Sneak Peek - Keeper of Secrets

Keeper of Secrets - Champion of the Sidhe #5

 Chapter One

With each of Lugh’s long strides, the footsteps that trailed him drew closer. In the pre-dawn shadows of the city, little stirred, as if the night held its breath. The darkness about Lugh aroused the darkness within—that taint of black enchantment that blended and corrupted the light of his innate magic. Like a drop of ink into a crystal clear pool, twisting and dividing, finding its own pattern and flow as it poisoned the whole in an inevitable spread. Yet only a drop. Only a hint. A flavor. A whispered suggestion that fixated with the same hypnotic coil as the ink in water.

Far from the eclipse of the sun. A manageable urge that throbbed within, with cravings of its own. The shadow of the beast it could become. The beast he could become.

Even in the dark denim jacket and jeans, the street lamps found Lugh in the night, casting shifting shadows that moved about him as he passed through shafts of light. Timing his backward glance, Lugh caught his pursuers in the light pool. Two of them. Large males. Not vampires. These men moved like wolf-kin. Werewolves, as they called themselves now. Heads down, following by scent as much as by sight, shoulders hunched forward with aggression.

Across the street and not far ahead of Lugh, a man rose from a bench, his slow crossing of the street timed for an interception.

And ahead, two more emerged from the alcove about a doorway.

Lugh slowed, the werewolves encircling him.

The shadow within him rose with the sense of danger, summoned forth with bloodlust as if by the beating of war drums. In his mind’s eye, the corruption within transformed into the sleek, muscled beauty of a black panther. Its venomous green eyes a brilliant, illuminated emerald that glowed from within. Craving violence and carnage, the beast merged seamlessly with Lugh, blending with his soul in a dark possession.

One of the wolves growled, “Nothing smells like Sidhe.”

“Nothing tastes like Sidhe, either.” The dark-haired man who’d been on the bench moved closer, unchallenged by the others. The alpha.

Lugh angled himself so he faced the alpha. Two wolves penned him from either side. “Think you to sample my blood? To feast upon my flesh?” The darkness within Lugh twisted the amused hint of a smile that graced his Sidhe-handsome face. “Rather, I foresee your broken bodies sprawled at my feet. Shall we test conclusions?”

Warrior-trained and centuries of battle-honed reflexes reacted with the onrush of attack, fueled by the wicked violence surging within his beast. The wolf to the farthest right reached Lugh first. He backed out of the path of the charge. Bringing up his right arm, Lugh hooked the man from under the jaw with his fingers, digging into the soft flesh beneath his tongue. Catching the jawbone, he jerked back and down with force enough to lift the man from his feet and spin him as he fell, snapping his neck. The falling body continued by momentum into the wolf-kin to Lugh’s left, knocking them back.

Dropping down to a knee, Lugh struck upward at the second wolf on his right, with his fingers straight and stiff as a blade, driving his hand hard into a muscled abdomen, directing all the force into a nerve bundle just above the navel. The scream of excruciating pain proved the strike hit true on his target— no doubt killing the wolf’s appetite once he ceased doubling over and retching up bile.

While he was down, the alpha flung himself onto Lugh’s back. His arms grappled around Lugh’s shoulders. The weight of the alpha meant to drive Lugh to the ground.

Leaning back into the man, Lugh grabbed his trouser legs near the ankle and jerked upward, unbalancing the wolf-kin. With the shifting of his body, Lugh shrugged the man forward, flipping him over his head and onto the ground before him.

As Lugh rose, the two remaining henchmen each hooked their arms around one of Lugh’s. They yanked him up to his feet. Surely, they meant to lift him from the ground, but Lugh’s height defeated that hope. Lugh snarled, bearing his teeth as if he possessed the panther fangs of his beast. Jerking against their hold only made them grip him that much tighter.

Exactly as Lugh intended.

When the alpha regained his footing, Lugh kicked hard from the ground. With fey grace and feline aggression, he flipped backward, using the arms that held him as the fulcrum around which he spun. In the flip, Lugh’s foot caught the alpha in the face, knocking him back once more, with an explosively broken nose.

Lugh’s acrobatics sent him up and over the men that had detained him. Even as he landed behind them Lugh punched out hard, hitting one of the men in the kidney. The impact to such a vulnerable organ might have killed a human. The wolf-kin weren’t so fragile. Even still, the wolf went down with an anguished scream, not to get back up again.

The final man punched at Lugh. A blow that he deflected as if it had been a sword, using his own forearm to redirect the force by impacting with the wolf-kin’s wrist. The were’s forward motion carried him past Lugh, who used the opportunity to latch his arm around the man’s neck. The crook of his elbow looped under the man’s chin and braced his head, then Lugh kicked him in the back of his knee. As his opponent dropped, Lugh jerked upward with his arm, breaking his neck. He released the body to crumple lifelessly to the concrete.

