until the joint slipped out.

Ouch. That one hurt. Moisture popped out in beads on my skin, slicking my hand like oil. I squeezed it, discomfort wrapping my arm. Now my hand was all skinny and slippery like an eel.

I grabbed the metal bracelet and pulled. The cuff inched upward. Again, another inch, bones crunching together. Again, and my hand slurped free, like a little yellow baby being born. Aww.

I tossed the horrid wet cuff away, steel clanking on wood, and yanked sore knuckles back into their sockets. It bothered me that Indigo's fingers bend backwards, too. He knew I'd get away. Maybe he just liked chaining me up. Or maybe a few minutes' head start was all he needed.

I clambered off the bed and pulled my skirt down to cover me. My top was all twisted, too, and I tugged it back around, the thin cotton sc.r.a.ping my tortured nipples. My battered wings protested. I shifted them gingerly, the joints still raw from the fall and his mouth. No ladylike fluttering for me. Still, they didn't seem badly damaged. I craned my head around, chasing my own wing tails in a few stumbling circles, but I couldn't see any rips. My heart lightened. A bit of good news, amongst all this other trash.

I clambered down the ladder, and as his hot copper smell faded a little, my brain started working again. I had to find Stalkerboy, find out what he'd done with the mirror. I cast around for my bag, checking the floor, the couch, the kitchen bench. Nowhere to be seen. I stuck my head out the gla.s.s balcony door. Nothing. I must have dropped it on the way down.

I sighed. Great. I'd already lost the diamonds and the ruby skulls to Sonny at Valentino's. Now I'd lost my purse and my phone and everything else that remembered who I was. If I died and they found my body, they'd never know my name.

I flipped the kitchen tap on full and thrust my wrists under. Water splashed up my arms, blessedly cool, calming my jerking blood. I had no clue who Stalkerboy was, but he seemed to know me. Back to the Court, then, see if I can sneak in without paying, make a spectacle of myself some more and he'd find me. Easy peasy.

I splashed my face, letting the drips run down my fevered neck onto my chest, and took a few deep breaths. But unease still shimmered in my stomach. I swallowed, faintly sick, and snapped the water off. Swimming through quicksand. It wasn't a very good plan. But I didn't know what else to do. Might as well make the best of it.

I shook myself dry, splashing drips onto spotless marble, skipped over to the door, and flipped it open.

Blue eyes, so bright, I blinked. Tanned shoulders scrawled with ink, rain-soaked dark hair, tiny steel spikes glinting through his skin.

Stalkerboy.

My pulse ripped into a sprint. I gulped, my fairy senses awash. Danger. Fight. Fly. But treacherous muscles seized my limbs tight, and I couldn't move.

He clenched a silver-ringed hand, and in it, cruel iron petals snapped closed.

The mirror. Stalking me. The squidgy had shown him where I was. I'd wondered what weird plans he had for me. Now I was about to find out.

Fear sparked my nerves to life, and I scrambled to slam the door in his face.

But he slammed it aside one-handed. It hit the fuchsia-dark wall, and splinters flew.

I backed off, my limbs trembling and my wings uselessly tensed for flight. Nowhere to fly to. "Leave me alone. What you want?"

He didn't say anything. He just screamed.

Unearthly noise shattered inside my skull, spiking gla.s.sy agony into my ears. High, piercing, banshee-bright. I doubled over, clutching insides suddenly rippling with sick vibration.

Stupid indignation hacked my nerves as I staggered. No fair. That's a banshee's scream. Not supposed to be able to do that. No fair. That's a banshee's scream. Not supposed to be able to do that.

Dimly, I felt his fingers stroke my hair, and in a haze of pain I tried to turn, run, fly. But air ripped to evil shreds in my lungs, and my limbs shook to water in the awful scarlet noise, and before I could even scream, my brain swelled to mush and everything swirled to black.

Blaze leaps, sharp wings drawn back, and launches himself like a flame-drenched spear at the polished shop window.

