The Devious Fae Series Bundle (Books 1-3)

Chapter 1

I saw him coming a mile off. Not the devilishly handsome bastard with the deep, dark eyes and a jawline you could cut glass with. I’d noticed his $200, short, black haircut and the pristine leather jacket around his shoulders the moment he entered the dive. He was asking to get robbed, and I was here for it.

Nah, the superfan I’d been clocking all night had a face like a horny dog that wanted to jump the stage and get a piece of the girl with the red hair holding the mic. He’d banged his head to I Hate Sushi, he’d started a mosh pit when That Blonde Bitch came on, and he knew all the words to Burn It Down. Nobody knew the words to Burn It Down.

We didn’t even know the lyrics to the song because we’d written it while blitzed out on absinthe and anything else we’d been able to find. That was why we always played it last; once the bar was too drunk to notice, or care.

It wasn’t a great song. It wasn’t even a good song. Not at all. We should’ve Burned It Down a long time ago. But Rebellious Bladder—that’s the name of our band—had a hard time letting go of stuff. Even the bad stuff. Frankie insisted we’d need a solid backlog of material when we made it, so better to keep it all.

He was the dreamer of the group.

I let the final, ripping chord hang in the air, tearing through the crowd like a shockwave. My heart pounding, I yanked the guitar head back, killing the chord and the music altogether. It was then the neckbeard with the desperate stare made his move. I watched him push past the last line of drunks and make a dash for the stage, his eyes all hunger, his mouth agape, my name slurring past his lips.

“I love you, Avery!” he called out as he awkwardly clambered onto the stage, using the speakers for support.

This wasn’t the kind of place to put up barriers between musicians and everybody else, and it sure as hell didn’t employ security guards. If you wanted to play in the Blind Racoon, you had to accept a certain element of risk—but that didn’t just apply to musicians.

I couldn’t have rolled my eyes any harder.

Pulling back to get a sure footing, I dropped my guitar, then drove the heel of my boot into his chest as he tried to right himself. The guy’s eyes widened, and all the air went out of his lungs. I almost felt bad for him, until I noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt with my face on it. 

It could’ve been cute, if it hadn’t been a candid shot of me coming out of the back of the bar that he’d clearly taken himself and had pressed into his clothes. Because that's exactly the kind of thing a totally harmless, non-stalker would do, right?

“Why do they keep letting weirdoes in here?” I asked no one.

“Bu—bu—bu—” he kept trying to speak, only the words weren’t forming. When he realized he couldn’t catch a breath, he stretched his hands out to try and grab me like he was doing a zombie walk.

Sighing hard, I picked up the beer bottle that had been sitting on the small table next to the mic and smashed it into the side of his head. The bottle didn’t break, though, so instead of a crash, the sound was a thunk. I could almost see the stars dancing in front of his eyes as the daze kicked in.

A pulse of stunned silence moved through the bar, the shock of what had just happened ripping out like that sick guitar chord. For a second, I thought I was about to get kicked out for decking the guy, but a roaring cheer suddenly erupted, and the mass of people became a blanket of hungry fingers and hands. 

With a roar, I charged at the guy in front of me and bashed into him with my shoulder, sending him all the way over and into the crowd at my feet. He surfed for a while, still dazed and confused, before being finally pulled under and disappearing into the sea of bodies.  

Panting, adrenaline coursing through me, I examined the beer bottle in my hand. There was still a little left, and miraculously, none of it had spilled. I finished the beer, dropped the bottle on the stage, and picked up my guitar. 

I grabbed the mic once more. “Thank you,” I said, stretching the word. “We are Rebellious Bladder. Don’t come up on that stage unless you want to get a beat down.” 

The crowd, elated, began chanting “Burn It Down! Burn It Down!” as they took turns pummeling the neckbeard now writhing on the floor. 

“Jeez, Avery,” Crash said. He was in the middle of unplugging his bass guitar. “Did you have to obliterate that guy?”

I shrugged. “He’ll think twice now about trying that again, won’t he?” 

“He’s gonna need the emergency room after they’re done with him.” 

“I really don’t care. The guy had a shirt with my face on it—that’s one short step away from serial killer, and I’m not taking chances with that shit.” 

“The lady has a point,” Frankie put in as she picked herself up from the drum set. “Anyway, what’s with this soft heart thing, Crash? You used to be badass.” 

