Chapter 2

Ruby's POV

My foot met the metal, and it finally gave. I hurtled in the air, the manhole cover clanging noisily on the ground as I landed lightly on my feet. I kicked it back to place and pulled a heavy dumpster above it. Vampires were strong and fast, but that should hold them for a short while—if they had been able to follow me.

The boots I was wearing were soaked with the sewage water. “Damn those vampires,” I muttered under my breath as I squeezed the water out of the tips of my red hair.

I had been running from a group of young bloodsuckers. Well, it would not have happened if I had not shot one of their friends with my crossbow loaded with a wooden stake. The death of vampires was something I particularly enjoyed. After all, they were the most common enemy of the Fae when they almost pushed us to the brink of extinction ages ago. Besides, it was satisfying when their heart bursts and they burn from the inside and dissolve into flakes and then into nothingness.

I was making my way out of the alley when some drunkard slouched against the wall caught my attention.

“Some coins, please,” he said and shook an empty tin can my way.

Humans, I thought. Weren’t they so pathetic at times?

I passed by him, but the following words out of his mouth made me stop dead in my tracks.

“Isn’t it The Halfling Princess?”

I whipped around, and I was crouching and had him by his collar in a second. “What did you say?” I asked, looking deep into his dilated eyes.

A loose smile appeared on his lips. “Oh, they talk about your beauty and human-like features. And, of course, your ethereal red, red hair. I’ve heard songs about you.”

Songs? Pft. They were probably written with hate.

“The Runaway Princess. I’ve found her. Ruby Carnelian. How lucky am I?” asked the man, his breath smelling like a mixture of hard drinks.

“Not at all,” I said and banged him against the brick wall. I took a whiff and realized what I was facing. “You’re a demon.”

“I think the alcohol hides some of the sulfur smell,” he grinned lazily. “Or maybe it’s because you’re a halfling that your senses are not as good as the pureblooded ones.”

I pulled and pushed him against the wall. Upon hearing the satisfying crack of bone, I felt satisfied. “I’m as good as any Fae, even better than most of them. I can kill you in a heartbeat.”

“Of course, of course,” he said, raising his dirt-stained palms. Then in mock, he added, “Your Royal Highness.”

“That’s it,” I said and hauled the man to his feet. My blade was against his throat. “This may only kill your vessel as I don’t have the time to banish you right n—“

“Just give me some money,” said the demon, revealing his black eyes that swallowed the white of the sclera. “And I won’t tell the Faefolk where they can find you.”

“Huh, funny.” I pulled one of the small bottles I have always kept in the bag strapped on my waist. “Let’s see if you’ll be able to tell the tale.” Then I shoved the bottle in his mouth. I heard the glass break against his teeth and the screeching scream that followed as the holy water burned at his throat. My hand felt warm wrapped around his neck, and he dropped to the ground, coughing while choking.

“You did not see me here,” I told him and gave him a kick in the stomach. Black liquid was pouring out of the corners of his mouth.

A sudden vibration in my pocket signified a call, and I answered it.

“Your twenty-four hours are almost over, Ms. Carnelian,” Maximillian greeted.

“Relax,” I said as the demon had already stopped moving by the toe of my shoe. “I have plenty of time to capture your human.”

“Time is ticking.”

I rolled my eyes as I started to walk again. “He’ll be at your door by three in the morning.”

I ended the call and made my way to kidnap Lincoln Morten.

—

Underground fights are mostly not underground at all. In fact, they took place in abandoned buildings. The venue usually changed in fear that the police would find them, but thankfully, they stuck with their schedule tonight. Several cars and motorcycles were parked, mainly covered by trees and tall bushes surrounding the broken and disintegrating infrastructure.

It was dark and cold, but the energy inside the barely lit ground was high. People were already shouting, taking bets, and just mainly creating noise. There was a small platform at one side, and the emcee sounded like he was rapping and was barely comprehensible.

I was perched at one corner by the windows, eating a hotdog sandwich. At the stroke of midnight, the emcee started to announce the fight—calling it the most awaited. He then introduced a burly-looking man with a half-rounded stomach called Rhino.

Rhino entered the open space, his hands pumped in the air. His arrogance could be smelled from a mile away.

“On the blue side, with no records of a loss, and his fists are guaranteed to connect with your face because he. is. theeee. Missing… LINC!”

It did not make sense, but there was a mixture of cheers and boos around the crowd.

A shirtless man walked to the center. His body was lean and marked with scars of different lengths and sizes. His face was of pure calm, and he was staring down his opponent, who towered over his six feet.

Lincoln Morten.

I got comfy in my seat. This should be interesting. If he were beaten up, my job of abducting him would be easier.

But my joy was short-lived. As soon as the fight started, the Rhino barrelled to him, and it so happened that Lincoln was always a step ahead, fists missing him by mere inches. When he punched, Rhino was visibly in pain. When he kicked, Rhino’s face scrunched in agony. When he got Rhino to his knees, the roundhouse that landed on the opponent’s jaw was nothing short of perfection, ending the fight as the giant plop unconscious on the hard ground.

There was something about the way he moved his body. Most fighters were taught to exert strength and power, but it felt like he was holding back, controlling—even refraining himself.

The bounty, my mind whispered.

Yeah, I answered it. I should not be worried about him. Evidently, he might be able to handle Maximillian.

I could tell that the victory would be short when I heard the police sirens a couple more minutes away from the scene.

I took it as a sign that I should leave and ambush Lincoln Morten in his home instead.