Chapter 17

”…mRNA magic can be transmitted to individuals through delivery methods beyond injection, such as ingestion, water distribution systems, and other channels. I’m dubious as to the ethics of such methods…”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

FANTASIA

Ithrow on the sweatpants Archer gave me, rolling the waistband a few times so they stay up.

A clean, earthy scent surrounds me, and my stomach clenches in response. It’s surprisingly comforting, and now I’m distracted by thoughts of him.

Great.

That’s what I get for using his soap, wearing his clothes.

Downstairs, the house sits empty. It’s quiet, other than the rhythmic swooshing of the washer. Archer is nowhere to be found.

“Looks like he left us again, bud,” I say to Scathe as I open the fridge. Inside I locate what looks like a beet salad.

A quick sniff confirms it is. I don’t have beets often. They’re expensive, like many non-native veggies—imported from across the Jacarinan Sea.

Curling up on the couch with the pup, I nibble on some beets. They’re surprisingly good.

I go to pick one up to offer it to Scathe, but then I hesitate. “I don’t know if you can have these, bud.”

I pull out my phone, and a quick search tells me that beets are fine for dogs in moderation. With a smile, I hold the veggie out for him. He sniffs it hesitantly before gulping it down.

“You gotta chew, dude.”

Scathe whines in response, pawing at me. Chuckling, I give him a couple more beets.

“Does your daddy always leave you alone?” Scathe whimpers, giving me the saddest puppy eyes. “Well, you got me now, bud. We can be lonely together.”

The front door clicks, and I whirl toward it in time to see it open. A moment later, Archer steps over the threshold.

Scathe bolts to the door, wagging his tail and spinning in circles. Archer loves on him, and then the pooch darts back to his place beside me on the couch.

Archer gives me a weary look. I don’t know what he’s been up to, but it almost seems like the last hour aged him a few years.

His hair is messy, sticking up in random places like he’s been running his hand through it obsessively, and there’s a haunted look in his eyes as he studies Scathe and me.

With a sigh, he settles onto the arm of the sofa, crossing his arms and ankles. Thanks to his short-sleeved shirt, most of the tattoos on his arms are visible. On his left inner forearm, Sofia’s name stands out in bold letters. A cluster of somber flowers surrounds the inscription, serving as a tribute to her memory.

He said he wanted to make her proud, be a decent man.

Ironic that he joined a gang in order to do so.

However, I can’t help but think that Sofia would be proud if she was here. He’s the type of man to assist elderly ladies with their groceries, help homeless addicts fight their addictions, give a stranger a place to stay when she’s on the run from the authorities.

My heart squeezes. When did I stop being bitter toward Archer for knocking me out—kidnapping me like a helpless damsel? When did I start thinking of him as a good guy?

We sit there in silence for a bit until Archer slides off the armrest and settles onto the couch beside me. He sheds his rigidness, his body deflating as he rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Long day?” I ask.

“Long day,” he admits. He turns toward me, grimacing. “I left in a rush yesterday…there was another body found. I had to meet with my crew.” My heart drops. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry I left…”

“Don’t worry about me.” I wave off his struggle to apologize, and his jaw softens in what seems to be relief. Of all things he’s dealing with, I should be the least of his concerns.

Under the weight of his intense gaze, I divert my eyes downward, finding solace in the velvety softness of Scathe’s plush fur. My hand glides gently along his neck, and he releases a satisfied sigh.

“The last few bodies that were found…” Archer starts, slowly articulating his words as if he’s calculating how he wants to reveal what’s coming next. “They had an unknown substance in their blood.”

This grabs my attention. I study him. Where is this going? I’m grateful he’s finally discussing things with me.

“Dreamdust hasn’t been on the streets in a while, and I’m hard-pressed to believe it’s a coincidence that there’s been a resurgence alongside an uptick of violence and sudden deaths.”

I nod, keeping my lips tightly pressed together to prevent myself from blurting something out and interrupting him. There’s a hollowness in his eyes; they lack their usual luster, and my chest tightens at how he appears so vulnerable.

So exhausted.

