2 Years Later

You're cursed. Always have been. You cross that threshold into Ash Court, and you'll fall into an endless sleep during which the blood of fae will spill for eternity.

Guen

"He's definitely watching your ass," Nickie whispers in my ear, glancing over her shoulder at the line of guys by the bar. "I bet he ends up being your date."

I exhale loudly. "Why did I let you talk me into a blind date? I suck at talking to strangers. My tongue does that thing where it swells to twice its size and I drool."

"Flimflam. You just need to find the right guy. There are guys who love droolers." She pokes her tongue out at me.

What sucks the most is that I think she's right. About finding the right guy part, not the drool-loving thing. Find the perfect match, and everything will come together, right? Except I'm not sure I believe in the whole fairytale ending, the prince coming for me, and me discovering I'm perfect just as I am. Maybe some people are just not meant to find their mates or live happily ever after.

Someone clears her voice from somewhere behind me. I turn to the organizer. She's in a short skirt and tank top, standing near the doorway to this small private room next to the bar. "Ladies, please take your seats. We'll begin in one minute." Her voice is stern, and I can tell this isn't her first rodeo.

Nickie nudges me in the back toward one of ten two-seater tables set up around the room. "It's show time."

"By the way, you sound like a granny saying flimflam. Just letting you know as a friend." I smirk at her and poke my tongue out this time. I love my best friend, even when she's being super pushy. Except, she's radiating excitement from getting me on this blind date, and as much as I hate to admit it, the energy is contagious. What if I meet a decent guy? What if I find myself easily tossing out smiles that demand attention? I've watched guys fall prey to Nickie's flirting, so tonight might be a good time to try it out myself.

"I'm on a no-swearing diet," she admits, which is news to me since she was swearing like a sailor this morning. She pulls down on her tight red skirt that inches up her thighs, though she can wear a hessian sack and she'll still attract attention. She has a blue band around her wrist just like I do... this bar allows those under twenty-one to enter as long as we wear bright bands so no alcohol is sold to us.

Nickie has that girl-next-door beauty where she barely wears makeup, and yet, has unblemished skin, lips that are naturally pouty, and stunning red curls I might kill for. Me... I have to work to look half as good as her, but what I adore about her is that when we're together, she's down-to-earth and she doesn't judge me.

"Plus, Jack loves when I talk like this in the bedroom." She winks.

"Ew, I don't want to know. But for real, what the hell am I meant to say to my date? Talk about the weather? Ask what he does for a job? God, I'm already bored." And I'm talking too much, a sure sign of nerves, not to mention my hands are sweaty. I can't shake anyone's hand now. I rub them down my black dress. It's simple with spaghetti straps, and the best part, the shape gives me a cinched-in waist. Brings out my slightly curvy bust and hips that hide in most clothes.

"You look hot in that dress by the way, the black really makes your pale skin pop. Like one of those porcelain dolls."

"Is that a compliment?"

She scrunches her face and shakes her head at me. "Of course it is. Have you not seen the latest in fashion? Tans are no longer in style." Her eyes dart around the room. "Now, when the lucky man arrives, just chat to him normally like you're at college."

"I can't even do that." I start to walk away because this isn't going to work, and I made a mistake agreeing to this in the first place.

Nickie tugs my arm and pivots me back to my seat, to the table with a big number seven painted on a piece of paper.

That's what I've been reduced to. Specimen seven for a random guy to come and try out, as if this were an ice cream sampling booth.

"It's just a blind date, and it's being done as a group so everyone feels more comfortable, so you don't need to be nervous. Sugar knows, with all those strange dreams about kingdoms and princes you keep having, you need to get laid by a real guy."

"I do get action!" I whisper a bit too loudly, gaining the attention of a cute redhead girl two tables away, who winks at me. But Nickie's words hurt because I confided in her about the dreams that have been plaguing me my whole life. Dreams that I swore were real two years ago... Dreams I can barely remember anymore.

"I've seen all my potential dates somewhere at the bar, and none—"

"Gah! Just sit your ass down and stop overthinking this." Nickie flips open her tiny silver purse and pulls out a small piece of folded paper. "I made you something to help if you get stuck, because I knew you'd freak out." She leans in close and presses the note into my hand. "I pray your date is that fine glass of whiskey in the pin-striped suit. Did you see the size of his feet? Always look at a man's feet for everything you need to know. His shoes tell you how wealthy he is, how much he takes care of those close to him by the state of his shoes, and how loud he'll make you scream in the bedroom."

