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Secretly, I hope the girl comes back this way on her way home, despite the Wraith scare.

  I’m content to wait for her.

  ***

  I hear the familiar click-scuff of boots parading down the sidewalk, jerking me awake mid-snore. I scramble to my paws, wavering there for a moment as I compose myself. If I go bolting out there, I’ll scare her. Cyberhounds are the sentries of the city. I’m not some oversized Labrador without a home wanting a scratch behind the ears. She won’t see me as one. I drop my head, watching her from the safety of the shadows as she passes my alley.

  She’s beautiful. Unique. Long legs clad in tight pants and knee-high boots. I can’t help but notice the soft curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts showing off a little cleavage in the blue nylon corset top she’s wearing. Her hair pools around her shoulders in black and blue curls, the rubber-coated cybernetic extensions bobbing with each step she takes, making her look like a futuristic Medusa. Despite the sassy appearance, she looks…sad. Her lips are cast down in a frown.

  I wonder what she’d look like smiling.

  As she passes, I wait a few breaths, then slink out after her. She stiffens and risks a glance behind her. So I stop and wag my whipcord tail in greeting. I prick my ears and let my tongue loll out of my mouth like a good, happy puppy. She flicks her tongue over her lips and turns away, picking up speed. I follow her.

  This goes on for several blocks: Walk, stop, tail wag; lather, rinse, and repeat. Finally she stops and spins on me. Our eyes meet and lock, hers spitting defiance. She clenches her bag to her stomach and stares at me. I tilt my head.

  Oh, I’ve played the part of the happy stray before. I know the moves to melt girls’ hearts. I want her to run her fingers through my fur, want to feel the electric tingle where our skin touches. That first connection is what makes or breaks it for me, what makes me decide whether or not to pursue her as a human. Maybe that makes me selfish, to keep secret girlfriends, human girls who could easily be endangered if Lylan ever found out. But I can’t help it.

  But usually by now, the girl’s dropped to her knees and is clucking me over to her, hands outstretched with a tasty morsel.

  Not this chick. She stands, splay-legged, arms crossed over her cleavage as she regards me. “Go away.” Her voice is husky, like she’s been screaming or crying or both. Her fingers twitch. I inch closer. She narrows her eyes. “Go the hell away, you Unseelie freak—” She stops then, stricken.

  I take two more steps and add in another tail wag for good measure. She’s close enough that her scent envelops me in a cocoon of heaven. I plop my rump down in front of her, tail swishing up dirt like a street sweeper. The girl presses her eyes shut and drops one shoulder. “Freak-dog,” she says, softer. “Join the club, I guess.”

  I take that moment to scoot the rest of the way to her, bumping my nose up against her waist. She’s so small up close, petite and feminine. She drops her arms, her long fingers touching my muzzle. She runs them down my face, burying them in the ruff of black fur around my neck, sending sparks down my spine.

  She cups my head in her hands and our eyes meet and I’m almost knocked backwards with my want for her. It grips my heart in a painful vice, throbbing and burning and aching, and I want her, not just for a couple of days, but forever—her body, her kisses, her affection. I want to wake up in bed with her. I want to kiss those sad lips and I want to—

  No.

  I jerk out of her touch and it startles her. She stiffens, what little bond we just formed broken. She doesn’t say anything, just worries her bottom lip between her teeth. I drop my head, butting against her hip once before lumbering away.

  I can’t have her, not now, not ever. I’m a foolish, stubborn boy. This is the reason Lylan’s outlawed love from the Pack. Love only gets in the way of duty and want is just a stepping stone to falling for someone.

  But damn if it doesn’t hurt.

  I duck down an alley to watch her. She bunches her shoulders up, sliding her bag off her arm. She unzips the flap and a little round robot hovers at about shoulder height, its antennae casting a glow across the brick wall. They walk in silence for a few minutes and then, just as they pass my alley, I hear a soft Brit voice: “So where are you headed tonight, Luce?”

  My heart flutters.

  Luce. Her name is Luce… Short for Lucy?

  And Lucy—the girl I want so bad it hurts—says: “Cosmo.”

  I know where I’m going tonight.