His feet crash into the gla.s.s. Splinters explode, tinkling in a shower of sparks on teddy bears and painted dollhouses and frilly patchwork things now swimming in a jagged sea of broken gla.s.s. No alarm. No flashing lights. Idiots probably don't even have insurance.

He darts away with stinging ankles, desperation burning empty holes in his heart. Not enough. Never enough. This urge to destroy won't ease. Broken gla.s.s always soothed his anger, calmed his questing heart, but not anymore. Not since Ice and her cursed squidgy. Now he's always jittery and always h.o.r.n.y and always sick to his guts with rage, feverish, sweaty, and juddering, a full-body hard-on that just won't go away.

He squirms through the hole and grabs a yellow-furred bear. Yellow and green, like Ice, his no-longer best friend. His heart stings hot. He just wanted to make her love him back, just for a few minutes. Wanted to hurt her like he hurts, hollow and burning.

The bear stares at him, splinters dusting its gla.s.sy eyes, and in a burst of inconsolable anger, he ignites it. Flames lick and catch, green plastic bows melting. He tosses it away, and crawls outside, disconso-late. The place might catch fire. He doesn't care.

The street is quiet, streetlights buzzing alone, only a few cars and no people. If anyone sees him, they're keeping quiet about it. Good move. He's in no mood for hiding, and his glamour pops, negligent. He skips along the footpath under dusty cantilevers, flitting upward at intervals to smash the lights one by one with his fist, leaving a trail of darkness and bloodstained broken gla.s.s behind him.

A drunken spriggan slumps nude on a p.i.s.s-drenched doorstep, sucking on a beer bottle with ragged lips, stunted blue legs waving weakly like an upturned possum's. She gives a bucktoothed smile, spit dribbling. "Nice one, mate. f.u.c.k 'em."

Nice one, yourself. A garbage bin snickers at him as he pa.s.ses, and he leaps and kicks it over with both feet, refuse and rats spilling into the gutter. He takes aim at a rat with one incendiary claw and fries it dead in its tracks with a sharp ribbon of yellow flame. Steam rises from the charred corpse. Giggle. Shrug. Still no fun. A garbage bin snickers at him as he pa.s.ses, and he leaps and kicks it over with both feet, refuse and rats spilling into the gutter. He takes aim at a rat with one incendiary claw and fries it dead in its tracks with a sharp ribbon of yellow flame. Steam rises from the charred corpse. Giggle. Shrug. Still no fun.

Despair seeps into his heart like thick dark wine, and he lets it overflow.

Storm-drenched moonlight wets black pavement, and scudding clouds pick up speed. He turns a corner at random, another, another. Shadows flicker by on dark alley walls, dust, moonshine, his own silhouette, lithe and poised and dangerous, the flames dripping un-checked from his wings lighting his way in eerie scarlet gloom.

Broken windows gleam above a garbage compactor, rusty and blue, leaning drunkenly against a warehouse wall. His heart lightens. Maybe a wino inside, or a homeless kid to torment. He skips up, ready to alight on the lid and scare the f.u.c.k out of them.

Sob. Whimper. Sniffle.

Blaze halts in a swift crouch on the ground, sweaty hair flopping in his eyes, claws crunching in the dirt. He sniffs into the shadows. A girl, hiding, bruised and lonely. The scent of her name floats on the air, sky and rain and flowers. Indra. It's Hindi, or some f.u.c.king thing. Always he can smell their names, even when he couldn't care less. His blood burns at the fresh meaty smell of her sorrow, and careless of breaking his glamour, he sweeps out a fevered wing and showers the wall with orange sparks to reveal her.

Dark hair straggles on skinny white shoulders. Black leather skirt crumpled in her lap, showing bruised legs. White arms wrapped around her addict-thin body. Tears streaking dust on her china doll face. Purple rose tattoo flashing on her strap-wrapped ankle. She gazes up at him, sly fear glazing her blue eyes.