“I’m not sure how much you know about the dust—” He pauses, waiting for a response, and I shake my head, giving him a shrug. I only know it’s addicting as hell. Dangerous. “Usually, it’s a slow death. Those who get hooked continue consuming higher and higher quantities until they either overdose or quit only to suffer deadly withdrawals. There are no support systems in place, no conversations about how to get help.”

“Because it’s banned?” I whisper.

He nods. “Possession of magic is an executable offense.”

My neck prickles. I’m all too familiar with that edict. “So even if they tried to get help, they’d be killed,” I murmur. How fucked up.

“Precisely.” A muscle in his cheek tics, and he glances away, taking a few deep breaths. “That’s how I lost Sofia—we wanted help for her but couldn’t get it. She ended up overdosing.”

My lungs compress, the ache in my chest so deep, so acute.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, at a loss for what else to say.

He sets his mouth in a grim line, shaking his head. “My Crawlers and I kept it off the streets for a while. Thought it was gone for good…”

“But it’s being redistributed?”

He shakes his head. “If this is what’s causing the insurgence in violent outbursts and deaths, then it’s different than the original. The drug’s original creator—” He goes still, shutting his mouth. His eyes dart away, then back to my face. “There was only one person with the know-how to make this drug, and he passed away a while ago. The formula was never located after his death. It was heavily investigated. We eliminated the remaining supply.”

“Why did he make it in the first place?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “Theory is that he was corrupted. Payrolled by someone. We never caught wind of who or why.”

“How long was it off the streets?”

“Almost ten years.”

“Then how is it back now—if the creator’s gone?”

“It’s possible whoever payrolled the original project recruited someone new to take over—perhaps it took them this long to figure out how to manufacture the drug. If they had to start from scratch without the original formula, it could explain the lapse in time and the differences in the formula.”

Archer runs a hand over his jaw, scratching the scruff there and staring at the floor between us. I get the sense there’s more he’s not sharing, but at least he’s communicating with me finally.

Confiding in me.

“So the dreamdust is connected to the grey soul-shades?” I ask.

“Has to be,” he says. “Like I said, there’s no such thing as coincidences. This drug appears to have accelerated effects due to magic. Perhaps more potent than the original. Deadlier.”

“So someone takes the drug, and their body begins shutting down, which is why their soul-shade turns grey so suddenly? They’re dying the moment they find a high?” But that doesn’t make sense. They’re still living.

“I sent the dust out to get cross-referenced with the most recent body we found. I’m waiting on confirmation before speculating further.”

“What do we do?”

“Cut the head off the snake,” he murmurs. When I don’t reply, he glances up at me. “We never found out who payrolled the drug in the first place—or why. It’s beyond time we shut whoever it is down.”

Scathe yawns and stands, trotting over to the back door. On cue, Archer strides to the door and slides it open, letting the dog disappear into the moonlit yard.

“Anyone who can afford to hire a faeologist for private formulas has a disposable income,” he says, “so it’s a safe assumption they’re in a position of power here in Sweetcreek.”

My heart stutters at the mention of a faeologist. Is that why my dad was killed? He was a good guy. If he was propositioned to make something so horrendous, he would’ve declined. Maybe he refused the wrong person.

I sit up taller, refocusing on Archer. “My dad worked in the labs,” I say, “before the Scouts took his life without trial.”

Archer swallows a few times, his gaze locked on the floor again.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. The last thing I remember of my dad alive that night was him yelling at me to stay hidden. His face was uncharacteristically somber. And shortly after, he was gone, his soul consumed. Those days were a blur, and I’ve worked hard to block them out until now, not wanting that shadow to follow me.

If we can figure out who the faeologist is, who hired him, maybe we can uncover the truth of what happened to my parents—why they were wrongfully killed by the Scouts.

“I think my dad turned down someone powerful. It got him killed.”

“Tasia—” Archer runs a hand through his hair as his lips tighten into a grim line.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak, then shuts it. He does this a few times before shaking his head.

Finally, he looks me straight in the eye and says, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you lost your family.”

Waving a hand, I play it off as if I’m unaffected. But my gut swirls with a renewed grief.

A lump forms in my throat, and I have to swallow a few times before I can talk again.

“How can I help you?” I ask, remembering that I’m supposed to be working for him, technically. “Didn’t you hire me for this?”

