Into Destiny - Sneak Peek

 Here's the first look at the final episode of Season Two of The Sidhe!

Chapter One

At the very mention of the word ‘werewolves’, Malcolm froze. Every muscle in his body tightened. Even breathing came hard, with his ribcage so rigid about his middle. Not even his eyes blinked, as he stared right at the Brownie that had just blurted this out when he brought the tray of food to him and Willem.

In that frozen instant, Malcolm didn’t care a whit about the artifact puzzle he’d obsessed over since finding the first piece. His home… His people… were in danger.

Werewolves were something he’d not had to face, but Kieran had. And so had Dawn and Bryce. Werewolves were the things of nightmares, growing bigger than a Sidhe with massive canine jaws as big as his forearm and claws as long as his palm. They didn’t just feed off fey like a vampire. They didn’t just kill the fey, either. They ate them.

And the little Brownie just popped off about it like it was some bit of gossip.

Quick as a snake, Malcolm snatched the little fey by the front of his shirt and jerked him close. He had to know more. Had to know what happened. Had to know if everyone was alright.

But he couldn’t even choke out the words that lodged in his throat. The Glamour Club? Werewolves in the Glamour Club?

Was no place safe?

Jerked from his feet, the Brownie squawked. His small hands covered the leather bands around Malcolm’s wrists, but he wasn’t able to break his grip. Which only proved how fragile the Brownie was. Not since the silver burned deep grooves into his wrists did Malcolm have a lot of strength in his hands.

Willem leapt from his cot where he’d been consulting his journals, hurtled over Tiernan, who’d fallen asleep on the floor, and skidded to a stop just short of bashing into them. “Was anyone hurt?” The Scribe blurted out, asking the question Malcolm needed the answer to.

“I don’t know!” The Brownie wasn’t any bigger than the Scribe, both of them like a foot or so shorter than Malcolm. Both of them with those big, innocent eyes that seemed to plead with Malcolm. Like a child’s.

Like his sister’s.

The very thought of Regan made Malcolm drop his grip on the Brownie. He wouldn’t have done that to her. He wouldn’t have bullied or scared her for anything.

This Brownie couldn’t tell him anything. Malcolm twisted away from him, letting his eyes refocus to see not the physical world around him, but the magical one. As he turned slowly, he didn’t see the wooden frame and the stadium-sized canvas tent that surrounded him and the artifact puzzle.

Magic drenched everything on the Isle of Fey, making the landscape itself glow and hum. Down a little ways, the fey town was alight with every kind of magic. The lesser fey gave off glittering light of every color, depending on their race and talents. But besides himself, which didn’t give off any kind of magic, and Tiernan snoozing on the floor, his energy so knackered that even his magic was pretty much sticking close to him, he didn’t even see any other Sidhe on the island.

Twisting around, glancing up toward the mountain that rose up on the eastern side of the island, Malcolm did finally catch sight of Trip. Her shadows flicked up there with a bruised black and purple hue. So there was one. But where were the others?

He didn’t really even need to ask that question.

They’d all been at the Glamour Club.

Too far away for him to see.

Too far away for him to teleport to.

His hands pumped into fists. Tight and loose. Tight and loose.

Couldn’t hold still.

Couldn’t do anything useful.

His gaze flicked down at Tiernan. He could teleport that far.

Malcolm punched into his palm, furious with his body for fighting him. Shaking out his hands, he banished the tension choking him. When he spoke, it came out rough, but at least it came out. “Wake up!” Standing over Tiernan, he nudged at the bloke’s side with his trainers. “Tiernan!”

The groan from Tiernan threatened death to the idiot that didn’t leave him be.

Willem and the Brownie, whose name Malcolm didn’t know, backed away. No way they were going to be in the middle, if two Sidhe were going to tussle.

Tiernan might wallop him for waking him, but Malcolm didn’t care. He bent down to grab his shoulders and shake him. “Wake up!”

But Tiernan didn’t. Just shoved away from Malcolm and rolled to his other side, then jerked the pillow back up under his head. Just as quick, he was back to sleep.

But it didn’t matter. A whoosh-pop of teleportation made Malcolm’s head jerk up.

Jumping up, Malcolm blinked past the world at the magic again. It hadn’t been real close, but it had been pretty big. Someone with strong magic, like a Sidhe.

Down the hill… All the way to the beach.

Malcolm broke into a run. Once outside the tent, he could see for real the place he needed to go. The slope from here to the beach wasn’t steep, but it was probably a good fifteen minute run through the middle of the village, which was crowded even in the early evening.

