Mirk was supposed to be dead, the fact that the twins had left him alive was perhaps one of the biggest mistakes someone could ever do in their line of work. The next time he would see them, he would murder them in cold blood.

However, he needed to push those murderous thoughts aside since numerous angry dwarves were hammering away in his head. The headache was blinding, the swirling colors of an oncoming migraine mocking him from behind his closed eyelids.

Amid the pounding in his skull, he sensed the vibrations of carriages and horses, and slowly the numbness in his limbs made itself known. Someone was crouching over him, and despite the coldness and pain that coursed through him, his nails shifted into sharp claws in seconds and he forced his eyes open, raising his hand to defend himself. Strong, warm fingers caught his wrist, a pair of dark eyes peering down at him.

He relaxed upon recognizing the mind reader from The Hare's Hair.

"Fucks sake, don't scare me like that. I'm already stripped of everything valuable, don't have anything to give you." he mumbled, laying back down against the filthy ground in the hopes of alleviating his pounding headache.

No such luck.

A loud slap against his face made him snap his eyes open. He hadn't realized he'd closed them in the first place.

"Oy!" he flinched, raising his shaking hand to rub the bruising cheek. He was shaking all over, that's how cold he was.

The mind reader stood up, holding out his calloused hand, his face was void of any emotions so Mirk couldn't read him well.

"I take it if I keep on laying in your cosy back alley you're gonna slap me again like an angry barmaid?" he said bitterly, staring up into the man's dark eyes. He scowled, but like always, said nothing.

When the man made no move to leave, Mirk sighed and grabbed the scarred hand, allowing himself to be pulled off the ground. His knee was hurting painfully, but it was nothing compared to the blinding pain in his head. His clothes were soaked through, and it took a moment for him to realize the mind reader was looking at him expectantly.

"What? I said I'm robbed of everything." the man rolled his eyes and gave him a heavy push towards the lively streets.

"Ohhh, well, sorry for occupying your precious hideout." he muttered, limping away from the dark alley, he was close behind, as if making sure he would actually get out. For a moment, Mirk wondered if the man might take pity on him and give him the thick, woolen cloak, but the harsh look he gave Mirk made him raise his hands in surrender.

"Ah, sorry, just looks extra warm. And if you haven't noticed, I've been soaking wet since last night." he crumbled, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of wet clothes against his skin. Even his precious leather boots were soaked!

Once Mirk made it out of the hidden alley, the mind reader disappeared. The people gave him wide berth, scrunching their noses at the filthy man as he slowly limped up the streets towards his closest hideout. It was way passed midday and his stomach was making dangerously loud noises. The heavy abundance of people annoyed him greatly this time, usually, he would make great use of his nimble fingers and snatch a coin pouch or two, but he was too disappointed in himself to focus on coins.

He pulled the wet hood over his head, grateful that it somewhat shielded his eyes from the sun's harsh glare. His attention was caught by royal guards in the distance. He muttered curses under his breath, grabbing a long stick from a passing cart carrying heavy wood and sticks for kindling.

Mirk pulled the hood lower, hunching his back a bit as he pretended to lean heavily against the cane. He was already injured and running would only worsen it, so he tried his best to use his disheveled appearance to his advantage and look exactly like the street rat he was.

His shoulders tensed beneath the wet clothes as a small group of guards marched past him, people giving them a wide berth. The golden embroidery on their armor and the sharp glint of their spears under the sun didn't go unnoticed.

They were agitated, searching through houses, throwing belongings on the street and questioning people.

Mirk nearly sneered at them, idiots, the lot of them. But he held his head down, making his steps slower and heavier, to give him the old, frail man façade that one would think of first look. It worked like a charm.

It wasn't hard to figure out that it was easy to deceive humans, they hardly gave second glances and for whatever reason, they loved to see others bow down to them. So, playing frail and weak was almost like ego boost for most of them.

He limped towards the more modern wooden building, it had been built a few years ago, with two huge stages and benches for these things called plays. Quite entertaining, actually.

Mirk snuck around the corner, starting to climb the tall city wall, just as he had done a thousand times before. This time, however, it was his knee that slowed him down a lot. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep on going. He could nearly feel the warmth of his sleeping cot and taste the hard bread and cheese he had left there.

The thought of food made him move faster.

He made it on the wall, creeping closer to the rooftop, he could hear the running of the soldier's down below and halted for a second, watching them curiously as the simply dashed down the street.

He continued his journey, climbing on the roof to get to the right spot, he had broken a couple of clay tiles there, so it would be easy to remove and place them back. He slithered in through the opening, falling onto a wooden floor not that gracefully.

