Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae 1)

“Give the girl a minute to get her bearings.” A plump woman with curly brown hair turned from the counter. She set a steaming cup of brownish liquid in front of Charity and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m Beazie, dear.” The middle-aged woman smiled. “I run the domestic affairs here in the castle. That includes the kitchens and sleeping quarters. So if you need anything—anything at all—you come see me and I’ll sort you out. All righty?”

“Am I stuck here? In this world?” Charity asked.

“Oh my, no.” Beazie laughed and patted Charity’s shoulder again. “Of course not, dear. You’ll get to go home as soon as everything is straightened out, don’t you worry.”

“That hasn’t been decided yet,” Devon stated, the gold specks in his eyes dancing dangerously.

Beazie tsked at him. “Mind your manners, young man. This is your pretty guest. Be courteous.”

The broad-faced man smiled good-naturedly, his attention never far from Charity’s face. “I’m Roger,” he said. The rest of what he said was gibberish. “I’m the alpha of the North American region. In other words, I oversee all the various packs within North America, and each of their pack leaders, my sub-alphas, report to me. I’m like a CEO in a large company. This is one of seven regions spanning the world.”

“Uh-huh.” Charity dipped her finger into the steaming brew. Heat bit her skin. The expected sensory result was welcome. At least hot things in this place steamed. Her world and theirs had one thing in common.

“We’re known as shape shifters. We have magic that allows us to change into an animal form,” Roger continued. “We use our animal form, and the inherent magical properties therein, to help police the human world from magical species—like vampires, for example, or corrupt mages. We’re supernatural police, if you will. Our goal is to keep the secret of magic from the non-magical. Does this make sense?”

“Mmm. Mhm…” Charity tapped the table. It felt and sounded like real wood.

“This is Devon, whom you’ve met previously, I think. He’s the sub-alpha of the Forest Clan, but we call him an alpha for the sake of simplicity.”

“Sure, yeah. Simplicity.” Charity nodded and tapped her chair—also like real wood.

“Primarily, Devon’s team is responsible for taking out all newly formed vampires in his area,” Roger said.

“She must know all this, sir,” Devon said, obviously trying to keep his aggravation at bay. “She repeatedly ignored my warnings about going into the house with those creatures. She played innocent well, I grant you, but her timetable isn’t believable.” He ticked off a finger. “She disappears when the elixir is being consumed, somehow without alerting them.” He ticked off another finger. “She returns after they are engaged in creating the new vampires.” A third finger. “She alerts the whole house right before we strike.” He dropped his hand. “This has to be part of Vlad’s plan. There’s no way she could’ve snuck around his people, or escaped him, for that matter. It’s not possible. She must have been on their side all along.”

Charity’s hand stopped mid-reach, the material of the mug forgotten. “Are you serious?” she asked, rather calmly given the circumstances. “You not only want me to buy in to all this…insanity, but you think I’m somehow a part of those freaks’ circus? Have you completely lost your mind? None of this can be real…” She blinked at the guys in front of her, then the castle around her, then the gold filaments lazily drifting past the castle windows.

“Vampires are also shifters, in a way,” Roger said, still somehow patient. “They have two forms—a human form, which tends to be more beautiful and faster and stronger than the average human, and a creature form that is stronger and faster still. Someone I know calls that their ‘swamp creature’ form. I’m sure you can see why. You met them in their human form at the beginning of the night, and their swamp creature form toward the end. They were as real as you or me. As real as the chair under your butt, and the table under your arms.”

“That’s all still questionable,” Charity mumbled, tapping the mug. It felt like ceramic.

Charity shook her head and held up her hand. “Seriously, am I in a coma or something?”

“The sooner you admit to your ruse, the faster we can move on,” Devon growled.

“Why? You seem pretty convinced by your little theories,” she spat.

“Enough,” Roger said quietly, nearly under his breath, but Charity’s small hairs stood on end and her skin prickled, as if danger were running directly at her with a grin and red glowing eyes.

Devon’s ordinarily lush lips pressed into a tight white line.

And that was why Roger was an alpha over a large area. He was intensely scary. That made sense.

“Charity, why don’t you walk us through how you got to the party?” Roger said, back to good-natured, as if he hadn’t just scared the room silent.