Asylum (Touched by the Fae 1)

I only care about the power he just showed me he has. Though I can’t tell you how he did it, I know his little display was on purpose. A calculated move to remind me that he’s in charge. That, despite every bone in my body refusing to willingly move toward him, he has the magic and the strength to command me to go to him—and I did.

That scares me more than knowing I’m in the same room as him.

I swallow back my frightened gasp. “What did you just do to me?”

“You made me do it.” He can’t deny it—we both know he was responsible for dragging me from my bed—but I’m not surprised to hear him blame me. Of course it’s my fault. The fae are never wrong. “I need you to understand this, Riley. There’s too much at stake here. I don’t want to have to compel you to listen to me, but I will if you force my hand. Time is short and I’ve come for you as I promised.”

He did. Six years ago, when he sacrificed Madelaine because I told him to leave us the hell alone, he promised that he would return. That he would come back for me.

In the safety of my dreams, I let myself think back. He might have control here—but he can’t hurt me while I sleep. It’s not how it works. It’s not how any of this works. He can talk to me, he can show off his magic tricks, he can remind me of promises—of threats—that I’ve long since buried… and that’s all.

The golden fae is the reason I allowed myself to accept that the fae were nothing more than an elaborate hallucination because I was mentally unwell. If I made them up, then I didn’t have to worry about them chasing after me for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t have to spend years looking over my shoulders.

I’d be able to forget his sworn promise that he’d come for me again one day.

And now he’s here and, instead of panicking or closing my eyes to shut him out, I’m watching him closely, absolutely sure that he is as real as anyone else I’ve ever known.

I shake my head. “This can’t be happening. You’re not supposed to be real.”

“And you’re not supposed to resist me.”

That’s all thanks to Nine. If he hadn’t warned me what the fae were capable of back when I was a kid, I would’ve been lost the first time I met this monster. I saved myself then—it was Madelaine who paid the price for the fae’s interest in me.

And now he’s back.

“Why? Why me? What do you want from me?”

“I’ve waited long enough. It’s time that you become my ffrindau.”

His what? It’s another unfamiliar word in a strange, harsh accent that is at odds with his lyrical voice. I don’t think it’s English, but if it is? There’s only one word that sounds like that that I know.

“Friends? You want me to be your friend? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

His golden eyes flash. His lips curve as he peers down at me. The fae is wearing a… a hungry look that has me stepping away from him again.

That doesn’t stop him. Honestly, I’m not sure if there's anything I could do to him that would.

He glides toward me. Everything about him is graceful, peaceful, lovely—but I know better. I’m staring up at a man-eater who doesn’t know whether he wants to toy with me first, or go straight for the kill.

“Stay away from me.” I throw my hands up in warning. “Back off— whoa.”

As if I needed another clue that this has to be a dream, I get one when I see my hands.

My bare hands.

I’m not wearing my gloves. I always wear my gloves.

It’s bright where we are. The light shines on my mottled skin. I marvel at the blotches, the scars, the fine lines, and the raw pink patches that mingle with the once-damaged flesh. Looking at my reconstructed hands is even worse than coming face to face with the golden fae.

At least, when I wake up in the morning, he’ll be gone. I’ll have these hands forever.

I remember a time when my hands were my own, not these monstrosities. Back before me and Madelaine decided we should skip school that Monday morning and hang out in the basement of an abandoned house down the street from the Everetts. Back before the golden fae appeared out of thin air and convinced Madelaine to dance with him, no matter how much I begged her not to. Back before the fire and the pain and the realization that Nine hadn’t lied, that the fae and all of Faerie was real.

The fae don’t live by the same rules that we do. They can hurt you—and they will.

I made a mistake. Staring at my ruined palm, letting the memories distract me from what the hell is going on right now, I made a huge mistake. I sense movement, a rustle of the wind, and when my head jerks up, he’s right there.

He holds up his hand. His perfect, bronze-colored hand. Fingers pointed up, palm facing out.