“Everything I said before about the Reaper is true. We need to find him, rid the city of him.” He cracks his knuckles, slowly pacing the length of the living room. “I’m wondering if the uptick in grey soul-shades is what attracted him to the city again…” He hesitates. “If Zeke confirms the dust is connected to the deaths, we can use your power to find the grey soul-shades before the Reaper does, just like we were planning to do.”

He clears his throat and stops pacing to turn and face me. “The event we’re going to at Splendor Hall? It’s for Mesmeric Lab’s newest venture. I’ve heard rumors it’s under new ownership, too.”

Archer mindlessly twists the ring on his thumb.

At the mention of my dad’s old place of employment, my chest tightens.

“We can use your ability,” he says, “if you feel comfortable, of course, to determine who is morally sound versus who might be corrupt.”

Corruption? At the lab? Dad’s journal never mentioned anything about corruption. Instead of admitting I don’t know what the different soul-shades mean, I say, “Can we go get my dad’s journal from my apartment?”

I should brush up on his notes if I’m going to be expected to actively pay attention to soul-shades.

Archer scratches his chin, shifting his weight. For a second, he almost appears nervous. “There will be many of the city’s influential at the event, not just those associated with the lab.” He pauses. “And yes we can go. Tomorrow?”

“Please!” I say. I may not see the full picture yet, but I understand why this event is so important now. All the power players will likely be there, in support of the lab. I glance at Archer, trying to imagine him among the uptight, wealthy city leaders, and a giggle escapes me. “Wait—how the hell are you on their roster, Nightcrawler?”

He grimaces, tugging at the collar on his shirt. “They don’t know me as Phantom. They know me as Archer Acciai from Ataraxy, my tech security company.”

With a frown, I glance down at the shirt I’m wearing, processing this revelation. Is that where he gets all his wealth from? Or is the company just a front for his gang dealings?

“I didn’t take you as a tech guy.”

“I’m not,” he says sheepishly.

“Then how the hell are you in— You know what? Never mind.” I chuckle when I realize I answered my own question. His business is a front. Probably a way to launder his dirty money. Hell, he probably has hackers stealing it. “Wait a second. Are you rich because you steal?”

“I’m not rich.” His cheeks turn red. “It’s not like that.”

I giggle into my hands, giddy at the idea. “You’re a freaking thief!”

“We only move money from the corrupt, the large corporations who prey on the low-income folk. It’s not stealing—it’s taking their money back and using it for things like rent, medical bills, education… I don’t keep it for myself.” He speaks with such conviction, such passion. I shouldn’t have teased him about it.

“You owe me no explanations,” I say softly. My heart swells at what he’s openly shared with me. He’s still blushing, and his eyes avoid meeting mine, so I change the subject and take the spotlight off him. “Aren’t I supposed to be in hiding? What if someone recognizes me at that event?”

“Ah.” He stands, adjusting his pants. “It’s a masquerade, luckily.”

My brows shoot up. Something about that sounds…oddly appealing. I can be anyone I want, for once. The excitement wanes when I think of my wardrobe options. “I have nothing to wear.”

He stares at me, his forehead crinkling. “I’ll have some dresses picked out.”

“Dresses?” My nose scrunches. “I’d rather go nude.”

Archer’s eyes flare with heat. “I’m not sure the attendees would appreciate that.”

“Loosen up, gangster. I’m only kidding.”

With that, I stand, patting him on the chest.

I head to the kitchen with my empty salad container. “We still need to talk about this living arrangement, though…unless you plan to share a bed.”

Archer’s responding laugh catches me off guard. It carries through the house, a hearty sound, sending electric tingles dancing across my skin.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says.

“The bed’s big enough to share, and I don’t bite,” I tease.

This doesn’t scare him off like I expected. Instead, he smirks and says in a low, raspy voice, “What if I’m into biting?”

“Archer Acciai, are you flirting?” A shiver runs through me at the implication. I know I should look away, put some distance between us, but I’m locked in, magnetically drawn toward him.

He takes a step forward, and I do the same, until there’s only about a small space of charged energy between us. The air between us crackles in anticipation.

“Of course not,” he says. “Just stating facts.”

“Totally platonic facts, right?”

“Right.”

