Touch (Touched by the Fae 3)

I pull the wad of cash from my pocket, quickly pulling a bill from the stack before shoving it back in place.

He never stirs.

I fold the bill, sticking it inside the crumpled coffee cup set in front of him. There’s a couple of quarters in there, maybe a penny or two, and I’m glad to see that I’m giving him a five. It’s better than the single I thought I grabbed.

“Here you go. For whatever you need it for tonight.”

My life’s a mess. If I can make it a little easier for someone else, might as well.

On my way back in, I’m torn between wanting to dig into the bag of food I picked up and getting a better look at our hideaway. The yellow tape was a big clue that something was off, not to mention the busted door and the funky, musty smell that permeates the whole place.

I peek my head into the stairwell I find off to the right side of the lobby. The lights flicker, the electric bulbs a high-pitched whine. With a loud pop, the one directly above me shorts out. I throw my hands over my head to protect it in case the glass shatters. Luckily, it doesn’t, but that was too close a call.

Elevator, it is.

The ride back to the fourteenth floor goes a lot quicker now that I’m almost back. I try to come up with another excuse to run away again, realize that I can’t avoid them forever—and, even if I could, I couldn’t leave Nine behind—then put on my big girl panties and go back inside the apartment.

I know I’ve got the right one when I see the furniture on the side, the scattered debris, my gorgeous Shadow Man still frozen in the corner, and my parents watching me carefully as if they expect me to bolt again.

They’re not entirely wrong.

There’s a small table set to the side of the front door. It somehow survived in one piece and I put the bag of take-out on top of it. Something tells me that the food’s gonna have to wait a second.

I don’t know what happened while I was gone, but the Light Fae seems a lot calmer now.

He’s standing with Callie, his hands on her shoulders, his head dipped low as he looks directly at her face, almost like he keeps expecting her to disappear. Even when he backs away, glancing over at me as I shuffle into the room, he keeps one hand on her elbow.

With the other, he gestures for me to walk toward him.

“Come here. Give me your arm. Let me touch you.”

I can’t do it. I can’t.

He doesn’t know my history. He doesn’t know my past. As a full-blooded fae, I should’ve expected him to want to do this.

I shake my head. “I’m not supposed to let anyone touch me.”

Though Ash obviously doesn’t understand how much meaning I throw behind such a simple sentence, he’s quick enough to read between the lines.

“I’m your father, Zella. Even if I was at full-strength, my touch wouldn’t affect you. My blood runs through your veins. I have no power over you.”

Yeah. Maybe.

Except for my name, I’m thinking.

Despite me telling them both earlier that my name is Riley, this isn’t the first time I’ve been called Zella. How much longer before he tacks on a command and I prove that, maybe his touch doesn’t affect me, but his using my true name will?

I notice that he’s careful not to do that. Ash might be giving me orders, but he doesn’t use my true name when he does. He saves that to punctuate his statements, though, as if he wants to make sure I know he’s talking to me.

When it comes to my parents, I’m not so sure how to address them, so I don’t. I figure my best bet is to think of them as Ash and Callie, though the fact that they’re my mom and dad is a constant refrain in the back of my flustered thoughts.

“Why do you have to touch me?” I ask suspiciously.

Not like I’m going to let him. Proving my point, I don’t move any closer to him.

His lips purse. I don’t think he likes me questioning him. Oh, well. He’ll learn.

“It’s another layer of protection.”