Prologue

CRASH

H ad I heard the screaming and pleas for help even a few months ago, I would have gone to investigate.

But not now.

I continue trudging through dense forest, my pace brisk to combat the chill of a pre-winter evening. The sun has left us bereft of warmth. Yet the moon continues to shine despite the clouds, to remind us mortals we're nothing under her glare.

The thick trees all around should be welcoming. I'm fae, and I'm usually drawn to nature.

But after losing Arlen, I'm not drawn to anything anymore.

The last of my family is gone. It should have been me burning to a crisp, not my little brother, working so hard to protect my back.

Arlen never listens—listen ed.

I blink hard to avoid crying like a dickhead. Tears won't bring him back. They never brought back my twin or my parents. Why should my little brother be any different?

Trudging through the shadows, I feel like I should stop trying so hard. Why not just sit down and let the darkness take me?

"Please, help me!" It's a shrill cry, likely female. A woman, maybe.

I hear growling nearby and more screaming.

My head throbs. I haven't eaten in days. I think. I honestly can't remember.

I turn in the direction of the screaming because I'm a little curious. And that's a good thing. Anything that helps get rid of this growing lethargy is welcome.

Fuck. There's that need to live again. But what the hell am I living for?

My feet don't care that my brain is arguing with itself and take me to a small clearing. There's what looks like an altar made of stone in its center. On the altar, dressed in ripped rags, lies a girl.

No, a young woman, I see, as she turns, exposing swells of breasts beneath torn fabric. The young woman's hair is a dark tangle around her face. Her skin is pale brown. Her fingers look regular enough, and there's no show of a pointed ear to indicate a fae nature. I can't make out the color of her eyes either.

She doesn't look very large, splayed as she is on the stone slab. She struggles but doesn't move, so I imagine magic must be holding her down. But where…

Ah, there. In the dark woods just behind her, two bright, shining eyes glare out at her from the shadows.

It—he—takes a step into the light, and I note the large, muscular build revealed by nothing more than a pair of dark trousers.

The sharp teeth, the sudden appearance of a third eye, and a flush of fire burn just under his pitch-black skin.

A djinn of some kind. They're usually considered more spawn than monster. No one who meets them survives without experiencing some kind of downturn in luck.

A fae hunting horn sounds in the distance.

The djinn growls down at the woman, "I'll be back, my tasty little treat." He lets out an evil laugh then disappears in a cloud of smoke.

The moonlight shifts and spears into the tree line above me, highlighting my face.

Alerted to my presence, the woman begs, "Help me, please. "

I could easily assist, my mage power and fire magic enough to destroy what holds her to the rock.

But I think it would be a kindness not to.

Even if she survives, what then?

The hero I wanted to be died a swift death when my brother left this world. Leaving me alone and lonely, heartsick and tired.

I barely note the young woman's beauty beneath the fear and bruises, her shock as I turn and leave.

I continue to hear her yelling for my help until her voice is swallowed by the thick forest.

I'm walking south and east of my old home in the city of Paradise, where I lived in Sin Central, an aptly named borough full of monsters, gangs, criminals, and lowlifes.

The unfortunate poor forced to live among us were often fodder for the vampires and demons in the Black Fang gang. I did my best to resist, but I ended up a pretty big player in the illegal weapons business.

Until I had enough, urged by a rebel and by Arlen to do something about the plight of our fellow neighbors. To help the less fortunate.

I did. And he paid the price. My poor little brother who only wanted to help.

Yes, I was right to leave that unfortunate woman to her fate. Better to die and be free of the ugliness in this world than add to the stain with her presence.

I have to laugh at my melodramatic turn of thought. I'm here, staining this world, aren't I?

Leaving her to die is not something a good man would do.

The rebel, that do-gooder who roped me into fighting angels and monsters, would never leave a woman to die at the hands of some spawn djinn.

But I'm no hero. Leaving the responsibility to save people and change the world in someone else's hands feels…good.

It feels right.

Perhaps I've been going about life all wrong, to this point. Heroes never win.

But villains sometimes do.