Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae 1)

A blonde woman stepped forward, drawing Charity’s gaze with her over-the-top confidence, scuffed leather pants that looked like they’d been through hell and back, combat boots, and beat-up fanny pack.

“I figured I’d lend a hand,” the woman said, gesturing at the trees. “You looked like you were having a moment. I didn’t want a forest fire to interrupt it.”

The way she held herself, rough and loose, spoke of an experienced, nonchalant fighter. Her smile held easy humor and her eyes sparked crazy. This woman had led a hard life of violence. If Charity were in that dumpster, hiding from the man, this woman would find her and fish her out. The gun strapped to her thigh, the throwing knives in the ankle brace, and the sword peeking out behind her were all overkill.

“Who are these people?” she asked Devon, who had caught up to her.

“It’s a long story,” Devon said. “Basically, we helped them take on an organization called the Mages’ Guild, which had gone corrupt.” Gesturing to the terrifying blonde, he added, “She’s the one Vlad is respectfully wary of, Reagan Somerset. And for good reason—her magic is insane. As is she. She drinks a bunch of whiskey and chases shifters around New Orleans. Anyway, because we helped them, Penny, the brunette, agreed to help us.”

“That’s not why we agreed.” Reagan walked toward a sleek red SUV parked in the driveway. She opened the back, flashing Charity the emblem.

“Since when did Ferrari start making SUVs?” she asked despite herself.

“I know, right?” Reagan huffed. “Sellouts. This one hasn’t released to the general public yet. I’m only driving it because it’s Moss’s new car, and he’s going to be pissed it was stolen.”

“Wait,” Penny said, “that’s Moss’s? Did my mother put you up to this?”

“Yup,” Reagan replied with a smirk.

“Who is Mo—”

“Got something for ya,” Reagan cut Charity off, pulling out a long parcel wrapped in a burlap sack.

“It’s easier if you roll with it,” Devon told Charity softly, his hand on her back.

“Roll with what?” Charity asked.

“Us.” Reagan strode toward them, holding the parcel out in front of her. “Well, Penny, to be precise. She wears on you at first, but eventually she redeems herself.”

“Her jokes never get any better,” Penny said.

Reagan laughed. “Why improve upon perfection?” She stopped in front of Charity. “I’m Reagan, the happily insane one. Damn glad to meet you. You have a long, crazy road ahead of you, but what an introduction to your mettle, huh? I was hanging on the edge of my seat, listening to Roger recount the story.” She pushed the parcel out a little more. “Dizzy made this for you.” Clearly seeing Charity’s confused look, she said, “A dual-mage friend of mine. It seems Roger isn’t nearly as cheap as we all thought.”

Roger shifted his weight, but didn’t comment. Charity barely stopped her jaw from dropping open. Was this what Devon meant by rolling with it? She hadn’t realized Roger was capable of “rolling” with anything.

“Go ahead,” Reagan said, hefting the parcel. “Open it.”

Charity gingerly took the package, the core hard and unmoving. She peeled back the burlap, and the sun glinted on deep crimson metal. Removing the rest of the covering, she sucked in a breath.

The sword’s finely wrought handle practically glued itself to her palm, finally quelling the itch she’d felt since her power had awakened. Magic flowed out of her and into the metal, a soft hum cutting through the silence. The tip of the deep crimson blade sparked before a sheen of light flowed back over the weapon and soaked into it. She sighed, letting her eyes drift closed. The hilt in her hand felt…divine. Perfect. She didn’t even feel the need to sprint at the onlookers and cut off their heads. She was content to hold it in the sunlight, feeling the warmth on her face and in her body.

Reagan stepped back. “Welcome to magic. We have the coolest stuff.”

“The magical properties of that blade can be altered, depending on how your magic grows,” Roger said. He gestured Charity closer. “I had the maker—Dizzy—research the types of blades warrior fae used back when they roamed the Brink. He fashioned something in that vein.”

“My mother gave it some finishing touches, based on what she saw,” Penny said.

“What she…saw?” Charity asked, lowering the sword to her side. She didn’t want to let it go.

Reagan grimaced. “She’s a Seer. The worst type of magic, if you ask me.”

“Please, Charity, come inside,” Roger said, putting out his hand.

Reagan frowned and turned toward him. “Since when do you ask nicely?” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, now I remember. After you get thrown through a window.”

Roger’s face closed down into a terrifying mask of rage. A thread of anxiety wormed through Charity, and Devon stiffened. Unbelievably, Reagan laughed and turned, falling in beside them.