Page 68 of A Touch Of Death

The sound of walking grows louder, and I suddenly hear a whispered, "Pretend to sleep."

I almost think it's in my head, but then I hear the faint shuffling in the shadowy corner again. Seconds before my visitors come into view, the whispered voice says, "Fake it. Just look like you're still unconscious."

I do as I'm told for reasons I can't pinpoint. Just as the footsteps come to a halt right outside the iron bars, I snap my eyes shut and slouch against the wall, feigning unconsciousness. My head drops to my chest, lolling as lifelessly as I can manage, and I make sure to keep my breathing as even as possible.

"She's still unconscious. How much did you give her, you idiot? I told you to give her a small amount, so she'd be awake in 6 hours. It's been eight, and she looks no closer to waking up." Dr. Gates’ voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It goes right through me, and I'm forced to make a conscious effort not to react to the sharp bite in her words.

"I gave her the measured amount I was given, boss. The vial was already full when it was handed to me. I only administered what I was offered," the voice I'm beginning to recognise easily answers. His voice is monotone and emotionless, giving nothing away.

Dr. Gates growls her frustration. "You're to wait here until she regains consciousness. I'm to be informed the moment her eyes open. Understand?"

"Yes, boss."

"You. Follow me," she says before her heels clatter away, followed by the heavier set of thudding boots against concrete. So, Quinn was the light walker. Why I'm cataloguing that information when I'm trapped in a cell with someone or something else isn't something I understand, but I do it nonetheless.

As soon as the two pairs of footsteps fade to nothing, my eyes slowly peel open, and my head turns to find Quinn standing outside the bars, his back to me while he watches the outside of my cell.

When he doesn't make a move to turn around or to acknowledge me at all, I turn my head, only for my eyes to meet a deep set of purple ones. I flinch back against the hard wall I'm leaning against, my head bumping the unforgiving concrete when I jerk back from the sight of Quinn crouching right in front of me. My eyes widen as I lift my hand to rub against the sore spot on my head. My eyes dart to the figure standing outside my cell and back to the man in front of me. How the hell is he doing that?

"Sorry," he whispers, looking genuinely regretful for causing me to hurt myself. I blink at him, and then blink again. I move my gaze to the man outside my cell and back to Quinn twice before my eyes settle entirely on the man who's watching me warily, eyes concerned.

"How are you doing that?" I whisper, my voice raspy and dry. When was the last time I had something to drink? My throat feels raw, and I sound as though I've smoked several cigarettes a day for years. I swallow a couple of times, trying to soothe the pain.

There's suddenly a bottle of water under my nose, and I eagerly snatch it from the hands of the man before me. I take several gulps of water before capping the bottle and hiding it behind my back, keeping it out of view from anyone who should walk by.

With a less tender throat, I ask again, “How are you doing that?

Quinn smiles at me, his dimples poking out just beneath his beard, and he turns his head a fraction to the side. He raises his hat slightly, revealing his ear to me. My mind is slow to realise what’s going on, but when my eyes find the pointed tips of the ears that belong to the man in front of me, my jaw drops, and I inhale a shocked gust of air.

He’s afae.

What? How? Why the hell is he working for the humans?

“I’m sure you have about a million questions right now, but I still need you to trust me, Novia. Okay?” he asks, his mouth still turned up in a more respectful smile.

I blink a couple of times, but I nod. He drops his black hat back over his ears and faces me again. My mind is reeling from learning I'm not the lastfae alive. Knowing at least one of my kind survived has hot tears filling my eyes with overwhelming emotion. How is this even possible? Does this mean the prophecy is wrong? It spoke of the last fae, but one crouches right in front of me. Is the book a fable we bought into too soon?

"You're going to have a lot more questions soon, but we need to focus on one thing at a time right now. You paying attention, Dusty?" he asks quietly. I nod again, seeming to have lost my voice with his revelation. "Alright. I need your help. We're going to get out of here together, but we need a plan."

I clear my throat. "What's the plan? How do we get out of here? It took me five years to escape the last time, and it was by pure chance."

He nods while his eyes fill with a sadness I feel to my very bones, but he answers with determination. "This time you're not alone, Dusty. We're going to help each other. I've got you, okay?"

Feeling like a damn bobble head, I nod again. I believe him entirely. I don’t know why, but I simplydo. It's as though I know deep in the caverns of my chest that this man will keep his word. It's a startling realisation to find that I trust this man to the extent that I do, but it's no less true. Not to mention that he's likely the only person I know that has even the smallest chance of helping me get out of here.

"Okay. What did you have in mind?" I ask him, keeping my voice low enough for only his ears to hear.

Quinn rises and moves around until he's kneeling to the right of me, making sure to face the bars. His eyes scan the outside of my cell before he focuses on me. Keeping his voice to an almost whisper, he says, "We're going to need to use some of your abilities. Your glamour is a lot stronger than any fae I've met, and we can use that. I know about the dusting that will come in handy, but I also saw..."

He pauses and watches me intently. I catch on quickly. "You also saw me phasing."

He nods, his mouth pulling up in a small smile. His eyes hold a look of pride that confuses me, but then he distracts me. "I saw a fae do the impossible."

My heart stutters. With widened eyes, I watch as his mouth draws into a bigger smile. I'm not entirely comfortable with the effect that smile is having on me, but I can't help the way my chest warms and a sense of comfort wraps around me like the softest blanket.

While I continue to stare at him with a face that resembles a guppy, he says, "And something tells me you're capableof a lot more. I know about the prophecy, Dusty. I know you're more than just any ordinary fae. I need to know what you can do, so I can form a solid plan."

I bite my lip, but the dread that should be sinking in my gut doesn't come. He knows, but I don't feel myself panicking. It's almost a relief. The same way I felt when I told my guys.

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