Backing away, Lugh glared down at the four men he’d left dead or wounded at his feet. But only four. The alpha not among them.

Thus far, the wolf-kin had underestimated him. Within the city, they were less likely to risk exposure by shifting into their partial ‘werewolf’ or full wolf forms. Plus the shift took time, longer for the less experienced wolves. But swiftly for the alpha.

The growl of the alpha broke the silence of the night just as he tackled Lugh from behind. Twisting even as they fell, Lugh jerked away from the snap of the canine jaws. The beast within him growled back at the werewolf with animal fury.

The werewolf, a half-man/half-wolf amalgamation of horrifying intent, raked his two-inch claws down the back of Lugh’s denim jacket, hooking into the fabric.

Kicking away from him, Lugh shrugged out of his jacket and the shoulder pack of supplies he carried. If not for the Fade, he’d have teleported away before now, but the expenditure of magic would certainly exceed his reserves. Even the use of Glamour was a luxury that he could ill-afford. But when the werewolf lunged for him again, his longer arm-span extended wide, those deadly claws spread menacingly, and his canine snout curled up in a bestial snarl that revealed teeth meant for rending flesh, Lugh drew upon his personal aspect of magic.

Tapping into the power of the sun, he flared a light so intense as to blind unshielded eyes. It flicked so fast, returning the night to the depths of the darkness, no one’s vision, other than his own, could quickly recover.

The wolf’s pained yip proved the effectiveness of the strike against his senses. The animal drove forward, nonetheless, barreling toward where Lugh had been.

Lugh twisted away, leaving the alpha to bash headlong into the brick wall with force enough to send a spiderweb of fractures through the bricks where his face impacted.

The flaring of the light and dodging the attack had been Lugh. But the beast within him wasn’t satisfied. Possessed of it, Lugh grabbed the unconscious werewolf and shoved him forward again, battering his head into the wall, and this time leaving blood on the impact site. With the third blow, the beast crushed in the werewolf’s skull.

Backing away, he let the alpha fall. His werewolf’s shape slipped back to human without his conscious effort to make it otherwise.

The beast loomed over its victims, snarling a grin. The arousal of aggression still flooding through him, making Lugh’s body ache for more.

“Enough.” Lugh’s own voice sounded foreign to his ears. Deeper. Throatier.

The beast, its violent desires served, skulked back into the shadows of his mind. Appeased for now, but not vanquished. It grinned with wicked amusement at Lugh, knowing its advantages. They wrestled now, but the beast won ground each time they battled. And eventually, Lugh would forget himself in its animal haze.

It had happened to Lugh before. The eclipse, as the fey called it.

And if he lost himself into the dark lusts, then all he’d fought for since the Collapse was lost.

That… and that alone… strengthened Lugh to forestall the black passions of his beast.

Lugh snatched up his torn jacket and the shoulder pack and continued on his way, leaving the wounded to recover enough to make off with their dead or be discovered by the waking city in a few hours, as fortune would have it.

Read the rest of the adventure in...

Keeper of Secrets - Champion of the Sidhe #5
Available from
Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords!

Sneak Peek - Captivated

 Chapter One

Tall, blond, and delicious heading your way.

London blinked at the text message that woke her from a fitful slumber. Only the soft glow from the kitchen illuminated her living room, where she’d crashed on her sofa. Double-checking, she slid her hand between the cushions, finding the comforting, cold metal of her pistol. Sleep didn’t come easy when Donovan and his cadre of Unseelie wanted you dead.

The text message came from Selena, of course. Four in the morning was prime time for vampires. London texted her back. Did he say anything about me?

Since being cursed, all that mattered was getting her life back. Working for Lugh in exchange for the Touch was a major part of that plan. At least it had been up until Lugh went off with a wood elf that knew too much about London’s less-than-brilliant past. She truly regretted her mistakes, but that didn’t buy her forgiveness. The Unseelie death sentence was a case in point.

But London had never met anyone like Lugh. For the first time, she had a slim hope. And after journeying through denial, anger, and stupidity… hope, no matter how thin, was a vast improvement.

Still in the sweatshirt and pants that she’d worn the evening before, London wedged herself up off the sofa. The gun, she transferred to the coffee table and covered with a magazine. Not an extraordinarily complicated hiding place, but easy to access should an Unseelie or a Changeling or any other bad-n-nasty bloke decided to invade her flat. Coffee seemed like a good idea, so she wouldn’t come across as bleary eyed and befuddled when Lugh got there. The coffeemaker just began to brew when the phone played the ringtone for Selena.

London answered, “Too long for a text message? Should I be worried?”

The vampire’s smooth voice glided over London’s senses like silk. “I just spent a very interesting evening with Lugh.” Her sigh practically dripped with satisfaction.