Crash grinned. “I’m gonna be a dad… changes things.” 

While the others were talking, I spotted my roommate, Kady, buzzing around at the back of the bar. She was making googly-eyes at a guy standing inches from her, playing with locks of her long, blond hair. I wasn’t sure which of the two looked more entranced and into the other. Whichever it was, I doubted if she’d noticed the commotion a moment ago, let alone watched us play even a single song.

Catching Kady’s attention was easy; keeping it was hard.

So much for supportive roommate. 

“Let’s just get our gear and go?” I asked, sighing again. “I wanna get paid and immediately use that money to buy myself a drink, or six.” 

“We’re not carrying you and Kady back home again tonight,” Cash warned.

“Relax, I’m pretty sure she’s not sleeping at home tonight anyway,” I said, walking off the stage with my guitar in my hand.

I slung it across my back once I’d crossed into what passed for a backroom at the Blind Raccoon. It had at one point in its past been a small storeroom just about large enough for a handful of boxes and the odd broken cooler. All of that was gone, now, replaced with a scratched up old sofa, and the world’s most banged up coffee table. 

Catching my reflection in the cracked wall mirror across from the sofa, I noticed a spec of blood on my pale cheek. Frowning, I licked my thumb and wiped it off my face, stopping for a second to inspect my face in the mirror. 

I looked tired tonight. 

The sparkle in my green eyes was gone, replaced instead by dark bags forming underneath them. The bruise on my jaw from last week’s incident with the failed stage dive was still very much there. My Nirvana t-shirt was ripped up and stained with who knew what, and my hair, I didn’t even want to start with my hair. It was still red, but it was about three shades duller than I wanted it to be.

I shook my head at myself in disgust. “What the hell am I doing?” I asked my reflection.

There was an instant, while the question hung in the air like a broken windchime, where I wondered if there was an answer to it somewhere in my mind. There wasn’t. I thought, once, I wanted to be famous, to be recognized, to be respected. To be cared for; or, at least, have beautiful people serve me. 

But that was all gone. Seattle did what Seattle does; bit by bit, it had stomped the joy of life out of me and turned me into a cynic. 

Squeezing past the coffee table, I pushed open the door to the bar only to bump into one of the guys from the next band as he tried to come in. He was tall, skinny, and was wearing some kind of leather harness over a bare chest. Eyeing him up and down, I noticed the leather pants, the startled-owl black hair, the platform shoes, and the black and white face paint, and I knew exactly what kind of douchebag he was. 

A poser.

The worst kind.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Wow,” I said, letting the word hang in the air.

“You gonna get out of my way or do I have to shove you?” he asked.

I stepped aside. “Oh, go right ahead. I didn’t know KISS was playing tonight.” 

“We’re not KISS,” he hissed as he stepped past. Three other, almost identical guys followed him through. “We’re Infinite Pain,” said the last one, moments before flashing his tongue at me. It was long, snakelike; the kind of tongue men think would make women melt.

“That’s an awesome name,” I said, “But you’d better lawyer up, because someone’s about to get sued.” 

“What was your band again?” asked the Gene Simmons lookalike. “Stupid Bitch?” 

“That’s real clever, Gene. Quick, hit me with another knee-slapper.” 

“Why don’t you go and get fucked? How about that?” 

Flipping both of my middle-fingers at them, I stepped through the door and into the bar. “You wish, assholes.” 

I’d barely made it through the door and into the bar when I crossed paths with the other poser in the dive; Mister $200 Haircut. I didn’t know his name, so in my head, his name was Haircut, and it looked like he’d been waiting by the door to the back. 

Given that this part of the building wasn’t well lit and frequently used for light sexual activity, it didn’t surprise me to find someone lurking there. I hadn’t expected him, though. He looked even more out of place now, skulking in the dark with his freshly bought designer jacket, than he had when I’d first spotted him.

I almost felt bad for him, sticking out like that, waiting for someone to knock him out and take his stuff.

Almost.

I took a step over to him, placed one hand on his chest, and pushed him against the wall. Maybe it was the loud music or the strobing lights, but I caught him off guard. He stared at me, his deep, dark eyes flashing wide. 

“You’re late,” I said, grabbing his face with my other hand. 

