Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae 1)

“Be safe,” Devon said. “Be strong. Macy will be waiting nearby if you need anything.” And then he was striding away, Yasmine at his side, the two of them crossing the grass like a couple of beautiful celebrities.

Macy stepped up next to Charity. “How are you doing?”

“If I said ‘fine,’ would you believe me?”

“If I said ‘yes,’ would you believe me?”

Charity gripped the strap of her backpack. “I don’t want to do this. What if I end up being the bait that lures Donnie to his death? I get that he’s…changed, but…”

“This sucks. There’s no two ways about it. One day you should talk to Roger about it. Shortly after he became alpha and started cleaning up the Brink, an elder turned one of his good friends as a personal FU. Roger chose to be the one that disbanded the newbie. He felt responsible for killing his friend. Or so I heard. So he knows what you’re going through. He’d talk to you about it. He’s good like that.” Macy patted Charity’s shoulder. “At least you had no part in Donnie’s change. It could easily have been you. I mean…if vamps can change fae. And, you know, if that’s really what you are.”

The pep talk was going downhill.

With a deep breath, Charity shouldered her courage and gave a resolute nod. If she waited any longer she’d lose her nerve entirely.

“Good luck,” Macy said, drifting toward the shadows.

Luck would be on her side if Donnie strolled in as a regular, hot, hard-to-talk-to guy. Maybe he was used solely for blood? That would be gross, but at least it would still be him.

Each step a trial in courage, Charity made her way to her class. Once there, she forced herself to walk through the door. An expansive lecture hall greeted her, with a podium set up on a small stage in front of a white screen, and stadium-style steps covered in seats going up to the back of the room. Students sat in front of their laptops, bored expressions on their faces. A few groups murmured, waiting for the professor to start his dull lecture.

She checked her watch. Two minutes to go. Class would start anytime.

As she scanned the faces a second time, relief flooded her. One more time for good measure, and then she climbed the steps to her usual spot in the back.

No Donnie.

Thank God.

She pulled the clunky wooden desk up and over her lap. Maybe he had escaped after all. For all she knew, he was having a long chat with his father’s attorney about his next steps. That conversation would likely result in a psych evaluation, given how absurd it would sound. Such things took time, so it was reasonable to expect him to take a week off. Maybe longer.

She dropped her backpack to the ground, forcing her thoughts elsewhere. She pulled out the fantastic laptop, top quality, with a price tag to match. Roger was really going the extra mile, trying to butter her up. Getting her a phone made sense, since communication within a company was key, but a laptop was an extravagance. She had a computer and it did the job fine, slowly but surely. Not like she was complaining. She’d barely yelled at Devon as she was ripping into the packaging, and even then, it had only been to thank him.

The buttering up was working.

As the laptop started, she pushed her backpack beneath her feet. Getting comfortable, she glanced at the door, just in case.

Her heart froze solid.

Donnie moved with grace and confidence, drifting in like a dancer. A slightly wrinkled button-up was tucked into the front of his jeans, and his hair was gelled into a spikey do, on par for his usual style and dress choices. Well, except for the wrinkles. Even so, it wasn’t immediately obvious he’d changed in any way.

Except for his face.

Almost glossy in appearance, like he was airbrushed in real life, his face lacked the small discolorations and imperfections of a real person. His handsome features seemed amplified. A little too perfect. Like a mask.

Her heart sank and tears came to her eyes.

Devon was right. They’d all been changed. The proof was right in front of her.

Donnie took to the stairs slowly and purposefully, a predatory grin twisting his lips as he looked over the people he passed. His movements were a little too fluid and easy. She could almost read his mind: Warm bodies.

Food storage.

Charity’s stomach twisted like his grin. Then his dark eyes met hers.

He didn’t notice the smiles of the girls he passed. Nor the nods of his friends. He was not interested in fist bumps or acknowledging the various people who called his name. He didn’t plan to sit with his friends. His sole interest…was her.

“No,” she whispered as he reached the edge of her row. “Please no. Go away.”