"If this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

"Have fun," she murmurs before strolling across the room toward the door that leads into the main bar area, while the desperate and lonely remain gathered in this room. Balloons decorate the corners, obscuring lights covered in a red fabric, tainting everything in a reddish hue.

I feel stupid and uncomfortable and—

"Let's begin." The organizer draws the glass door shut to our room, closing out the chatter from the bar, and all I see is Nickie pressing her face to the glass, pulling a face at me.

I flip her the finger, and she laughs before vanishing into the crowd in the other room.

And this is why no one ought to ever let their friends set them up on blind dates, or any dates for that matter. Though I'd be lying if I said I'm not a tiny bit excited to see whom I've been paired up with out of pure scientific curiosity, of course.

The man who joins my table offers me a gentle smile. He's tanned with beautifully inviting green eyes and short-cropped hair. He's cute, not panty-dropping hot, but easy on the eyes. Probably a couple of years older than me. Twenty-one or twenty-two.

"I'm Holt. Great to meet you." His expression is neutral. He looks at me and sticks his hand out as if this were a business transaction, and maybe that's how some see the whole blind-date gig. Punch your details into a machine, and then it matches you to the most compatible person. And apparently, Holt is the one for me based on whatever Nickie added into my profile.

"Hi, I'm Guen." I shake his hand, and he sits down quickly, his hand on his lap, and I don't miss the quick swipe of his palm over his jeans.

Why did I shake his hand?

My heart is beating a million miles an hour, and heat is crawling up my neck.

"You look a bit different to the profile photo you sent in," he says right off the bat, so that's not a good sign. "Didn't realize your hair was so blonde. Is it dyed? Not that it's bad, I just wasn't expecting it."

I stiffen. Who in the world raised him? Wild dogs? I'm trying my hardest to give Holt the benefit of the doubt, but the shit dropping from his mouth has me clenching my teeth. "Actually, funny story, my roomie submitted the photo on my behalf, and well, I had just gotten out of the shower. So, I wasn't wearing makeup, and I only had a towel wrapped around me before she snapped the pic. Crazy friends, right?" I reach for my complimentary glass of cool water and gulp down a large mouthful.

"I prefer the natural look on women. Fewer clothes, less makeup, hair down and not dyed. Why mess with what God gave us, right?" He juts out his chin and chest with smugness, and I hold back an eye roll.

"This is my natural hair color!" I'm gobsmacked and push back the blonde hair I spent all night trying to add small curls to. My hair has a terrible time holding curls.

He stills, then eyes me like I might be the monster from his dreams, and already alarm bells are going off in my head. There is no way in the world Holt can be my perfect match.

In reality, I thought I had met my real match two years ago in another place, another world...

Luther.

One of three princes from Shadow Court in Wandering Realm in another world to ours.

But with so much time passing, I've forgotten many things, including why I thought he was the one for me. I'm starting to question if it wasn't all in my mind as the clinical psychiatrist my doctor ordered me to see insists. It's the only reason I agreed to this blind date. As a way to move on with my life and forget the imaginary man in my heart. The man who promised to come back for me, which he didn't. Which further confirms my theory that fairy tales don't exist.

Holt fills my glass with the jug of water from the table, giving me a wonky smirk. "I didn't mean to offend you; sometimes I have a way of saying the wrong thing."

"It's okay." I nervously drink more of my water, already out of ideas for a conversation.

I remember Nickie's note and fumble with opening it in my lap.

"So, what do you like to do in your spare time?" Holt asks, not sounding nervous, while I'm drowning in sweat.

"Paint landscapes when I can." Landscapes of the world that used to come to me in my dreams of castles, and a deadly forest made of twisted trees and teeth and claws. "But most of the time I'm completing assignments. I'm studying art at the local university. And you?"

"Scaffolding on construction sites is my day job. My newest project is just down the road. Maybe later we can go for a drive, and I'll show you. My last couple of girlfriends live on the way."