Teleporting was more of an accident than an intension. In mid-run, Malcolm ‘slipped’ and teleported just a few strides short of the front porch of the beach house. The sandy ground gave under his feet more than he expected and Malcolm half stumbled the last bit to the porch. He leapt up onto it just as the front door opened and Donovan stepped out.

Malcolm jerked to a stop.

Donovan was alive.

Only… his clothes were all ripped up and tacky with dried blood. Same for Kaitlin, whom he held against him with a steadying arm.

They weren’t still bleeding. Weren’t doubled over or hurting or anything. Dawn had healed them.

But the blood… The rips…

It had been bad. Real, real, real bad.

“Werewolves,” Malcolm managed to breathe.

“They’ve been dealt with,” Donovan assured him in that stoic way. The way that said he’d dropped a mountain on them, or something equally devastating.

“Kieran? Bryce?” Shifting to the side, Malcolm glanced past Donovan, not seeing the magic from either of his mates. Only a figure of white-yellow light and the hazy outline of a Touched human. Who was the one with the light? A Sidhe. Had to be, with that much magic.

Dropping a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, Donovan steered him back towards the village. “They’re fine. No fatalities. The wounded have been healed.”

Oh, geez. It had to have been bad to say stuff like that.

Malcolm let Donovan propel him along the dirt road back towards the town. Already the fey saw them coming, and started rushing to gather about. Not getting under foot, but still listening. “Why now? What happened?” His mind whirled, tumbling and stumbling over itself to understand. When Malcolm first came to the Glamour Club, he’d worried about Changelings, or goblins, or vampires, or even Touch-crazed humans coming after him. It’d not been long before he’d come to think of it as a safe place. A place no one would dare attack unless they had a death wish.

But even though Donovan obviously got tore up some in the fight, he didn’t seem the least surprised. “They probably found the club after Kieran’s brush with them. The sluagh would have kept them back until now.”

Malcolm glanced up at the mountain. Way up there, just now and then, he caught sight of the sluagh against the early evening sky, like great birds wheeling in the air. They’d moved to the Isle just that day, meant to protect it.

The first chance the werewolves got to attack the club, they had taken it.

The fey of the Glamour Club fought them off, but there were some badass fighters at the club. Kieran and Bryce could probably hold their own for a bit, and Donovan was flat brilliant. Then there was the head-bashing kinda fey like the trolls and red caps, that played bouncers for the club.

But the fey of the club weren’t the only ones Malcolm cared about.

He gripped Donovan’s elbow, not letting go until the boss turned his serious attention Malcolm’s way. “I want to get Regan and bring her here.”

Donovan paused, considering what Malcolm asked of him. “Do you think your father will listen?” He asked in a tone that said that they both already knew the answer to that.

“I promised I would come back for her. She’s just a kid. If the werewolves…” He couldn’t even force out the rest of the words.

“First thing in the morning.”

“Now.” Malcolm insisted, the panic mounting already. “Before something finds them.” And there were a lot of bad things out there that wanted the fey. The Sidhe, especially. There weren’t even any warriors at his family’s farm. Regan was just a kid. His da had a shotgun, but what good was that, if he didn’t see the attack coming? Or if they were overrun?

“Not like this.” Kaitlin twisted away from Donovan’s arm. She clutched the ripped front of her own shirt with one hand, and then plucked at the shreds of Donovan’s bloody clothing.

Almost immediately the crowd rustled. Within thirty seconds a pair of Brownies pressed forward with neatly folded clothing for both Donovan and Kaitlin.

Donovan, no more modest than most of the fey, changed right there. His ruined clothing vanishing into the keeping of the Brownies as quickly as the fresh clothing had arrived. Kaitlin switched out more carefully, managing the trick of putting on and taking off clothes almost simultaneously without actually getting naked. The fresh capris slipped up under her mini skirt before she removed it. The loose t-shirt went on over her head before the ripped up halter was pulled out from beneath it. It was kind of like a magic trick how she did it. All sleight of hand and clever timing. He’d seen girls naked before, but never when he was sober and never a girl who was fey. He stared at her with distraction, trying to suss out the way she’d managed the switch without showing anything, until Donovan snapped his fingers and got Malcolm’s attention again.

“You sure you want to do this now?” Donovan asked, all serious and dark.

Malcolm nodded. This time, with Donovan there, they’d have to listen.

Get the rest of the story in the book Into Destiny!