"Ah fiddlesticks." he cursed under his breath, grabbing his aching knee. "Dim-witted idiot."

After a moment, the pain eased a bit and he blinked the tears of pain away. He'd get back at the twins for that.

With angry huff, be pushed himself up, and did his best to pull the tiles back into place. It was pretty dark, so there was no plays going on down below. His little hideout was located in one of the large halls, the ceiling was so high that no one from down would notice him. It was a perfect little place for him, as the only way in and out was the roof.

The first thing he did was take off his wet cloak and place it to dry over the railing. He pulled his suspenders over his shoulders and took off his belt and faded linen shirt, it had droplets of blood on it and he was sure it must have be been his. Dammit, another shirt ruined.

He kicked his leather boots off and nearly threw himself onto the bench next to the small table. He wolfed down the bread, taking pieces of cheese every once in a while to wash it down with water. He almost moaned in pleasure, it was so good, and his empty stomach was finally somewhat satisfied.

He munched away happily, resting his head against the wall, his dark curls falling out of his eyes as he closed his eyes in bliss.

Only to halt momentarily when the back of his consciousness tickled with something.

His green eyes flew open, the usually humane orbs now covered with glowing reptilian ones as he suspiciously scanned the platform and the darkness. He had impeccable night vision, so seeing in the dark was nothing. The small roof window provided enough light, and he strained his senses, but there was no one near.

Yet something felt off

Over the years, he'd come to rely on his instincts. They had saved him many times before. Even though he couldn't see anyone, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end, indicating that someone was nearby.

He looked over at his cot, which held a small chest containing treasures and weapons. Unfortunately, it was on the other side of the platform – too far to be of use at the moment. His grip tightened on the cheese knife he held. It wasn't as sharp or effective as his beloved daggers, but it was better than nothing.

Suddenly, the shadows in the room began to swirl, and Mirk reacted instinctively. He hurled the knife at the mysterious intruder, but his impatience got the best of him. The blade sailed through the air and lodged itself into a wooden panel. 

Mirk quickly got to his feet, shoving the table toward the intruder in an attempt to create some distance. However, the hooded figure effortlessly pushed it aside. As Mirk went to dive away from his path, a strong forearm collided with his chest, making him slam into the wall behind him. His head slammed into the wooden surface, making him see stars at the pain that ran through his skull.

A sharp tip of a knife was pressed to his throat, making him freeze his whole body. He snapped his eyes open, curious as to why he wasn't dead yet. Daringly, he leaned his neck into the knife a bit, earning a surprised huff as the man removed the knife and replaced it with his open palm.

He had cold, molten silver eyes that glowed from the darkness of his hood. Cold fear tightened his lungs as he refused to show it on his face as he recognized the man immediately.

He was taller than Mirk, the same dark hood still covering most of him.

"Shush." he simply said, as if shushing the younger man would make it all better.

However, Mirk refused to give up. He knew what happened if you gave up.

Mirk tended to play dirty, so with the precision of a predator, his claws silently extended. In one swift motion, he swiped them toward the man's abdomen, eliciting a surprised gasp and a step back. Mirk didn't waste a moment and seized a fork from the table, moving in for a potentially fatal strike.

 He aimed the fork at the man, herding him toward the balcony's railing. The man, however, didn't falter from the injury. Instead, he gracefully bent backward, hood falling back, revealing his face, and avoiding Mirk's attack. Mirk swiftly pivoted and delivered a powerful kick to the man's knee, causing him to waver for a moment.

His own knee screamed in pain but he had to forget it for now.

The man- no, not just a man, the fae twirled away gracefully, getting into defensive position as he waited for Mirk to attack again. He didn't.

A variety of curses swirled in his mind, it was a full blooded fae! The sharp ears, the grace and most of all, the steady thrum of pure magic was a dead giveaway. The dark cloak with underneath of gold made him nearly groan, it was the same man from yesterday.

Mirk assessed his opponent from head to toe, taking into consideration the high boots that could possibly hide any weapons. The cloak still hid most of his lean body so there was no doubt in his mind that there must be more weapons on him, besides the twin swords he had yet to pull from his back.

The dark, intricate patterns of vines and flowers on his black attire, highlighted by touches of gold, added to his striking appearance. The fae was so out of place in Mirk's dusty and dark home, he seemed too tall, too rich for his expensive boots to even touch the worn wood he was standing on.