“No details, please. I’ve not even had a cup of coffee yet.” Vampires indulged all their lusts with a relish few other creatures could match. Except the fey, whose reputation for casual sex rivaled even that of the vamps. And among those fey, the Sidhe especially seemed made of equal parts magic and sex appeal. The pairing of a vamp and a Sidhe might seem like rampaging hormones taking their course, if not for the fact that vampires preyed upon the fey. How Lugh and Selena hit it off, London didn’t know, but she certainly didn’t need the sticky blow-by-blow account of the bedroom negotiations.

“London, luv. Promise me that you’ll take precautions.” And London could tell from her tone that Selena wasn’t talking about condoms.

“Why? What’s happened?” The coffee cup slipped from her grasp and banged down on the counter. “What did he say?”

“It wasn’t what he said as much as how he acted. More aggressive than before. Darker.” The vampire laughed, low and seductive. “Not that I didn’t like the rough play.”

“Darker?” Forgetting her coffee, London crossed to her research strewn across her kitchen table and shuffled through it. All her sources agreed that Lugh, the Shining One, was the epitome of Seelie. Worshiped as the Celtic sun god, the man was the personification of light and of the Summer Court. Civilized and chivalrous. Even the accounts of his battles never once described him as the least bit ‘dark’ in nature. That just wasn’t supposed to be in his makeup at all. Then again, how much was myth and how much truly reflected the man he was? But rough? Aggressive? London wouldn’t have thought that of the compassionate Sidhe she’d met just the day before, whose tender Touch had filled her with such light and wonderment. “Maybe you just bring out the beast in him, Selena.”

“Perhaps.” A self-satisfied smile colored her voice. “Just thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” London’s head lifted at the sound of a rap on her door. “I think he’s here. I’ll call you later.”

London left her phone on the dining room table. Even as she approached the door, she rubbed the nervous sweat from her palms onto her hips. With a quick check through her peephole, she verified what she’d assumed. Tall, blond, and delicious was on her threshold. But even knowing he was there, the moment she opened the door to him his presence stole her breath.

At something close to seven feet tall, Lugh loomed over her. Leaning forward with his arms braced against either side of the doorframe, he made for an imposing figure. All of the Sidhe were sexy beyond reason, and Lugh was no exception. Athletic, with the toned body of a swimmer, there wasn’t an ounce of extra padding. The snug cotton shirt and jeans showed off his physique beautifully. His blond hair was stylishly cut, leaving just enough length that he could hide his elven ears if he wanted. He wasn’t hiding them tonight. The direct blue of his eyes struck London with nearly hypnotic force. The deep resonance of his voice captured her completely, “I’ve returned, as I told you I would.”

London froze when he reached for her. His casual affections still startled her. Her breath caught as he stroked over her hair. A small gesture, but one that soothed the edge of her anxiety. Even still, until she knew for certain how he was going to react to the truth of her past, nothing could ever really make it go away.

Only on a second glance did she notice the hint of darkness about him, and not just the choice of clothing, which was all black from the denim jacket to his trainers. A slight smudge of dark circles hinted beneath his eyes, as though he were fatigued. And something on his cheek…

London reached up and brushed it away with her finger.

It was blood.

The story continues in Captivated - Touched #5

Now Available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords!

Sneak Peek - Protector of the Light

 Just this week we released the 4th book in the Champion of the Sidhe series. Here's your chance to get a peek at the first chapter! Readers of the series will see a major crossover starting between the Champion of the Sidhe series and the Touched series even in this sample chapter, but the major twist comes later in the book!

Protector of the Light

Chapter One

Lugh raised his cupped hand before him, hiding the light of the magicraft in his palm. Within the small glass vial spun a vortex of gold dust, glowing like a fairy light. If anyone saw him in the dim illumination of the nearby streetlamps, it might appear that he shielded a match within his hand, with the light it produced glowing on his face and between his fingers. Lugh closed his fist over the vial and slipped it back into the pocket of his slacks.

Across the boulevard, the neon light of the sign for the Satin Club hummed, glowing red against the dark bricks. He'd encountered enough vampires in his time to reliably identify one, even from this distance. More than one had already entered the club. None had spied him yet, even though he was not using even the slightest wisp of Glamour to disguise himself. Their focus on their companions and on private conversations distracted the hunters from noticing potential prey practically on their doorstep.

Then again, this was a changed time since Lugh last walked the surface for more than a brief visit. Most humans, and their kin the parahumans, appeared consumed within themselves. Preoccupied with inner thoughts. It served Lugh's purposes well, that he could travel unnoticed without the need to waste his magic on maintaining a Glamour. If he garnered notice at all it seemed only the appreciation of his attractiveness, and not the observation that he was not human. The clothing that Willem procured for him aided in his disguise. To his surprise, the human clothing was more comfortable than he'd first guessed. The satins, suede, and silks of fashions past gave way to denim and cotton. His slacks were comfortable and tailored to fit. The button-front cotton shirt he wore defined his musculature with a flexibility that ensured that if he needed to fight, he'd have complete freedom of movement. While the cut of the clothing flattered him, it left no good place to disguise a weapon of any useful size, so this evening he was armed with nothing but his skill and his magic. At one time that was more than enough, but with the advancing effects of the Fade upon him magic grew less and less of an option.