I'm at a complete loss for words, unsure what he's implying, and now all I can picture are all his girlfriends tucked in a row for Holt to wave to as we drive past. But I won't be going anywhere with him tonight or ever. Over my dead body. "Oh, that's nice."

He breaks into more chatter about how many girls he's dated this year, because that's fantastic conversation on a first date.

In all honesty, this date is cringe-worthy as hell. Perhaps I should have stuck to my guns and said no to Nickie when she told me she arranged this for me. There ought to be an escape button.

The back of my neck prickles with a warning, like someone is watching me from behind.

I quickly glance around to see everyone is focusing on their date, and I look across to the glass door leading into the main bar. People are everywhere, but no one is staring my way. Still, my skin crawls.

I glance back down at my note from Nickie.

If you're reading this, you've hit the desperate stage.

If you like him, ask him about sports or gaming or

you fill in based on interest

and listen to him.

If he's a creepo, tell him you're into foot fetishes or something gross and plan to move to Japan in a month.

I scrunch up the paper and fidget. Wow, great advice, Nickie. Around us, women are giggling, flirting, one couple holding hands. I want to exchange my date. I've never had luck with guys. Back in high school, one guy I crushed on hard saw me as nothing but a friend and ended up dating my arch-nemesis, while another guy I didn't like thought I was good enough for a forced one-night stand. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something. Though one day, I like to think I'll find someone who doesn't just jerk me around.

"My last girlfriend had a lot of bad experiences with guys mistreating her. As a man, I will admit so many of them suck."

"Yes, we can agree on that. Guys suck." I'll go further and say falling in love is tragic. I've seen Nickie so miserable after her last boyfriend dumped her. They dated for eleven months, and now, I really hope Jack will be different. She once compared finding love to Russian Roulette with the true man of her dreams being the one bullet, and the rest are the empty chambers. I tried explaining to her how her analogy was wrong. Finding the one bullet is the one thing you do not want in Russian Roulette. She brushed me off and insisted it made sense in her mind.

I glance around for the organizer to try to call her over to escape, because Holt is definitely like finding the bullet under my definition.

"Ugh, right?" he says. "Except me. You can ask my exes."

"Will you excuse me for a moment? Just need to use the ladies'." I'm on my feet before he can respond. "Won't be long."

I saunter out of the room, noticing Bigfoot had scored himself a petite little brunette with tight curls who is batting her eyes. Well, at least someone is going to be screaming with pleasure tonight. I push open the door and slip into the other room, where the chatter and music engulfs me, then I rush like a madwoman through the crowd.

My body goes rigid when a guy calls my name behind me. All I can picture is Holt following me. I turn around with a fuck off on my lips, except there's only a crowd of partygoers behind me. Weird. I shove myself through the masses until I finally track down Nickie, who's sitting in her boyfriend's lap near a small table, swinging back a drink.

I march up to her and shout over the music, "I can't do this!"

Nickie flinches, spilling some of her orange juice down the front of her chest. "Fuc... Furry fudge, Guen, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here?"

I'm shaking my head. "I got the whacko of the bunch, Nickie, and your tips sucked." With a flick of my hand, I toss the scrunched-up paper on the table in front of her. I flop into the empty leather couch nearby and cross my legs. "He was so creepy. Talking about his ex-girlfriends, and he likes girls au naturel. He's probably a nudist. Why did you send that photo of me in a towel?"

Her boyfriend, Jack, is kissing her collarbone, licking up the spilled drink. He's handsome with short blond hair, and a perfect match for Nickie. They both have quirky personalities and click.

She's laughing, then refocuses on me. "Just give him a chance. He's nervous. Look how nervous you were."

I dig my claws into the couch. "You'll have to drag me back in there before I return to creeper town."

But she doesn't hear me, as she's kissing Jack, and I just roll my eyes and check out the number of other men in the bar who might have made more suitable dates. Most are drinking while trying to pick up. Maybe Nickie is right, and I was too quick to judge Holt?

My gaze lingers over the crowd to a man with broad shoulders and a smoldering look amid the shadows. The chatter and music are deafening, but in those moments as I lay eyes on this stranger, I hear nothing but the steady rising of my heartbeat. Alongside everyone else, he stands out, like he doesn't belong here. And I can't look away from him, as if I'm lost in a trance. He's powerful, and he radiates a sheer aura of danger, sending my pulse into a frenzy.

