Sunday, November 17, 2013

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!”


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...

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