“Friends share beds all the time. We can do it, too.”

Archer’s eyes fill with a fiery determination. “Oh, so we’re friends now?”

“We’re whatever you want us to be. Friends, yes,” I babble, melting under the heat of his presence. My gaze drops to my toes, and my hair falls into my face, shielding me. He reaches up, pushing the strands out of my face and tucking them behind my ear.

My heart jackhammers so intensely that I fear it’s trying to break through the surface.

My Gods, the sweet gestures are too much. It’s just an innocent touch—barely even a touch—yet I haven’t felt this turned on in so long.

I clear my throat and take a risk. “You know, in case you’re interested, it’s normal for friends to fuck.” I’m done with Reed. I’m a single woman with needs. Might as well make my interest in Archer clear.

“I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking to my lips.

“I could show you, if that’s what you want.”

His brows shoot up, and a dusting of pink tinges his cheeks.

A little voice tells me to shut up, to not drag this out, but my desire takes over, pushing me to follow the temptation. “We’ve both had a long few days. Maybe we can distract each other…as friends.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Tasia.” But despite his words, he studies me with heated interest. “I might ruin you for every other man.”

Oh.

Yes. Ruin me. Please.

His words send a bolt of heat straight to my core. There’s that bad-boy attitude I knew Archer possessed deep down. And my Gods, he reserves it for the bedroom. That thought makes me downright giddy. My damn need for him is impossible to ignore. It takes everything in me not to jump on him and tackle him right here in the kitchen.

Before I can reply, he sighs, taking a few steps back. “I should shower and get to sleep. On the couch.” He reaches down to his jeans to adjust himself.

Despite his topic change, I know this energy between us is affecting him too. But he sighs, runs his hands through his hair, and heads to the stairs. At the bottom step, he pauses and turns to me. “Do you mind if I use the shower in my room?”

“Really? You’re just… That’s it?” I struggle to regain my composure. Going from the intense flirting straight to…whatever this is has given me whiplash. It feels awfully like rejection. “Why would I? This is your house after all.”

He pauses before heading up the first few stairs. Before he’s out of sight, he turns to look at me. “I’ll be quick so you can get some rest, too.”

I stand there awkwardly, blinking through the fog of lust.

There’s no way I imagined the heavy flirting and attraction coming from Archer’s side. No way.

Maybe I’m brave, or stupid, or my hormones are holding me hostage, but once I hear the shower turn on, I decide to take a risk.

I’ll make it clear to Archer that I want him, that I want this—whatever this is. Sex. Distraction. Pleasure. Because at the end of the day, with all the dark shit out there in the world, why should we deprive ourselves of the few things that feel good?

I sneak up to his room. Quietly, I shed my clothes and burrow under his covers, sitting up against the headboard. I’m buzzing with excitement and lust as I wait for Archer to finish his shower.

Maybe this shouldn’t happen. He should be off-limits. This could make everything a thousand times more complicated than it already is. While I sit and wait, I go through all the reasons why I shouldn’t do this, but despite all of the reasons why this might be a bad idea, I can’t stop wanting it. Wanting him.

There’s plenty of time for me to change my mind, but I don’t. I’m going through with it. If he doesn’t want this, or if he turns me down, obviously I won’t pursue it any further, but I’m going to make my interest very clear.

A few minutes later, the shower shuts off, and my body hums with nervous energy.

I’m doing this.

I haven’t been intimate with anyone besides Reed in years, and even then, the last year has been entirely inactive. The prospect of sleeping with Archer fills me with a newfound energy.

Archer exits the bathroom, his wet hair pushed back and a towel tied low around his hips. He flicks on the lamp beside the bed, and when he sees me sitting here, he sucks in a breath and goes still.

“Tasia…” His eyes roam my bare shoulders. Hunger fills his expression. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you how friends can share a bed,” I tease. My bare collarbone and shoulders peek out from beneath the blanket. That should be enough for Archer to realize what I’m implying. “And…other things.”

He stiffens, clutching the towel tighter. “Don’t play with me,” he growls. “I know you think I’m a nice guy, but even nice guys have limits.”

“I’m not asking you to be nice right now, Archer.” Destroy me, is what I want to say. Wreck me. Make me beg.