With a hot flush of interest he recognizes her, the little pouty-mouthed waif in the biker kid's shadow. Ice's stalkergirl, the one Ice nearly ripped a chunk out of at the Court after Blaze dragged her away from that metal-skinned loser. Childlike. Flowery innocence under a worldly facade. Not killmebeautiful, but prettys.e.xy, like Ice. Wounded. Teaseable.

His fingers tingle with unnamable need. The old mischief ignites in his heart, tempering the rage just for a moment. He withdraws his glowing wing and edges closer, offering his hand. "Come out, Indra. I won't hurt you." Much. Much.

She huddles tighter, licking ripped lips. There's blood there, the marks of teeth. He inhales, and feels her. Shock. Disbelief. Disgust. Hunger. Her eyes cast about dully, unfocused, and her honeyflower scent hits him again. Enchanting. His blood tingles fresh like a garden, filling his desire, throbbing his pulse tight, making him rapidly, scorchingly hard. Something to break. Goody. Something to break. Goody.

Sweat trickles down his neck. He wipes his nose, uneasy in the raw light of strange flowery sympathy, and gestures at that syrupy blood on her mouth. "Who you hiding from? Did your boyfriend do that?"

Because I'd like to. Give me your mouth, your hands, your sweet flesh, those pretty bruised legs around me. In the club I'd tempt you with sparks, seduce you, dance against you with flame on my fingertips until your body weeps for me and we can spend an hour or two forgetting this s.h.i.tty life. Easy enough. So why do I feel sorry for you? What's this d.a.m.n affection you're making me feel?

She sniffles, artful, her tears br.i.m.m.i.n.g. "He tried to show me. I didn't want to."

He inhales again, that sly rosy magic, and his heart bleeds for her even as his mirrorwarped desire freshens. "Well, that sucks. Get yourself a better boy, darlin'." He helps her up. Her wrist cools his burning palm, and his c.o.c.k responds, smarting like sunburn. Would she feel like that inside, cool and smooth and soothing on his aching flesh? Desire strikes in his b.a.l.l.s like a handful of matches. A bleeding, weeping little human girl. He swallows dry guilt and backs away. "Look, I'd better-"

"Can you show me?"

The smell of flowers dizzies him speechless. Surely he's imagined that, the sudden pleading in her eyes. "What?"

Her fingers curl around his, gentle but sure, and suddenly her body's against his, so cool and tiny, her little b.r.e.a.s.t.s plump on his chest. "Show me how I can please him. I don't know what to do."

Her lips brush his, so girlish and soft, and in an instant they're kissing, his greedy flame licking her face. Sparks erupt stinging from his wings, and shuddering he folds her in his arms. She groans, and opens her little mouth to him. Her tongue fits soft and shy on his. Such a little girl. His blood overheats. He tries to keep the kiss gentle, caressing her lips like they're precious, teaching her with long sure licks what she's meant to do. She responds with another groan, letting him taste her. He slides a careful hand to her breast, and her nipple flowers eagerly, swelling hard in his fingers. His desire burns hot and fast like oil, and before he knows anything about it, he's on top of her on the dirty concrete under a sheet of flickering flame, sliding hungry fingers up her thigh.

She moans and claws at his hair, the rose petal scent of her desire dizzying him. He pushes her leather skirt aside, trying to be gentle, trying not to leave claw marks, but f.u.c.k it's hard when she's wild and innocent and hot for it at the same time. She's cool between her thighs on his sweating hand, and when he touches her for the first time, she gasps and jerks like he's shaken her awake.

She's fresh and wet, her flesh soft. Carefully, he traces her little c.l.i.t, so plump and ready for his mouth. He slides a finger into her, and a shudder rips his muscles tight. G.o.d, she's lovely, so smooth and muscular, more like a fairy girl than like a human. But there's no dimple there, no soft little ridge, no b.u.mp in the delicate skin. She's not a virgin, and for the first time he wonders if she's tricking him and why.

But it's too late. Her powdery scent intoxicates him, and in a few seconds he's nudged her thighs apart and he's pushing inside her. He should go slowly-she's small, just a human girl-but he can't. She's so tight around him. So good. So blessedly cool and moist. Delicious flame bursts from his pores, threatening to push him over the edge. Just the feel of this witch could make him come. "G.o.d, you feel great."