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Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, Amazon UK, Amazon CA (and all the other Amazon stores) Coming soon to other ebook markets.

Into Chaos - Sneak Peek

Chapter One

Even with the gauzy curtains enclosing the four poster bed, the light within the room roused Lugh from the exhaustion hangover following hours of carnal exertion. What should have been a pleasant body ache, wasn’t. Frustration cast a pallor over the entire evening. Rhiannon had always been an incomparable tumble, but never once had she left him feeling more agitated than if they hadn’t had sex at all.

As he rolled over, Rhia stirred and glided her thin arm across his chest. Her pale skin possessed the same milkiness. The black tresses of her hair shined like midnight on the water. Her scent teased him with the fragrance of moon flowers like the stillness of the deepest part of the night. As her blue eyes peered at him from beneath sleep laden lashes, there was no doubt that she was the lover he’d relished for thousands of years. And never once had she left him longing.

Never once.

Before last night.

Lugh raised to his elbows, gazing down at the naked beauty entangled with the sheets and his body. Her clever fingers slipped beneath the sheet to tease and tempt him, but nothing she did could rouse him now that his discontentment had set in.

As the Sidhe of the moon, Rhiannon had always reflected his sun while in his presence, just as she shadowed beneath the dark magic of Crom, who shared her bed as often as Lugh. Each bringing Rhia through the fulfillment of her phases, both full and new. Waxing and waning. Just like the ebb and flow of the tides that danced to her influence, she’d always… always… swayed to Lugh’s influence. To his Touch.

But not this time.

At first, he assumed the dark magic within him, sustaining his life, interfered with their bond. He’d sought after the fulfillment, even at the risk of disturbing the cage in which the beast had locked the Seelie parts of him, as the dark shard of his soul possessed him. Yet, nothing he’d done had brought the echo of magic that always flowed between them when they Touched.

Though they had expended themselves for hours, the unfulfilled expectation of that magic, left him raw.

Only now did understanding unravel and fall open to him. It was not the magic or the beast within Lugh that disrupted their joining.

As she gazed into his eyes, a distant smile on her lips, Lugh prickled at the foreignness within her. This dark enchantment saturating her didn’t just color her, it blocked her from him as surely as silver.

The creature before him was not his Rhiannon. Not the Sidhe he’d longed to find more than any other since the Collapse of the Mounds. He didn’t know this woman at all.

Manannan had done this to her. Fixed her in this obsidian of black enchantment. Trapped her within this illusion of herself. Violated and mutilated her magic for his own ends.

Her tapered fingers traced the muscles of his chest, as her mouth explored his abdomen, but Lugh cast her aside, snapping, “Stop, Rhiannon.”

Tickled by his anger, her musical laughter mocked him.

Lugh jerked back the curtain from the bed and flung himself from it. His druidess, stretched out on the sofa, though dressed and armed, lest some fiend of a Changeling or wolf-kin barge in on them. She lowered her book, then her gaze swept over his nude body.

The beast within Lugh snarled, “Where is Manannan?”

Get the rest of the story in Into Chaos...

Now available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, iTunes, Amazon UK, and Amazon CA (and other ebook retailers).

Into Darkness - Sneak Peek

 Here's a sample of Into Darkness, the first book in Season Two of The Sidhe.

Chapter One

The sense of dèjà vu brought on a wave of nausea for London almost as much as the reek of blood.

With her arms crossed over her middle to settle her stomach in the least obvious way possible, London fixed her expression with a hard, impassive stare that matched the other bodyguards at the feed. Borrowed holsters crisscrossed her torso and hips. Each of the four firearms she bore was loaded with silver bullets. But that wasn’t the dèjà vu part.

It was the red silk-clad bum waving in the air as Selena, vampire mistress and her best friend, sprawled over a Sidhe. And like before, the too-sexy Sidhe leaned back against the arm of the sofa, shirt unbuttoned and flung open. The black slacks fit his long legs beautifully. One leg bent up against the back of the cushions and the other stretched out so his foot rested on the floor. His fingers tangled in the vampire’s sleek blond hair, controlling and encouraging.

In this very room, just months earlier, Rico had been the Sidhe in question. That had been the day he enchanted her, cursed her with the addiction to the Touch of the Sidhe, and sent her on a path that landed her right back in this very same room, watching nearly the exact same scene play out.

Only this was no business feeding.

And this time the Sidhe that Selena hunched on was Lugh— former Champion of the Sidhe, former Seelie, and the man whose symbol London wore, having pledged to serve him even unto her death.

