Starkeeper of the Fractured Crown

“Sad that I had to save a soldier.” I prayed those demons wouldn’t run too far. He looked exhausted, but he was still a Nephilim, and whether he was the last of his kind or not, the Nephilim always lived with the Fallen. Which meant he was a Fallen by association. He could still have their tendencies.

“Is it the armor?”

It was everything. “Why are you here?” I demanded.

He lifted his chin, his shoulders relaxed. Why wouldn’t they be? He probably spent the last chunk of his immortal life slaughtering people like me. I’d be relaxed too if I were him. “Why is your scent covering these woods?”

My lip curled. “You. First.” A dangerous game, but a necessary one. Although, I couldn’t ignore that sick little part of me that was rejoicing over something like this happening to me. Something exciting. Somethingdifferent. Something thrilling.

He studied me carefully, his own eyes guarded. “My High King sent me here because of the demon infes—”

There were enough Nephilim for there to be a HighKing? Who was it? Was he apart of the Order? How long had that been a thing? Why had no one on the street mentioned this? “It’s not an infestation, you prick,” I interjected. “And it’s hardly believable that yourHigh Kingwould give a shit about what’s going on here of all places. These demons have lived in these woods longer than you’ve been alive, so try again.”

A cocky smile lifted one corner of his lips. “Thank you. I’ve been trying out some new moisturizers—”

I took a step toward him, the tip of the arrow less than a foot from his eye. “How many of you are there?”

He didn’t even glance at the arrow, his eyes filled with light. “Just me. My High King has faith that I could handle this on my own.”

“Nephilim,” I snapped. “How many of you are there?”

His smile finally dropped as he glanced to his armor and back, his dark brows pulling together. “The Fallen warriors have been wearing these since the Nephilim passed. There are no more Nephilim.”

My heart slammed against my ribs, my grip faltering on my bow, eyes widening. Fallen.

That fear hit me so hard, I had to fight the sway. My head spun; my breathing became shallow. His High King, Trick Michael, sent him here. The day after Talaroe spoke to me about the stone his King had stolen.

That couldn’t have been a coincidence. I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “Why did he send you here?” I asked carefully.

“You fucked up this time, Kyra,”the rational part of me whispered.

“I wonder how well the Fallen fuck,”the fucked up part of me chided.

No! Pay attention. You’re missing something.

I took him in again quickly, my mind working over the problem swiftly.

His wings. If he were truly a Fallen, where were his wings? The Fallen had mighty wings. Beautiful wings that carried them across worlds some stories claimed. This man didn’t have any.

“To inspect the demons,” he said again.

I snarled.

“And,” he went on, holding up a finger, “on business.”

“To kill you for knowing what the warlocks knew.”I was a human. I could tell the High King about what Trick Michael had found. I was a liability.

“Business I couldn’t start because—”

“You disrupted the demons,” I offered coldly. Today was it. Hunted by the demons and now targeted by the Fallen, all because I had made one last trip to the street last evening. Stupid, stupid girl.

The male shook his head. “No.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much about the demons? Why do they care about you?”

“For the same reason you care so much about your High King.”

He rose a brow, slight shock in his eyes. “They rescued you from a basement?”

I straightened, confusion growing. “What? No.”