“I can pay you,” the blonde finally tells me. He folds his arms securely across his broad chest.
“Hmm a prisoner paying a thief. Sound’s reliable.” Sarcasm drenches my words. I stand before him unflinching as he assesses me from head to toe.
“You’re a thief?”
The cold wind chills my flesh, whipping at the exposed skin of my lean abdomen. My dark jeans are ripped and worn. The stolen weapon’s belt at my hips is too large and is disheveled from my struggle with Darrio.
I’m a mess.
A beautiful fucking mess.
Daxdyn’s gaze trails across my body as well, heating my flesh with his burning attention. “You’re too pretty to be a thief.”
“I’m not too pretty to save your ass, though, am I?”
A beat passes as we just stare at one another. He smirks at me with a gleaming look of happiness in his silver eyes. Daxdyn holds a confidence that probably makes women crazy. One that makes them do stupid, stupid things just for his affection. All his smile does is set me on edge. I’m certain I’m the only female on the planet who’s complaining about his good looks.
“Have you ever heard the term, Rich and Hopeless?”
The Hopeless; a fae fairytale that I’ve heard since I was a child.
Fae magic used to fuel our world. It burned through it, brought it to life the way technology once did.
Until it slowly dwindled off. Leaving us behind with a burnt-up aftertaste of what we once had. No one’s held power like that in decades—since before I was born.
Some believe the fae still exist. That they’re hiding from the mortals who used and abused them. But I know for a fact it isn’t true. It’s a hopeless belief and filled with hopeless dreams.
The Hopeless fae.
It’s said that the last remaining fae are richer than our wildest dreams. Supply and demand. They have a supply of something that’s very high in demand.
“What about it?”
“Call me Hopeless, beautiful.” A smile slashes across his face.
My eyes narrow on him and his insinuation. The blonde isn’t delicate and full of beauty. The man holding me definitely isn’t. Fae are said to be the most beautiful beings who ever graced this terrible world.
The other man, the one with the ever-present smile, almost fits the description.
But not the one who seems to be their leader. He isn’t anything like the fae my father used to read me stories of.
“You’re lying.”
It’s then that I realize Darrio isn’t clinging to me like his life depends on it. His arms are held loosely around my frame, his body leaning into mine. And for some strange reason I allow it. A feeling swirls through me as I lean back on him too.
It’s an intimate stance, his body wrapped around mine. No one’s ever held me like this …
Darrio’s breathing halts for a moment. His corded arms tighten their hold on me once more.
Ah, there’s the brooding brute again.
“You think I’m a liar?” the blonde man with the boyish good looks asks.
I raise an eyebrow at him, my lips set in a thin line.
Slowly, he pushes up the sleeve of his shirt. The white fabric bunches at the elbow and trailing down his forearm are black markings.
Angled lines of raised ink mar his flesh all the way to the wrist. The markings are upraised abnormally, as if something beneath the skin is pushing to get out.
