Windstorm (sampler)

Chapter 2

The Fae kept staring at me with deep blue eyes, the strong line of his jaw set tight. Tall, dark, and handsome, he ticked all the boxes that drove my hormones crazy. Light ricocheted off his short black hair, but there was nothing light about this male.

Now that my magic recovered from the sudden hit, I could sense the glamor shimmering around him, containing all that strength that bubbled beneath and preventing me from feeling its full extent.

Shit, no wonder the Fae had hunted so many demons down with success. We were a powerful breed, more energy than flesh. But if this dampened version of the Fae were anything to go by, he was easily stronger than even my mother—and as one of the major players in the World of Shadows, the Bitch Queen of All, Yelena was fucking strong.

Yet here I was, face-to-face with a being who could probably take her down without breaking a sweat. And I was still breathing.

My stomach tightened into a knot, the demonic tendrils inside me hissing at the Fae's presence, demanding that I either attack or flee. As much as I hated to give the darkness inside me any kind of acknowledgment, it didn't exactly have the wrong idea. But, true to the moron that I was, I simply continued to stand behind my polished counter, pinned to the spot in my gold YSL pumps, and gawked at the male like some lovestruck teenager.

Something was seriously wrong with me.

Because it wasn't his appearance that charmed me. It was the taste of his energy, brushing lightly against my skin.

Nails digging into the palms of my hands until they drew blood, I shoved the unsettling thought into the graveyard of my mind where all nonsense was buried and forced my voice to be as steady as I could make it.

"Drop the glamor."

Although I hadn't exactly seen any Fae in my life—not that I was complaining—I'd learned enough about them to know that the glamor they used wasn't there just to hide their essential self. It hid their appearance, too. Strutting about with elongated incisors and tipped ears was as much of a telling sign of their race as was the unmistakable signature of their ancient, raw power.

And if the male who had sauntered into my store to do me in just like all those long-gone demons before me, I at least wanted to see my killer's true face. As would the objects around me.

The Fae arched a shapely eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing on his lips. Honestly, I couldn't tell if he found my bravado funny or if he was simply entertained by the thought of what was to come. But I stood my ground, despite my wobbly knees, and arched a blonde eyebrow right back at him.

"As you wish." His velvet voice rolled over me, the same half smile still lingering on the inviting curve of his mouth.

I sucked in a breath and pulled the light magic from my core, sustaining it so that it flowed just beneath the surface of my skin in case he tried anything funny—like trying to take me by surprise. Sure, he would probably zap me from existence in a blink of an eye if he put his mind to it, but I wanted to at least give the bastard some resistance before that happened. And maybe, just maybe the potency of my witch blood would prove to be enough to give me the needed edge. Either way, I had to try.

The Fae, however, merely smirked at me before the air around him began to shimmer like a sea of crushed diamonds. He dissolved the glamor he had been keeping around himself, layer by thick bloody layer, the change elegant, so effortless it stole my breath away.

His short black hair flowed out, now touching the prominent line of his jaw, and gained a stunning purple hue—as did his eyes. His face shifted, too, gaining a rough edge, but one that did absolutely nothing to dampen its allure. Quite the contrary—it made him even more handsome, as hard as it was to believe something like that was even possible.