As he sat up, Lugh arched Selena’s head back. Blood smeared her teeth. His blood. He kissed her, stealing some of it back with deep strokes of his tongue. That kiss alone was nearly pornographic.

The other four vampires lounging around them laughed drunkenly, as wasted on alcohol as much as on blood and magic.

Lugh reached around Selena to accept the dagger they passed around like the bottles. He found his tumbler on the coffee table, knocked back the whiskey, and then laughed, “Who’s next? Roll the dice.”

Chantalle grabbed up the dice and rolled it. “Three. What’s that again?” She giggled in that vapid, empty-headed way of hers that London knew was only half the truth.

“Inner thigh.” Lugh grinned, flashing the wicked pair of canines he’d only recently acquired with the dark magic that screwed with his head. These weren’t the piercing kind of fangs like the vamps had. These babies were meant to tear flesh, like a werewolf’s or a lion’s.

When Chantalle leaned back on the settee, mini-skirt hiked up and legs spread wide for him, London rolled her eyes. The chick hadn’t even bothered with underwear. Cheap date kind of classy.

Lugh drew the tip of the dagger up and down her bare leg, teasing her as he picked his spot. With a flick and a shallow cut, he drew blood. Grabbing her bum with his free hand, he lifted her hips up to him as he went down on the wound.

This wasn’t the first time London witnessed a vampire drinking game. It was, however, the first time she stood guard over one. As the only human on security, she was the only one without a gas mask. The four vampire bouncers around the room wore them to keep the scent of the Sidhe’s blood from distracting them. Or worse, driving them into a feeding rage.

Even with the exhaust fan filtering the air, the scent of the Sidhe blood wafted out into the rest of The Satin Club, Selena’s club. Even as bad as the other vamps wanted Lugh’s blood, most of them had the sense not to try anything.

On those vampires, the silver bullets in London’s weapons would work just as well as lead bullets. Vampires weren’t the reason for the silver.

Werewolves were.

The local pack had been spotted roaming the area earlier that evening and the very scent of Sidhe blood could turn them feral.

But it didn’t matter. Vampire or werewolf, no one was attacking her patron, even if Lugh was whacked out of his mind lately.

The phone in London’s hip pocket vibrated. Uncrossing her arms for the first time since this parahuman version of a frat party began, London checked it. “It’s him,” she called over the ruckus of hooting as Lugh sank his fangs into Chantalle’s thigh, cheating at the game, but nobody was going to call out the Sidhe. They wanted him— and his blood— too much to play by the rules.

Pushing back from the vamps, Lugh licked at the blood smearing his chin. “Speak with him.” His bloodshot eyes fixed on her. His irises looked dead black in the low lighting, instead of blue. His blond hair, so dark now that it looked almost like it was black with copper highlights, fell in an artistically messy way over his forehead. Even his skin bore a Mediterranean tint rather than the fair skin he’d had when she first met him. All outward signs of the corruption that poisoned him.

London answered her cell without giving anything away to either the elf she spoke to, or the vamps around her. Lugh’s business was private and one of London’s jobs as his druidess was to keep it that way. “Yes?”

Mckenna’s voice crackled a little with the bad reception, which had to be on his end. She never had trouble with her signal when she was in Dublin. “Let Lugh know we’re ready for him. We’re at the Westfall Camp.”

“Right.” London hung up. She only gave Lugh ‘the nod’ and nothing more. He’d know what she meant.

Lugh disentangled himself from the vampires. One of the guys grabbed at his arm. “Whoa! You can’t go! I’ve not gotten my share!”

Idiot.

The Sidhe allowed this feeding at his leisure, not theirs. Something Lugh explained wordlessly by breaking the guy’s wrist.

Not many Sidhe nowadays could get away with manhandling vampires, but Lugh could, by virtue of his sunlight magic alone. If he felt like it, he could vaporize the entire roomful of vampires without even flexing a muscle. Top that off with who knows how many centuries of combat experience and Lugh was badass beyond anything in these youngling vampires’ imaginations.

Pausing just a second before her, Lugh’s gaze dropped to London’s chest. It wasn’t her breasts in the snug knit top he stared at, but the golden pendant she wore. His symbol. The one he’d given to her the day she vowed herself to his service. He did that now and then, fixated on that brilliant charm, and each time London watched for some sign.

But it didn’t come.

And he brushed past her, knowing she would follow and cover his back.

Get the full story in Into Darkness...

Now available from Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Smashwords, Amazon UK, and Amazon CA.