He, however, didn't seem to mind. His silver eyes were assessing Mirk as well, although, the coldness had melted, instead, there was now a hint of curiosity and something else there. He had dark, midnight black wavy hair that didn't go past his ears. There wasn't a strand amiss, making Mirk glare at him. Damn faes and their effortless beauty.

"Calm, boy. I'm not here to harm you." his smooth voice said calmingly, raising his hands in a sign of surrender as he held eye contact.

It angered Mirk, he was speaking as if he was a dog, nothing but a street mongrel.

Fucking full-blooded prick.

As if Mirk would ever fall for the cheapest trick on the streets: false security. In a haste, he grabbed the jug of stale water and threw it at his face, the next moment bouncing on the fae himself.

He aimed to sink the fork into his neck, but the man grabbed his wrist and due to Mirk's weight, lost his footing. The fork went clattering on the ground, making the two roll as Mirk tried to get another swipe of his claws or a punch in. However, the fae simply avoided his every attempt of hurting him, as if he was simply toying with the hybrid.

It pissed Mirk off, there was no fear in those silver eyes as he once again dodged another punch easily, suddenly the man was gone from underneath him, a wisps of dark tendrils swimming in the air as Mirk hurriedly turned around, only for the man's heavy boot to land in the middle of his bare chest and pin him on the ground.

He grunted at the cold dirt that now made contact with his heaving chest, gritting his teeth in anger as he tried to push it off.

One of the twin swords were now aimed at his privates, making him freeze completely. Mirk didn't care about his neck, but the man better leave his balls alone.

"Ready to calm down now?" there was a touch of amusement in his sweet, honey voice now. Mirk spat at him, although his spit landed on the man's knee. He simply chuckled at his action. Chuckled!

"Aren't you just a bundle of anger, huh?"

He mused, straightening his silky vest that was already too clean and straight.

"I'm gonna bash your nose in if you don't get out soon." Mirk finally growled out, although both of them knew it was an empty threat in their current situation.

"Angry and foul-mouthed, sounds to me like you need a couple of lessons in manners, youngling." he was now looking down at him curiously, tilting his head as he took in Mirk's dishevelled curly hair, droplets of dried blood on his neck, the splatter of dark bruises on his jaw, toned shoulders and pecs, although couple of his ribs stuck out due to malnourishment.

Mirk, irritated by the fae's blatant stare, retorted, "Oy, either get on with the killing or get out of my space, pixie." the silver eyes snapped back to his angry gaze. It was a provocative term for fae, but instead of anger, the fae seemed to take it lightly.

"You see, I cannot. There is something of mine that you took. I need it back."

Mirk rested his head back on the cold ground, looking smug as ever as he realized he had some sort of leverage in the situation.

"Let me back up, and we can talk." the fae was already shaking his head.

"I cannot grant you that wish, I quite like you that way, better."

Mirk's eyes flew wide open, was the smooth voiced bastard fae flirting? With him? With Mirk? With a hybrid?

He completely forgot to breathe as the fae rested his elbow on his knee and leaned closer down over him. Strands of wavy midnight hair fell over his temples, his silver eyes gleaming down at him.

"You get any closer and you will lose your eyes or ears, whichever I will get to, first." Mirk voiced empty threats again.

Humans liked fae ears, there was a belief that if you had fae ears hanging on your door, it would chase away the bad spirits, so, there was also place for fae ears in the black market.

"You don't have it anymore." he said after a moment, disappointment obvious in his tone.

"I do." a desperate attempt on Mirk's side to stay alive.

The fae shook his head disapprovingly. Although his sharp eyes landed on the claws that had reappeared through Mirk's nails, it would have been so easy to slash the back of his heel.

"Uhuh, put those away." he tsk-ed, reminding him the sharp blade pressed against his dick.

Dirty little fae.

"Let me up." he demanded again, the man disappeared in a puff of smoke, although before Mirk could scatter up, the fae's knee was pressed into his stomach, one hand keeping his wrists locked while the other was, well, he couldn't completely see.

"Get off me!"

"I said I'm not here to harm you, you ungrateful little brat." he said without any real anger behind his words.

Mirk's breath hitched when the man's hand was suddenly pressed against his injured knee, making him hiss in pain.

Although the hiss died in his throat as soon as a cooling sensation flew through the burning pain, the momentary relief made him relax. Nothing about the man's actions made sense. 

He knew Mirk didn't have the stupid mask anymore, so why, instead of killing him or interrogating him, was he healing him?

Once the knee was fixed, he turned his full focus back on stunned Mirk. He seemed to be searching his eyes for something, only finding anger and distrust there.

"Why didn't you heal yourself?" he asked, once again, something irrelevant. Mirk frowned, there was no way that he would admit that he had never actually learned how to wield his magic.