I want to look away, do something other than blush like a fool.

He's tall. Six-two, maybe six-three, his shirt hugging those wide shoulders and width. Dark clothes and short black hair blend into the shadows like he's morphed from them. And that face—sharp angles and strong jawline, eyes crystal green, almost glowing amid the darkness surrounding him.

Sweet hell, he's scorching hot, and his presence is arousing something from deep within me, something primal and fiery.

I get to my feet and gravitate to him in a lustful trance I can't seem to shake. Maybe this is my chance to find out who he is. The only other person who has ever made me feel this way was Luther, but that was two years ago, and apparently, in my imagination. Except it had felt so real, especially after he promised to come back for me... but never did.

Someone moves between the hunk and me, our eye contact broken. I'm swooning for this stranger, and when the crowd parts again, he's gone. Scanning the room, I can't see him anywhere.

Nickie says, "Get back in there and get him."

"Yeah, sure," I mumble before strolling across the room, staring where the sex god was seconds earlier.

I'm lost in my thoughts when the organizer from the blind date session suddenly steps in front of me, her expression filled with disappointment.

My stomach drops to my feet, and I wrack my brain for the perfect excuse as to why I can't return, except the opposite slides out. Saying the wrong thing is what I excel at. "Oh, I'm on my way back now." I mentally slap myself for giving in so fast. I've never been good at saying no to people. If I ever became a superhero, that will be my kryptonite.

I'm already walking with her and glancing over my shoulder for my mystery man.

"If you don't give people a chance, how will you ever meet your perfect match?" she reprimands me as we step into the dating room, and I lower my gaze cringing further on the inside.

"Sorry," I repeat, staring into her kind hazel eyes, deciding then I'll be honest with Holt and end this now.

"It's not too late," she says with hope in her voice, and I quickly turn around to take my seat to find it's not Holt sitting across from me.

"It's you." The words slip from my lips.

I twist in the seat when my skirt catches on the edge of the wooden chair, and I hear the first rip.

Sweet Jesus, no!

"Is everything all right?" his deep, raspy male voice asks... the complete opposite of Holt's.

He's the same man I spied back in the bar with those bejeweled green eyes that shone so brightly, they might be polished emeralds.

Up close, he's so much more handsome and divine, and did I mention large, like he might have eaten Holt to take his place? Short chestnut hair, longer at the top, a strong jawline and nose, full lips. But his eyes keep calling to me, like somehow they belong on a different face. I have no idea why I think that, but I'm lost for words.

That smoldering look of his assesses me as I'm scanning him, my mind racing ahead to figure out what to say. I feel the rising panic inside me, my face burning at being so close to him and likely making a fool of myself. He looks like he can pick and choose his girls, and doesn't need to work too hard for their attention.

"I may have sat at the wrong table." I go to leave as I feel my skin surging with embarrassment, but the rip in my skirt grows longer, and I'm about to scream, picturing myself with a huge hole over my ass.

"No, it's the right table. You're seven. The previous boy had to leave urgently."

Fisting the fabric of my skirt caught somehow on this hellish chair, I look up to the sex god staring at me, waiting for my response.

"Seven, yep, that must be me." I tug on the fabric to free myself, but it's jammed in there like Satan himself has sewn it to the chair to make me suffer.

"Oh, I'm Guen," I say, flushing so hard, I'm burning up. I take my glass and drink it down in one go.

"Dei—Demi," he says, seeming to struggle to remember his name.

I arch an eyebrow. "Demi? Really?" His lie makes me tug harder on my skirt in an effort to get out of here while smiling at the man my ovaries are preparing to marry. Then a louder rip sounds. I half-fall out of my seat, the chair coming with me.

My heart soars to my throat, and I'm picturing myself on the ground and my skirt up to my waist.

Strong hands catch me, and Demi is at my side incredibly fast, lifting me back upright. My heart is racing so hard now. If I was blushing before, now I'm a supernova, diving back into Earth's atmosphere at five hundred degrees.

He's kneeling near my seat, finding the cause of my small mishap.

"You seem to have your gown caught."

Gown? I shake my head and glance around to find others looking at me, and I'm mortified. "It's nothing, seriously. Don't worry," I insist, placing my hand over the gaping hole revealing my thigh to just below the line of my thong.