Page 63 of Angel Lost

And Kai…Kai might be a problem. But Lottie first. Farrell’s arrogance can wait.

Minutes. That’s all it takes to reach the portal. Not one of my allegiance hesitates. No excuses, no second thoughts. They palm their knives and step into the rebel stronghold at my side.

It’s unnerving. This isn’t how we do things.

Maveriks don’t ask for outside help. Maveriks don’t need it.

Stepping out of the portal onto browning grass, I grab Lorelei’s arm, steadying her.

Steel pricks my chest and I freeze. Soldiers in khaki uniform, with sharp, sharp knives. Way too close.

Farrell steps forward in short, staccato strides. “Stand down.”

No one moves. No one except Kai. The stupid fae bastard giggles. He wraps a hand around the knife at his chest, dragging the blade deeper into his palm. Blood wells, drips. He squeezes harder, laughing, the sound bouncing off the valley’s rocky walls. The soldier guarding him steps back warily.

Dripping blood, Kai weaves between the rebels.What is wrong with him?

He runs bloody fingers through his purple hair, muttering in some bastardized mix of Latin and fae. The rebels bristle. If he puts Lorelei at risk, it’ll be the last thing he does. I draw her slightly behind me.

Kai lifts his hands, palms out, aiming straight at the redhead.

“Revelbaar!” he screeches, spinning in a wild circle around girl-Farrell.

I blink. Farrell’s shoulders broaden, his frame stretching taller. Freckled, chubby cheeks sharpen to hard angles, a scruff of beard shadowing his jaw. The long auburn hair shrinks back into his usual curls.

But his clothes—mierda.

Farrell’s back, sure. But he’s still stuffed into a Fates tartan skirt and a too-tight white blouse, the seams straining, hem riding scandalously high.

I snort. A rebel’s blade nicks my neck—a sharp warning. I choke down the laugh.

“I came from Maverik turf,” Farrell growls at his men. “I had to be disguised. You will stand down and accept Chano’s presence, for now.”

They hesitate. Wrong move.

He snarls, a puff of smoke curling from his nostrils, chased by a flicker of flame. The scent of scorched hair stings my nose. His men snap into formation like their asses are on fire. Smart.

Wiping the blood from my neck, I step to Farrell’s side, locking gazes with the rebel who cut me. I point at my eyes, then straight at him. His face drains of color. Correct response,puta.

“They listen to you, even though you’re a grown man stuffed into a child-size skirt?” I ask, deliberately turning my back on the rebel.

Farrell’s smile is all teeth. “They’re trained soldiers. They do as their commander tells them.”

Zephyr drifts to our side, like the wind itself carried him here, and hands me a silk handkerchief. “Not entirely true,” he muses, like we’re discussing philosophy instead of power dynamics. “But there are official channels for them to express concerns. Farrell is fairer than his father. He listens. Mostly. His men respect that.”

I wipe the blood from my neck and shove the stained hanky back at him. His nose wrinkles. He plucks it delicately by a corner and tucks it into his pocket like it might taint his soul. “Sometimes, he even admits he was wrong.”

Lorelei snorts. “Never.”

Farrell exhales sharply through his nose. No fire this time, but his golden pupils slit for half a second before he smooths his expression.

“Don’t believe it,” Kai singsongs, still flitting around like an unhinged hummingbird. He gets up close—too close—to each soldier, peering deep into their eyes before zipping to the next.

One of the rebels stiffens. “And the fae, sir?” His voice is clipped, but not steady. He’s rattled.

Kai swivels to face him, tilting his head just a little too far. “Must not kill,” he murmurs. “Killing would be bad. Wouldn’t it?” He smiles, wide and sharp, and the soldier looks like he regrets speaking.

We’re wasting time. The fucking fae is wasting time.

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