It was tricky and there was no one to teach him.

He had tried, of course, but his magic always seemed to have a mind of it's own, it was helpful during getaways or stealing, but he never really knew what it would do or when, in that way, it was unpredictable.

Mirk chose to remain silent, keeping his vulnerability hidden. The fae raised his hand toward Mirk's face, and Mirk snapped his teeth at the fingers. It might have been seemingly childish act, but he wasn't just going to stay down. Yet, in a swift move, the fae's hand closed around the juncture of Mirk's jaw and neck, immobilizing him.

"No need for unnecessary violence. I apologize if my actions seem threatening to you, but it is for both of our safety." he rumbled, tilting Mirk's head forcefully as he leaned closer.

His slightly tanned fingers combed through his hair, searching for something. He seemed to find it when Mirk hissed in pain again, the same cooling sensation making him close his eyes once again.

The fae's actions remained perplexing. There was no friendliness on the streets, no good deed without repercussions.

"What do you want?" he finally asked, looking back up at the alluring creature who seemed far too comfortable hovering over Mirk.

"Well, I have two choices for you."

There was the catch. Mirk narrowed his eyes, ready to throw the nastiest words in his face but the fae opened his mouth before he could do so.

"As you have stolen a very ancient artifact of mine, I shall either take you to the King of Rivenholm myself, where they most likely will torture the answers out of you. Or, you come and work for me for a year, the choice is yours."

He still kept his hand on his jaw, but didn't press down, Mirk couldn't say that he liked it much. His hands were still bound and the fae's weight kept him down.

The close proximity made him uncomfortable, couldn't say the same about the full blooded prick who seemed rather cosy.

"Give me time."

"No, you make your choice now." he demanded easily, eyeing Mirk's hair for some reason. Everything he did was odd.

Mirk gritted his teeth, the action snapping the silver gaze to his lips.

“Work and do what, exactly?”

“Whatever needs doing.” a very cryptic answer, but what else would you expect from a fae.

“I don't like this.”

“And I don't like thieves taking things that belong to me. So, what will it be?”

A momentary silence followed the heavy question. He would have bigger chances of survival with the fae, humans despised supernatural, especially the likes of Mirk.

"Fine, I'll work for you. But I will not do anything..." he trailed away, unsure how to make it clear that he will not be a whore.

"Understood. What is your name?"

"Max" the fae frowned in disappointment.

"I don't like it when you lie to me, but very well. I shall accept it for now. Your distrust is partially my fault, I understand that. I shall give that name to the guards then. My name is Razaël, I expect you to be at my residence tomorrow afternoon at lunch time." he said, making sure Mirk was following.

"Out of the city gates, three miles east by the two large crop fields, there is a forest road next to the large oak tree with totems. Follow that and you shall make it to my residency."

He then lowered his face into Mirk's hair, making the man grunt in surprise when he realized the fae was sniffing him. The audacity!

"If you don't show up, I will track you down again." he said lowly, as if daring Mirk to run again. His actions now made sense, he was memorizing his scent.

"Yeah yeah I get it, prick, will you get off me? Your fat ass is suffocating me." he said, venom lacing his bitter voice. He had clearly lost this round, not once but twice in the span of twenty-four hours, an experience foreign to him.

The fae, Razaël, pulled back, tilting his head. "We have to fix that foul mouth of yours as well."

And with that, Mirk felt the pressure on his wrists ease as the fae phased away, letting him get up.

His headache was gone along with the pain in his knee. Why he fixed the injuries was beyond him. Mirk pushed himself off the floor.

He was now drying his cloak and shirt as well with his magic.

"What in the seven hells is wrong with you?" he couldn't help but ask the taller man.

The fae smiled, albeit a little sadly it seemed.

"You will understand one day, once again, I apologize for intruding into your personal space, I hope to see you tomorrow. Please take one of the horses from the royal stables, give the guards my name, the horse knows the way." he eyed the messy sleeping cot as though he wanted to fluff it up or something, but refrained from doing so.

"I'll be there."

He would be up the whole night, trying to figure out a loophole.

"Good. Enjoy the rest of your evening." were his last words before the darkness slithered across his skin again. The next moment, he was gone, and no longer could he feel those unnerving silver eyes on him.

Mirk cursed under his breath as he pulled the butter knife out of the wall. That's why he tended to avoid purebloods. They were so high and mighty it sickened him.

Mirk knew he had a daunting challenge ahead, dealing with a fae who possessed unknown abilities, and he would need to strategize carefully to navigate this newfound employment.