magical people call you a warrior fae,” Roger said.
“A warrior fae,” Charity repeated slowly. “Like a fairy?”
“A fairy is a type of fae. Warrior fae is another type,” Roger said.
“I see. Aren’t I supposed to have wings? And be short?”
“You are short,” Devon replied.
“Five-five is not—” Charity breathed through her nose for a moment, trying to ignore him. She dared not meet his eyes again. She didn’t trust herself not to flip his chair back and kick him somewhere soft.
“We’ll go over all that in time,” Roger said softly. “For now, you two need to get back to the Brink and get a good sleep. After that, Devon will create a plan that will, hopefully, include Charity.”
“You want us to go back now?” Devon jerked upright. “Not stay here until it’s time to act?”
“I think Charity has had enough excitement. Why don’t you grab some of her things from her old house, help her get comfortable?”
The vein in the Devon’s jaw pulsed. Oh no, he did not like this any more than she did. Which soothed her. At least he wouldn’t hit on her or demand constant homage to his glossy good looks.
“Charity,” Roger said, giving her a smile that seemed out of practice. “I hope to work with you soon. You are an extraordinary woman.”
The embarrassment was back. Charity tucked a lock behind her ear.
Devon stared at Roger like he’d never seen him before. In a moment, he shook himself out of his astonishment and turned to Charity. His frustrated scowl came back immediately. Charity couldn’t help but laugh.
They wouldn’t get along, that much was obvious. She wondered how long it would take for one of them to punch the other in the mouth, and who would break first.
Chapter Fifteen
“Charity, wait!”
Devon must’ve been a serial killer in a past life. Karma was really screwing with him. He had six newbie vamps to hunt, school to attend, a pack to lead, and somehow he had to host, protect, and keep tabs on a chick who wouldn’t stop arguing with him. The woman constantly shot him scowls barely masking her desire to clock him.
He wanted to reciprocate with all he had. But he wasn’t allowed to. Roger had made that clear. He was to be her protector—it was on him to keep her alive.
“Wait for me,” he said through gritted teeth, running across the plush green grass of Samantha Kent’s small front yard. He held his Glock low and close so as not to alarm any neighbors who might be peeking out of their windows. The last thing he needed was for someone to call the cops on him. His usual recourse—changing into a wolf and fleeing—wouldn’t be possible now that he was on protective duty. Charity would never be able to keep up on foot.
On second thought, a serial killer wouldn’t have been bad enough for karma to land him in this detail.
“It’s fine. I’ll be real quick,” she said as she reached the door.
Shadows draped across the dilapidated front porch. They’d spent far too long at the crossing between Sector Eight and the Brink thanks to Charity’s damn questions.
“Why do they call it Sector Eight?” she’d asked as they stood in front of the crossing. “And why the Brink?”
“The Realm is divided into eight sectors. Our headquarters are in Sector Eight. The Brink…just is. I don’t know. Will you come on?”
She pointed at the portal, refusing to walk right up to it. “What is this fuzzy line in the air? And is that a bench circle over there? Do people come to the border and hang out, like teenagers at a 7-Eleven?”
“It’s the tear in the fabric of the worlds that allows us to pass from one to the other. And yes, if they get tired or are waiting for someone, they hang out and rest for a while. Will you please come on?”
After they finally crossed, she asked, “Did you buy that Range Rover new?”
“Yes. Get in.”
She scoured him with condescension before she said, “Must be nice.”
He’d nearly strangled her.
She lived with a rich person. She hung around her roommate’s rich friends. She occasionally went to rich-people parties. She was jonesing after a rich person. To all of that, Andy said she was sweet, smiley, and extremely blasé. Nothing bothered this girl when it came to money.
Except for Devon, apparently, even though he’d earned it all. Growing up, his mother hadn’t even told him about his shifter genes. Then, when they’d materialized, she’d given him an ultimatum: ignore