  Chapter 3:

  Lucy

  Since when are cyberhounds friendly? I wrap both arms around myself, chilled despite the fact that the air is still warm from the lingering sun, and trudge down the street. I can still see the hound’s eyes—one a dimly glowing red and the other almost human in its expression.

  Sync floats along behind me, babbling about how I should go home or at least check in with my foster family before heading to Cosmo. I ignore her. She’s like a wanna-be shoulder angel, trying to get me to do the right thing all the time. Sometimes it comes in handy, just not right now when my mind is swirling with thoughts.

  I lift my hand to my face, breathing in the musky scent of the hound’s fur. Sync looks at me pointedly and I quickly itch my nose, as if that’s what I was doing the entire time.

  “I’m just going for a little bit. Elysium’s playing tonight. They won’t even miss me,” I say, which makes her pause for a moment, eyeplate flashing. She bobs once in a nod and I grin at her. I knew she’d see it my way.

  Elysium is only the hottest up-and-coming rock band of the century and Sync likes them just as much as I do. Well, maybe a bit more. Despite being a robot, she seems to have a crush on the Illuvian singer, MaXXX Starfell.

  Dusk eats away at the pink and violet sky, like someone’s spilled a can of midnight blue paint at the edges and it’s blotting out the light. Stars speckle the canvas, tiny pinpricks that will only get brighter as the night draws on. I stop outside of the tiny, hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. The sign for Cosmo is bright—you could probably see it ten miles away. I shuffle to the back of the line, my hands stuffed in the pockets of my jeans.

  One by one, people go in through the door. There’s a flash of light that illuminates the street from the tiny window and my stomach churns. I freaking hate Portals. They make me feel wild, untamed, and not in a good way. It messes with the soul resting dormant inside of me, I think.

  But Portals are the only way of getting into Cosmo: The place might look like an ordinary coffee shop, but Cosmo outgrew this building—and Rogan City—long ago. The real Cosmo is floating in the heavens, a massive space ship.

  The girl in front of me shoulders through the door, making me next in line. The skinny bouncer at the door merely jerks his head in a nod for me to go through once the flash goes off. I take a deep breath in and shove the door inwards.

  The shop is small and dusty, the coffee counter abandoned and the walls bare. I walk to the center of the room, where a metal archway stands. The Portal inside is shimmery yet somehow solid, like glitter on a plate of glass. I press my hand against it, finding it cool. A light above the Portal blinks red, then a solid green, glowing bright. I bite my lip as the barrier disappears and I careen into the swirling mass of energy.

  The world spins, a prismatic rainbow of colors surrounding me, soaking into my flesh. My hair floats around my face, anti-grav style, as I slide through. I hate this feeling, like my stomach’s been flipped upside down and inside out, clenching with nerves. The Need drives through me suddenly, making my hands burn. I clench them and swallow back the feeling.

  I can control myself—I will control myself. I will not surge. I press my eyes shut just as my feet touch the ground. I see a flash from behind the veil of my eyelids and the bitter aroma of coffee pierces my nose.

  I open my eyes to see the familiar futuristic coffee shop done in stainless steel and glowing tube lights that line the room. It’s dimly lit with lamps that cast a warm glow throughout the ship. Both walls are lined with thick glass wi
ndows that showcase the world outside—endless stars in an expanse of black. I take a deep breath to steady my trembling hands and walk in.

  Table booths are filled with people of all ages, from old crusties to pre-teens just out of school. I get in line and order a peppermint hot cocoa. The girl who rings me up is a perky woman with golden ringlets pulled back into a bun. She offers a lopsided smile and fills the cup. It steams, the whipped cream on top already starting to melt. She sticks a peppermint straw in the cup.

  “Have an awesome night!” I’ve been here enough to know that if they ever made her into a talking doll, that would be one of her key phrases. I hide my grin with my shoulder as I turn away.

  I settle into a booth only a few feet away from the stage, which looms like a masterpiece in the corner, shiny and decked out with huge speakers and bright lights. I blow on my cocoa and hook my legs under my chair. Sync settles down where she can get a good view. I scald my tongue with a sip through the straw and grumble. Sync chirps with laughter. I lean back in my seat.

