Page 4 of Angel Lost

The shimmering portal lights up the path ahead. “I’ll go, but I won’t go to Fates.”

“Now wait a minute…” Chano swings himself in front of me blocking the route.

“I’ll go to Farrell’s estate.”

His shoulders relax and he steps aside. “Okay. But just the estate. This isn’t an isolated incident. You might have stopped watching the news because it was too depressing, but that didn’t stop crap like this from happening. Farrell’s and nowhere else, Lori.”

I clench my fists at my sides. No jealousy, not a shred of remorse for sending me away…just more controlling nonsense. He really is an asshole. I grip my bag tighter to my chest as he walks away. No kiss goodbye. No nothing.

He disappears over a rise, and I wait a few more seconds until it’s obvious he’s not coming back. My steps toward the portal are slow, like I'm walking through treacle. Chano’smamiwaits, tapping the wheel of her chair impatiently.

“Running off?” Lottie accuses from behind.

I turn and eye her. “Your brother is sending me away.”

She fiddles with the bandage covering half of her face. “He thinks you’re a liability. Can’t say he’s wrong.”

“Look, Lottie, I’m sorry you got hurt.”

She snorts. “I got hurt because my brother couldn’t trust you to stay alive without his help. I got hurt, but I’m staying. You’re a pathetic excuse for an Aeternum. Go on, run away. He doesn’t need you.”

I share a look with Chano’smami, raising my eyebrows. She shrugs at Lottie’s departing back. Then she shoos me toward the portal.

Away.

Chapter Two: Lorelei

The portal flickers and I stumble out, the ground lurching toward my face. Goddess-damned things. The oil-slick surface winks at me and I give it the finger. At least I didn’t puke.

Standing straighter, I brush down my clothes, my fingers coming away coated in sticky black blood. Great, I look like I rolled around in an abattoir for the damned. Cautiously, I sniff my shirt. My stomach heaves. Not good. Very, very not good. Step one in my “make Chano jealous”plan probably shouldn’t involve making Farrell puke.

Surreptitiously wiping my hands down my jeans, I peer around. The ornamental gardens are destroyed, an occasional raggedy rose bush the only remnant of the stunning flower beds, and the grass is thin, browning. How did Farrell destroy the place so quickly? The Virrey’s been imprisoned by the P.I.G. for less than six months.

In the distance, a sea of khaki tents occupies the formal lawns, spilling onto what was once the polo pitch and extending down the shore to the lake.

Clattering echoes from the portal behind me, and a bunch of tattered soldiers stumble out. Satyr shit. Their pointed ears and flowing garb single them out as fae. Fae? What the hell are fae doing here?

A shimmer, like a heat haze, rolls over the group, and I blink. The soldiers are just as battered, but…they’re no longer fae.An illusion?Farrell’s unmistakable russet curls stand out in the center of the group. His usuallyimmaculate shirt is torn and his cheek bruised. From the direction of the tent city a mass of people streams toward him.

“No losses,” Farrell barks, and a couple of the women raise their faces to the sky in thanks. “Two injured, arriving shortly. None of the enemy scouts escaped. I need volunteers to use bitter apple on the civilian witnesses—make them forget everything, quickly. Before the P.I.G. start sniffing around. Then, there are five dead angels to be swept for trackers, and their bodies burned.”

Angels? They’ve been fighting the king’s angels? I hiss in surprise and Farrell’s handsome face snaps toward me.

“Lorelei?” Farrell takes in my clothes, the blood. He grips my chin and wipes who the hell knows what from my face. Blood, probably. Guts…maybe. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Not my blood.”

“Not yours,” Farrell repeats, tugging me to his chest. His citrus and pine scent wraps around me. He takes a few breaths before leaning away, peering into my eyes. “Talk. Why do you reek of death?”

It all tumbles out. The rip, the fight. The dead Maverik. Chano’s utter unreasonableness and his demand that I stay out of danger.

“He’s right,” Farrell says, folding his arms across his chest.

“Are you insane too? I’m strong. I have aether.” I mimic his posture. I don’t need another overprotective asshole. I need him to take me seriously.

Farrell rolls his eyes. “You have aether that you don’t know how to use. Aether you shouldn’t expose.”

I scowl.

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