She whimpers, tense. "It hurts."

"It won't for long." He bends to kiss her body as he moves inside her, licking her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sucking her tight nipples, and before long she relaxes with a pleasured shudder.

She gasps and rocks under him, pushes him deeper like she knows what she's doing. "Yes," she whispers. "Show me. Help us. Promise me."

He groans and thrusts, unwilling but compelled. Something weird. Something wrong. But still the words slip out on a ragged sigh as her muscles drag pleasure from deep in his b.a.l.l.s. "I promise."

"Promise on your soul." She moves against him, sultry, her eyes glazed with deep pleasure.

"Yeah. On my soul." Bewitched. Tricked. But he can't stop. His c.o.c.k swells inside her, ready to explode, and he thrusts faster, harder, using her as she uses him until o.r.g.a.s.m slashes through him like broken gla.s.s, tearing screaming sensation deep into his flesh. Flames scorch over his back, scarlet flashing from his wings like neon against the dirty wall. "Ah. G.o.d, you little b.i.t.c.h, you feel good."

Liquid slides around him inside her, sticky and caustic like over-sugared icing. His breath scorches. His c.o.c.k still hurts, his rage barely satisfied. Did she come? He didn't notice. He doesn't care. She tricked him, for who knows what weird-a.s.s reason. He should get off her, spit on her, and leave her in the dirt. But he can't. He can't get up. He can't move.

She slides beneath him, a satisfied smile shaping her lips. "Now you're mine. Come tell Akash what you did."

A flash of flowery compulsion wilts his nerves, and when she nudges him up and bids him follow her, he can't help but obey.

20.

Slimy awareness slicked my senses like river water, and I fought to wake.

My head hurt, like I'd dragged my brain through broken gla.s.s. My wing joints ached. Thunder rumbled, distant but threatening, and on some unseen metal roof, raindrops pattered like insect feet. I inhaled, the dusty stink of an airless s.p.a.ce baked in the sun. Rusty light pierced my crunched lids. I opened, and my eyeb.a.l.l.s gritted like sandpaper.

A lightbulb, gently swinging left to right, shedding that sphere of reddish light. Beyond it, darkness and dust and the smell of rain. A smooth surface soothed my shoulders, my wings, my backside. I wriggled, and the smoothness didn't move with me. I lifted my hand to feel my face, and it wouldn't come. I tried my other hand. It wouldn't come either. Furious, I kicked, and my ankles. .h.i.t something rough and tight that slammed them back down.

Reason filtered through woolly haze: Lightbulb is up. I'm on my back. Correction-tied on my back. I can't move my arms. I can't move my legs. I'm helpless. Lightbulb is up. I'm on my back. Correction-tied on my back. I can't move my arms. I can't move my legs. I'm helpless.

Panic scrabbled through my body, shredding my nerves to useless flesh. My pulse yabbered stupidly at me to flee, and I fought jerking limbs. I sucked in a breath and looked down-at least I could still move my head-and trepidation chewed at my nerves like a hyena with a bone. Rope around my ankles, rope around my wrists. A white surface like a tabletop. Christ, I hate being tied up. But all my bits are still there. I'm still dressed. Don't see any blood. Christ, I hate being tied up. But all my bits are still there. I'm still dressed. Don't see any blood.

Rustle.

My skin broke out in a cold wash. My head whipped around, my cheek slapping into the table.

Stalkerboy smiled, unnerving. He sat a few feet away on a tall stool, pretty dark hair tumbling damp around his shoulders. Watching me. Waiting for me to wake up.

Presumably so I wouldn't miss whatever was about to happen to me.

He glided over to me, his balance uncanny and beautiful for a muscled-up biker hooligan. I couldn't see a weapon. I couldn't see the mirror. Maybe he just wanted to hurt me. Panic bubbled in my blood, but instead of lying here gibbering, that old Icyspice att.i.tude came lurching out. "What's going on, Stalkerboy? Where am I? Why am I tied up? What are you-?"

