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.