  I can’t get that hound out of my head. It’s insane. Everyone knows that cyberhounds are one of the Unseelie Fae’s personal bodyguards. They aren’t lap dogs. They aren’t even real dogs. They’re some sort of freak cyborg mutation. All the hounds I’ve seen have been cold and stoic, making sure the city is running smoothly. They work together in packs and never have I seen one wag his tail.

  But this one… He just seemed lonely. Maybe he’s like me—maybe he feels like a freak of nature. Maybe the freaks like to gather together and have a freak party and invite all their freak friends.

  “Oh bloody hell, it’s MaXXX.” Sync swoons and I turn my head. Sure enough, the blue-haired Illuvian is standing on the stage, fiddling with the mic, his guitar strap slung across his shoulder. He’s beautiful in a rock star, never-will-be-attainable sort of way.

  But he’s not who makes my heart hitch in my chest.

  Sitting three tables over is a young guy, his hair the color of polished onyx and spiked up every which way. His face is sculpted, but wild at the same time, and his black leather jacket is tailored to fit his shoulders perfectly. The entire left side of his face is veiled by a leather mask, the eye hidden from sight. The other eye is staring right at me. I look at him for a moment and a broad smile crosses his face.

  Busted.

  “Damn,” I mutter, turning away. Sync bobs, staring at MaXXX, her antennae glowing soft pink. Yep, the robot is infatuated. Is that even possible? I risk another glance towards the guy. He’s still looking my way.

  “Sync. Earth to Sync.” She doesn’t respond, so I flick her in the head. My fingernail rings off metal. She spins on me. “Look to your right.”

  “Can’t you see I’m trying to—Ooh.” She pauses. “That guy is looking at you, Luce.”

  “No, really? I hadn’t noticed.” I roll my eyes.

  “He’s looking at you in a way that suggests he’s interested.”

  “Great. What do I do?”

  “You could always go talk to him.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Why not? He’s totally your type. Cute enough?”

  “Sure, but…” I feel my face heat up, a slow simmer. I shake my head. “Would you go talk to MaXXX?”

  “Maybe if I had a human body. I highly doubt a rock singer would be interested in a model like myself.”

  “You don’t know; he could totally have a robot fetish.”

  “Luce!” She scolds me and I crack a grin.

  The first chord of their hit song ‘Breaking Out’ blares from the speakers and the crowd begins to whistle and screech. I slouch in my seat, trying not to steal little glances at the dark-haired guy. I’ll admit, he is hot, but a boyfriend’s just not in my agenda. Besides, once he figures out who I am and what I can do, it would be bye-bye cutie pie.

  The music thrums deep within me, the bass reverberating in my soul. People at the next table over are singing, mostly off-key, to MaXXX’s smooth-as-silk voice. The singer is grinning, holding his guitar like it’s his lifeline. The drummer behind him pumps out a quick beat, smashing the cymbal, and people cheer again.

  I risk another glance. The hottie grins, shows a flash of teeth, and then lifts his hand in a wave. I shrug and look away before he can see the heat invading my cheeks. My pulse is thundering like the drum set. Hormones are such a slag.

  I tip back my cocoa, which is cool enough to drink now, and gulp it. Whipped cream frosts my nose and I swipe at it, then crunch the peppermint straw, enjoying the icy burn of mint. I need to chill. So what if that guy’s staring at me? I came here to enjoy the band, not freak out.

  With steely resolve, I turn in my chair so there’s no possible way I can see the hottie, and stare at MaXXX as he croons to a ballad. Sync sighs beside me, her digital eyes the shape of hearts, and I can’t help but laugh. When Elysium starts a song that I know by heart, I start singing along with the group beside me, my voice barely audible.

  “Miss?” There’s a tap on my shoulder and I jump, glancing up into the face of the perky blonde waitress. She smiles down at me, holding a fancy latte in her hand. She places it in front of me. “He said to say this was from your guardian angel.” She giggles and I frown.

  “Who?”

  “The guy over there.” She waves towards the hottie. Our eyes meet and he grins and winks at me. Oh hell. The waitress beams. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, lucky girl. I’d totally steal him if he was a few years older. Have an awesome night!” She prances off, leaving me a cup of steaming coffee and a churning stomach.

