Page 56 of Wanted: A Roommate Who Isn't Evil

He caught up to Lily just outside. “Wait, Human.” Then he thought better of the address, and corrected with, “Lily.”

When Lily turned around, Dranian paused, realizing he didn’thave anything planned. He looked off and fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of his bloody shirt. She shot him an odd look. And so, Dranian did what he thought Shayne might do. He opened his arms wide, and with a perfectly straight face, he walked at Lily.

She looked at him like he was crazy, even taking a step back, but he caught her first and wrapped his arms around her to fasten her into a hug. “Have a good day at work,” he said in his monotone voice.

When he let her go, Lily’s face appeared a blend of wondering if he’d lost his mind, and looking like she might slap him.

It was dreadfully difficult, but… Dranian stretched his face, pulling with all his might. He created a slow smile, as wide as it could go.

Finally, Lily put her hands on her hips. “Did you eat mushrooms you found in the grass?” she asked. “Or are you actually out of your mind?”

Dranian’s lopsided smile fell. “Never mind.” He turned and strutted away, choosing not to go back into the café. He headed toward the bus stop instead, listening to Lily’s sigh of disbelief behind him as she went on her way.

Dranian stole a quick look back. As soon as Lily was around the corner, he pulled the plastic rectangle with Lily’s picture from his pocket. He flicked the cloth necklace with a satisfied nod, and he winced as he tried to ignore the shooting pains in his left arm from even the smallestmovement.

Desmount Tech Industries was a wild jungle of crystal banners, secret entrances, and watching eyes. Dranian kept a straight, unsuspicious face as he battled the glass panels for access to the forbidden building. He brushed the dust off himself as he came into the lobby and drew out Lily’s magic picture. A few humans glanced up at him, but no one raised their voices or asked questions. He slapped the picture down on a clear box thingy as he had seen Lily do, and a bar moved out of the way so he could pass.

Dranian conquered the staircase with minimal huffing and pain. He rounded into the hall and found the room Lily had taken him to before. When he was sure no souls were around, he slipped in and closed the door behind him.

There he gazed upon the fire-breathing, dragon-like mechanism hanging high upon the wall.

Saving Luc Zeslor wasn’t going to be easy. But Dranian would do it, and he would do it on his own, because he was capable. Because even though Dranian was the one with the broken arm, Luc had considered Dranian to be far less broken than him. And it wasn’t until Dranian had witnessed the fox come face to face with his devils that Dranian knew that to be true.

But it wasn’t just for Luc. Dranian was doing this for Mor, too. Because, though no one else could see it, it was so utterly obvious that Mor cared about Luc, the way Mor always cared about everyone.

Also, Dranian was doing it for Shayne. The others—and Luc—would find that out soon enough.

And last, Dranian was doing it for Cress. Because with Cress and Mor having precious humans to protect, Dranian would not, and could not, ask them to return to the Ever Corners and wage war upon the House of Lyro. But maybe,just maybe, Luc could do it—if he stayed alive.

How absurd this plan felt.

Dranian was going to do it anyway.

23

Luc Zelsor and his Last Breath

Being dragged back to the Dark Corner by his ankles would have been better than this. The Shadow Army beat Luc senseless in the air first, hidden away from the sight of humans who hadn’t a clue that fairies were passing by overhead, brushing their faces as a wisp of wind, tugging at their clothes in a gale, or slipping through their hair as nothing more than a breeze.

Reval went in and out of Luc’s vision. He was a monster in the sky, his hair fluttering, his eyes bright, his black sabers drawn. He hovered, always just a gust away, watching everything. There was only blackness in the Dark Prince’s bones—Luc had always known it. Now he got to see it firsthand. In fact, it would be the last thing he ever saw.

When Luc’s chest was so full of holes that the wind nearly sailed through him, the Shadows dropped him. He spiralled, being sucked down toward the realm’s floor with not a seed of energy left to catch himself. His hands numbly searched the air for purchase, never finding grip, never finding a promise.

As he fell past a spoked roof and into the shadow of a tall building, his fox bead slid over his tongue, reminding him what he was. That where other fairies often failed and died, he had an extra push that had saved him before. He wasn’t sure if he could find it, if it was still there after everything in his chest had been ripped out. But he closed his eyes and dug deep into himself, into his gift of the sky deities, into his iron-coated will.

It wasn’t much, but he found one last sparkle of vigor. With it, he slipped out of his fall, catching himself on a passing wind.

It was a gong show of a catch. Luc tore off his path and dropped himself again, shooting his precious body sideways and plummeting through a glass window. A chyme-like music filled his ears as glass shattered and shards sprinkled over a long, empty room.

He was dead as soon as he hit the floor.

His rhythms had relocated into his head, loud and deep.

Luc squinted as the pounding filled his ears and overcame his senses. He could smell and taste the sound; it carried the fragrance of blood and the salty flavour of sweat. Tuggingsensations birthed over his flesh and deep into his body as his wounds began to close themselves up.

Something at his neck quivered, and Luc’s hand soared to his chest. His eyes flew open, and he sat up. He raised his foxtail necklace and watched the glossy threads of his second-last tail evaporate and return to the sky deities.

One left.

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