He comes closer, but then his footsteps falter. Muscles in one of his cheeks twitch. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Let me make you feel good,” I whisper. “You deserve it.”

He grips the towel tighter in his fists but then exhales heavily and relents. The towel drops, and my pulse thrums at the sight of him, hard and ready. It sends a tingle of want through me, but I stay put, forcing myself to wait in eager anticipation, to see what he’ll do.

He rips the covers off, then crawls across the bed until he’s hovering above me. My eyes roam the decadent curves and lines of his muscles, taking in the plethora of ink marking his tan body. His fingers reach up, gripping my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze. He leans forward, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.

“This attraction can’t change anything,” he whispers across my mouth. “Can’t distract us.”

“Won’t it?” I ask weakly. “You want me just as much as I want you.” I reach up, gripping his hardness to prove my point. He groans, and his fingers tighten on my chin.

“Tasia.”

I begin to move my hand, stroking him with purpose. His eyes shut, and he leans his head back, his breathing growing ragged.

“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop,” I whisper, leaning forward to nibble on his jaw. “Tell me no, and I promise to listen.”

Instead of replying with words, he claims my mouth with his own. The kiss is hungry, passionate, overwhelming. He grabs me by the back of my thighs, tugging me down so my back hits the bed beneath him. Then he leans down on his forearms, caging me in.

My legs spread of their own accord, welcoming him. The head of his length nudges my dampness. I writhe, beckoning him in. He doesn’t move, just hovers there, as if fighting some internal battle.

I know this is dangerous, but I can’t resist. Not when the hard lines of his body press against my soft curves so perfectly. Not when I’ve never felt more alive than I do in this moment.

I scoot down, lifting my hips, trying to take him in.

He groans again, placing his head on my shoulder. “We can’t.”

Abruptly, he sucks in a ragged breath, pulling off of me. His eyes rove over my naked body, which lies ready and willing, pliable, on his bed. He swipes a hand down his face, looking torn.

After a moment of silence, he snatches up his towel and jerkily wraps it around his waist.

“I shouldn’t have let it get this far,” he mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“What the hell?” I ask, more confused than angry. “What happened to you ruining me for all other men? I’m ready. I’m consenting. Ruin me, asshole!”

Tears prick my eyes. If I thought he gave me whiplash before, it’s nothing compared to now.

The hell did I do wrong?

“Tasia…” His brows draw in as he frowns. “Did you ever think that maybe you will ruin me for all other women? Maybe I’m not ready to be destroyed.” He clears his throat, adjusting his towel. “I just…I don’t sleep with my friends. I can’t. It’s not who I am.”

My cheeks flame, and I clutch the blankets around my chest, covering as much as I can. “I’m sorry—can we just forget about this? It was…I was…” I babble nervously. “Seriously. It won’t happen again. I was just…I wasn’t thinking. And I don’t want to ruin our…newfound friendship.”

“I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes and grimaces, his inner turmoil bubbling to the surface. “Regardless of this thing between us, just know, no matter what happens, I always protect what’s mine.”

“Yours?” I squeak out.

“You work with me,” he says, voice low. “You’re in my house. You’re my friend. You’re under my protection. Like it or not, you’re mine to take care of, and I take that very seriously.”

I suppress a shudder at his possessiveness. It’s thrilling and unsettling at the same time.

Just take care of me then! I want to yell. If I’m yours, come claim me!

He grabs his clothing and exits the room, carefully shutting the door behind him and leaving me speechless. What the fucking fuck just happened? I fan myself, trying to cool down after that interaction.

I want to scream in frustration.

Without the lust clouding my thoughts, I replay our interaction just now. Of course the guy offered to sleep on the couch and asked to use his own shower. He didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. And of course he won’t make a move on me while I’m supposedly working for him and staying with him. He doesn’t want to take advantage of me.

He doesn’t want to risk the already fragile relationship we have.

Archer might be the first man I’ve ever met that thinks with his actual head instead of his dick-head.

I’m left turned-on, confused, angry, and embarrassed. I raise my fingers to my swollen lips, tracing them. The memory of his kiss lingers, and it leaves me desperate for more.

Mostly, I’m a little heartbroken at the realization that maybe I am a bad influence on Archer.