He lighted a warm finger on my lips, shushing me, and something weird rippled beneath my skin at his touch. I moved my lips, resisting the urge to spit. His finger tasted of daisies. He smiled again, and took his finger away. "Not Stalkerboy. Akash, from the sky. Kane is my enemy."

The names sounded gla.s.sy and alien in his mouth, and harmonics pealed in his voice, beautiful and unnerving like a charmed-up banshee. I remembered his hateful scream at Indigo's with a shudder. He's just a human kid. How did he do that? And if that freaky white-toothed smile was meant to calm me, he was kidding himself. Those sky-blue eyes shone with rampant hunger. He looked like he wanted to eat me whole. I shivered. Weird Weird didn't begin to describe this. didn't begin to describe this.

Fear slid hot needles into my blood, and I raged against it, my heart aflame with disgust. Yeah, I was afraid. But d.a.m.ned if I was helpless. Screw that.

Surrept.i.tiously I squirmed, testing the knots. "Good for you, Akash from the sky. You gonna let me go, or do I hafta kick your a.s.s?"

He bent closer and sniffed my cheek. I tried not to look away, not to show him my fear. Sweat gleamed on his dark-stubbled jaw, beaded on his studded brow, twinkled on the tiny ruby ring in his nose. Long tilted cheekbones, straight nose, supple lips, velvety lashes. I'd even say good-looking, if he didn't have me tied me to a table. p.r.i.c.k.

He leant on his elbows next to my head, his flowery smell unpleasantly close. "No kicking. No going. Tell me about Kane."

I shifted some more, trying to work my ankles loose. "Who? Don't know who you're on about."

Scarlet flame rippled over his knuckles, wispy like a fairy's, and he leaned closer, impatient. His hip pressed into the table's edge, and something hard and metallic clunked against the plastic. Distant giggles whispered in my head. I risked a glance downward. A taut round shape swelled in his jeans pocket.

The mirror.

He clicked his tongue, impatient. "You lie. You know Kane. You kissed Kane. He gave you Pleasure. Tell me how it felt."

My stomach wobbled, the scent of flowers cloying. Christ. He'd watched us? And what was with that flame thing? Humans couldn't do that. "Look, you've got the wrong girl."

"No. Ice. Yellow. Honey eyes. Berries. You are the one. Tell me how it felt." He sniffed me again, his mouth alarmingly close to mine, and I wriggled, antic.i.p.ating a forced kiss.

He just stared, sky-blue, two inches away.

I fought not to blink or recoil. His intensity made me squirm, like he could see right inside my head. I wouldn't get anywhere by lying to this fruitcake. Better to let him think he was getting what he wanted, and work on getting the h.e.l.l out of here. "Okay, okay. You got me. Tell you how what felt?"

"He gave you pleasure." Akash's gaze slid down to my mouth, and back up to my eyes. Shiver.

I laughed, forced. "Hey, that's kind of a personal qu-"

"You touched him. He did not fight. How is this?"

Confusion tumbled in my head, and I kicked my feet harder. The d.a.m.n rope wouldn't loosen. "What? You're not making sense."

He frowned and sniffed my hair. His own dark locks trailed over my cheek, soft, damp, smelling of rain. His throat looked smooth and tanned, and I saw deep clawmarks, partially healed to scar tissue. I licked my lips. He smelled kind of nice, a faint tw.a.n.g of flowery blood tingling my nose.

I swallowed, recklessness rippling my nerves. No, I didn't just wonder what he'd taste like. No, I didn't just wonder what he'd taste like. This guy was a freak, and I'd had my share of freakadelics today. This guy was a freak, and I'd had my share of freakadelics today. Get a grip, Ice. Get a grip, Ice.

He straightened, a frown still denting his brow. "You defied him, and he did not punish you. How is this?"

The twinge of mirror-rich desire that awakened in my body only made me angry. I jerked against my ropes, cutting my skin. "Enough with the stupid questions, okay? Something's wrong with you, you know that?"