Page 51 of Last Ride of the Umbra Fae

I tossed two hefty pouches of nara coins onto the desk downstairs. The older woman’s eyes widened as they bounced between me and the sacks.

“A stupid cowboy once told me nara coins talk in this shithole of a city, so I’ll cut to the chase. Tell me where Fang’s hideout is, and you will get to keep your life and some coins.”

The woman leaned in, eyes skimming over my face as if she were analyzing how I knew Ryder, and smirked. “You cannot be serious?” She leaned back into her chair, tending to her nails as if they were more important. I stood in silence and clenched my jaw. Her gaze flicked up as she mulled over the bag of coins and then me.

“Fang owns this city like he does the Eternal stone. That greedy fuck lives in the palace north. If the three of you can manage to sneak past his gang of bandits and lawmen, thengood luck.”

Anger coursed through me as I ground my teeth.

“Two birds, one stone,” Pa said, slowly turning for the door as he cracked his neck. Raven’s eyes darkened as if this was the fuel he’d been waiting for.

“Oh, and you’ll want to enter through the eastern cliffs so you aren’t spotted,” she said, reaching for the bags and tucking them somewhere beneath the desk. Her glare skimmed my face, studying the strain in my jaw.

I smirked, flicking my hat with my middle finger in farewell. “Oh, no need for sneaking around. We know how to make an entrance.”

30

Ryder

This was the calm before the storm. I could feel it in my bones, almost hear it if I tried. The hiss in the air and wind that seemed to whisper words from a far-off place. It’s as if the soul of my future self was telling me to prepare and listen.

The power ofNaiwas my wind, the air in my lungs. We didn’t have a home like most fae; we went wherever the wind took us. That was what my mother had told me, a human who was once so beautiful. She had rarely spoken about my father. He was a Wind Fae—something I’d learned over time as I’d honed my gift—nothing more. I often thought up stories about what had happened to him. I used to believe he’d followed the winds so far, he’d gotten lost. As I’d grown a little older, I’d recognized the anger hiding behind my mother’s eyes, and I’d assumed from then on out, he was just a piece of shit. I’d spent most of my life alone since she’d died, with nothing but my thoughts to accompany me until I got my guitar and horse. As my horse’s hooves echoed down the alleyways and streets, I thought about the way Vessa had looked when she’d watched me play. I wanted to spend more time outside my head…with her.

I continued north. The smell of freshly baked bread seeped out from the homes of those who were up before dawn. I knew every pebble and crack engraved in these roads and every distinct smell from certain homes whose inhabitants’ lives I’d never know. I knew this city more than I understood myself. I knew when the cobblestone streets turned to white granite, we were at the edges of Fang’s lavish lair.

Looking ahead, I saw his lawmen strapped and guarding the entrance.

I dismounted, rolling my head from side to side, and cracked my neck. The sound drew a few stares my way. I straightened my long, dark trench coat. With a tip of my hat, I flashed them a pearly smile and started up the path.

A grin curved my lips as I walked past them. As always, I was reminded of the monster I’d become—I knew by the end of this, one way or another, all those men would die. It wasn’t a hunch or whisper of the wind; it was a vow.

There was an eerie, quiet calm as I entered Fang’s palace.

Stonewashed pillars lined the foyer, branching off down the halls to different parts of the palace as the bottom of the stairs opened up to the space ahead, leading to a second floor—such a foolish way to squander nara coins. At the top step, I saw the crack on the marble railing, the bloodstain still visible from years ago, a memory forever etched in my mind: the night I’d bashed a man’s face in because it had been time for him to leave. Fang’s extravagant palace hid the stories I could never tell. I was just as heinous as him.

“You’re a little early, Ryder.” Fang’s voice echoed in the expanse of the grand room as I entered.

I strode in, pretending to be complacent within our roles. I did my job, he did his. Criminals finding common ground to mind our own fucking business. But little did he know that things had changed.

Cascading water filled the silence, a fountain Fang had installed years ago. Though it was off to the side, wedged between crystal-clear windows, it was always the focal point of parties.

“Early bird gets the worm,” I drawled, my voice a low echo as I sauntered in, seeing a few more pieces of armor adorning his wall.

Fang had bled me for the boy I’d been until it’d made me a man. He was the same monster he had been years ago. He sat on his throne with a setup that looked more like a raised patio with two long settees running parallel. Empty bottles littered the small table in the center, and the aroma of women’s perfume still clung to the air. His grip tensed around the cane made from the bones of fae. His slender, sweaty palms remained clasped around the skull of a large bird at the top. Every time I heard it drag across the stone floors, I remembered the day it had been made. Bile worked its way up my throat—even for someone like me, that memory was far too disturbing.

“Is that what you’re calling your cock these days?” he said, playing with the tip of his carefully crafted mustache that was more of an aristocratic statement. He looked a little thinner than the last time I’d seen him but still wore his signature, crimson, long-sleeve shirt tucked inside a black vest. His dark robe hid the rest of his lavish outfit, seemingly from the night before.

Those beady, dark eyes narrowed on me from beneath the brim of his hat, sending the small row of rings pierced into the edge to chime with every subtle motion. His grip tensed as I ascended the few steps to his dais. I took a seat on one of the settees, trying not to be disturbed by the scent of sex wafting in the air. The fucker was a wrinkle in time, constantly doused by the tonic of the Eternal stone. I instantly noticed the effects of mass consumption. I could surmise he hadn’t slept the nightbefore, knowing his prize had set foot in Donia. He must have partied all night long to remedy his overactive mind.

“You look like shit, Fang. The Eternal must not be working well with you these days. Those bags under your eyes look like a sack of balls.”

“All the more reason why we need that Umbra Fae. There are rumors she has something to do with it. With the power of the Eternal stone waning, the tonics are becoming less effective, which means less nara coins coming in.”

“What about your sweet little candle business? ‘The flame that burns thrice as long,’” I mocked, reaching for the unopened bottle of whiskey that had somehow managed to survive the night.

“Always with the jokes,” Fang said, leaning forward with a scowl. “My reign will not be known forfucking candles.”

I ignored the splash of spit that flung onto my pants. Getting under his skin was far too satisfying. “I like candles, and so does every other woman when she bathes,” I drawled, flashing a smirk before I took a swig of liquor.

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