He was about to take hold of my wrist, but I pushed my mouth onto his and kissed him. Haircut had no idea what had just hit him. For a moment I thought he was going to resist, to push me away, or to wise up to the fact that the hand I’d placed on his chest a moment ago wasn’t there anymore. It was heading for his pocket.

None of that happened. 

Instead, he moved into the kiss, cupping the side of my face with his hand and teasing my tongue out with his. My eyes flashed wide, now. A moment ago I’d been in complete control, but my entire body was suddenly buzzing with excited energy, and I knew I wasn’t in the driver’s seat anymore.

He smelled like freshly cut roses at the height of spring, I could taste peppermint on his tongue, and his body; holy hell. I’d intended on sliding my hand into his pocket to find his wallet, but it had stopped at his abdomen, completely against my own wishes. 

The next thing I knew, I was the one being spun around and pinned against the wall. His lips broke away from mine, but only because he wanted to kiss my jawbone, my neck, my collar. Desire radiated from him like heat, and it was infectious, because my heart was beating like it had somewhere to be and was three days late. 

I went to plunge my hand into his short, black hair—that was when he grabbed my wrist and slammed it against the wall. 

He pulled away from my neck and stared at me, the ambient, strobing light bouncing off his deep, dark eyes. His skin was immaculate; clean, and tanned, with a bit of warmth to his only slightly stubbly cheeks. The corner of his mouth pulled into a grin, and he flashed a set of pearly white teeth, two of which I could’ve sworn were a little too sharp.

Like fangs.

“Just what am I supposed to be late for?” he asked, his peppermint breath rolling across my lips, his voice smooth and soft, the words sliding off his tongue. 

He had me. I tried wriggling out of his grasp, but it was vice-like. “Think I got you confused with someone else,” I said, a little breathlessly.

“Does that happen often?” 

“Depends on how much I’ve been drinking.” 

Haircut licked his lips, never once breaking eye-contact. I had to admit, for a poser, he was doing things to my body that I absolutely didn’t want, or appreciate. How was he making my heart race? How was this dude flooding the pit of my stomach with warm tingles? I needed to get away from him, and fast. 

“Alcohol,” he said, flicking his lips again, “You just had a beer, but earlier you finished two Dark and Stormies.” 

I cocked an eyebrow. “How could you possibly know that?” 

“I have an incredibly talented tongue.” 

Abort mission. 

I yanked my arm out from under his fingers, but only because he’d loosened his grip a little. “Alright, that’s enough out of your mouth for tonight.” 

I slid out from under him, his gaze following me as I slithered toward the bar. I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was about him that made me look back even as I tried to get away, but I did, only he wasn’t where I’d left him anymore. Between the pulsing lights and the press of the people, I’d lost him.

But it had only been a couple of seconds—barely more than an instant. How had he moved so fast?

Shaking my head, questioning whether what I’d just experienced was real or not, I headed over to where Kady was sitting; only she was gone, too. I scanned the bar, trying to get a glimpse of her or the guy she’d been with. 

Nothing.

“Bitch,” I mumbled, “She did not just ditch me again.” 

Spinning around on my heel, I made a move toward the back exit, the one past the toilets, thinking she’d spilled out there with her date for a little privacy. I had to work at the door handle for a while to get it to open, my frustration growing the more the door fought me. 

Outside, the air was crisp and cold, and the cloudy sky looked pregnant with rain. Lightning flashed in the gap between buildings overhead, shedding even more light on the massive amounts of graffiti on the wall on the other side of the alley. I scanned left and right, searching the side-street for signs of people, but saw only dumpsters and the lazy tabby cat that lived under them.

I checked my phone for the time. The cracked screen with an image of a snarling, red dragon on it told me it was barely midnight, but no calls or texts had come through. “Where the hell did you go?” I asked the night air.

The worst part wasn’t that I’d been ditched. The worst part was, I hadn’t stolen Haircut’s wallet like I’d planned. He’d completely disarmed me. I mean, I was not in control of that situation in the slightest, and I felt like he knew that.

I heard a thud almost as if in response to my words, then one of the dumpster lids suddenly shut with a loud, metallic crash. I normally wouldn’t have paid any mind to something like that, only I was sure I had heard someone groan… from inside the dumpster. 

As if someone had just fallen into it.