  I glance up to see the boy again, but he’s not in his chair. I see his back retreating towards the Portal, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. My heart skips a beat and I hunch my shoulders, trying to get the stupid, silly feeling of excitement out of my gut.

  I. Do. Not. Need. A. Boyfriend. It would just be an emotional hazard. A boyfriend is only possible in my fantasy world, where I have doting parents who love me, a little sister named Ramona, and a puppy who still pees on the floor.

  In the real world, I only have two people: Myself and Sync.

  Chapter 4:

  Lucy

  I push through the door to my house—note I said house, not home—three minutes before curfew. Sync is tucked away in my bag, probably dreaming of MaXXXXX and acquiring a human body so she can seduce him and have kinky robot sex with him. Ew.

  Mr. Rockwell is sitting in his recliner, hand on the remote for the Holoscreen. He’s not tall, but he’s big. And intimidating. And he knows it. His hair is swept away from his face in graying copper curls and his steely grey eyes meet mine as I walk through the room.

  “Hey.” I try for nonchalant.

  “It’s 10:01.”

  “My clock says 9:59.”

  “I’ll let it slide this time, Lucy. We’ve set curfew for a reason. I don’t think you understand just how good you have it here.”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes. That’ll get me grounded for sure. I force a nod. “Sorry,” I mumble, turning away from him. I feel fire lap at my throat, anger boiling deep within me. I want, so badly, to reach out and just…touch him. Take a little. Not enough to hurt him. Just enough to scare him. He’d never bother me again.

  “Night,” I say, zipping away before I can act on impulses. God, I can’t wait till I’m out of here. Then I’ll come home whenever I want and no one will be able to snap at me for it.

  I pass Mrs. Rockwell in her room as I head up the stairs. She’s lying in bed, the blankets pulled up around her. The Holo’s on, muted, and she’s just staring at it as lights flicker across her face. I hesitate at the door, watching her for a moment, feeling a pang of regret for wanting to soul-suck Mr. Rockwell when he has to deal with a sickly wife. It’s a miracle they want me at all, even if I am just free money coming in.

  “Aely?” Her voice is tiny.

  I clear my throat. “Lucy,” I say, leaning against the doorjamb. Her face crumples and she shakes her head. Maybe
I should’ve let her believe I was her lost daughter. “Do you need something?”

  “Oh. No. Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” She turns over in bed. I back out of the room, clutching the strap of my bag tightly. As I head towards my bedroom, I hear her whimpering from beneath the sheets and it rips at my heart.

  If I was a good person, I’d go back and comfort her. Go back and…do something. But Aely’s gone. She’s been gone for years and it’s cruel to pretend with someone who’s probably not even aware of the present date and time.

  My room is actually the den, fixed up to look like a bedroom. I have no closet, only a dresser with three drawers. My bed’s a twin, but it’s still cramped in here. I have a little pathway to walk through and that’s about it.

  I sink down on my bed, feeling the old mattress creak beneath my weight. I unbuckle my boots and kick them off, wiggling my toes. I strip out of my jeans and leave them in a pile on the floor. They’re not dirty and they’re the one good pair I have, so I’ll wear them again. I shimmy into an oversized T-shirt that comes down past my thighs and flop back on the bed.

  Sync pushes her way out of the bag and hovers above the dresser that’s pushed up against the bed. “I so wish I could meet MaXXX in real life. He’s so…”

  “Dreamy?” I offer, a quirk to my lips. “Sex-on-toast?”

  “Is that even possible?”

  I laugh. “Someday, Sync, we’ll get you an android body and transfer your files over. You’ll have long, sexy legs and you can wear boots, as long as they’re not as awesome as my boots. Can’t have you out-looking me.” I stretch out on the bed, kicking the sheets out from under me and tugging them to my chin. “Light?”

  “Someday,” Sync agrees. She flies over, nudges the light off, and then comes back to bed, glowing a path to her spot on the dresser. She’s my own personal night light. “And Luce?”

  “Hm?”

  “If you see that boy again, you should talk to him. You deserve to be happy.”