Lugh timed his crossing between the autos that prowled along the lane and then stepped upon the curb before the club entrance. Over six and a half feet tall, his height alone commanded a certain respect. The vampire stationed at the door held it open for him, but he could feel the curiosity in his stare. Whether the young vampire knew one of the fey when he smelled one was not clear, but he definitely wouldn't mistake Lugh for any derivation of human.

The club was more of the type he'd heard termed a 'lounge.' Settees of the kind that softly sucked you into the cushions, too comfortable to withdraw from quickly, were liberally spaced around the room, many of them occupied by couples or threesomes in various stages of groping. The scent of blood lingered even over the alcohol and tobacco smoke. Lugh crossed to the bar, noting that its tender was at the far end at the moment. He leaned back against the bar, elbows propped on the polished wood. In the low lighting one might have missed the occasional flash of fangs as the vampire clientele freely smiled and laughed, not bothering to disguise themselves. The music that overlay the scene with its hypnotic purr encouraged the slithering, though surprisingly, the patrons remained more sensual than overtly sexual, and even the feeding was sporadic and discrete.

Lugh found the performance neither titillating nor repulsive. Truly, among the fey such casual consorting was tame by comparison. Although he kept his attention diffused enough to gather the sounds and movement about him, for it would not be long before the heady scent of Sidhe blood attracted more attention, Lugh quickly scanned the room. He slipped the vial from his pocket and glanced down, as though checking a pocket watch, just long enough to determine the general direction the vortex indicated, and then he tucked it away once more, lest the light be noticed.

Already, eyes lit upon him. Even as he memorized the items displayed in the niche indicated by the magicraft, his peripheral vision alerted him as the first vampire approached him. Sleek, blond hair so shiny as to be nearly iridescent framed the vampire's pale beauty. The blue of her eyes caught the same sparkle as the sapphire on a silver chain nestled into the hollow of her throat. His gaze lingered overly long upon the silver before trailing down the rest of her svelte figure wrapped tightly within a body-hugging, black sheath of a dress that barely reached mid-thigh. The corners of his mouth quirked up in the hint of a genuine grin of appreciation for the grace and beauty gliding toward him.

Even in heels, the woman's natural height would have only brought her up to his chin, had Lugh been standing upright. Slouched back as he was against the bar, she was just shy of being eye-to-eye with him. It meant that she was still able to give him that upward sweeping look that showed off her long lashes before her face was raised toward his. She smiled at him familiarly as she wrapped her bare arms around his neck. Her body draped against his with yielding femininity. For a moment he thought she might well kiss him, but she only lay against him instead, pinning him neatly against the bar with her lithe, feline body. "Now, what would a Sidhe be doing here in my place, all alone and so delectable?"

"I have never feared those who walk with the night." Lugh's arms slung casually around her back, only to slide down with the silky fabric until his palms cupped her bum. As she angled her hips to slip between his thighs, Lugh smirked and drew her comfortably against him. She'd claimed to be the proprietor of the establishment, and with this display she established her claim upon him. Immediately, the other vampires that had begun to take notice of him relaxed back into whatever previously occupied them, undoubtedly keeping a subtle watch.

"Clearly." Nothing unpleasant in her musical laugh. No suggestion of a threat or hungry growl. The effect more of a friendly acknowledgment that she was well aware of the protection she provided, and she offered it now because it pleased her to do so. "Not at all shy and retreating like the earthborns."

Lugh's attention peeled away from their surroundings as he fully focused upon her. "Like the what?"

"The earthborn Sidhe" she replied, matter-of-factly, clearly expecting him to know of whom she spoke.

"Earthborn Sidhe?" Lugh's normally schooled expression lost its composure, his unawareness of what she referred to blatantly obvious. Nothing about the vampire indicated that she fabricated a falsehood, and yet he could not begin to fathom of what she spoke. Had she confused some tribe of lesser fey for the Sidhe? Indeed, some races of elves could easily be mistaken for Sidhe by non-fey, just as he would lack the awareness to discern one tribe of humans from another.

As she laughed, her body brushed against his in a pleasant way. Her tapered fingers glided down his arms, discovering the shape of his biceps with clear enjoyment, before settling in the curve of his elbow. "Seems I have some information you might be willing to trade for." She leaned in closer and sniffed seductively along the side of his throat. "And you know what I want."

Lugh stroked his hands up her back, enjoying the feel of the woman in his arms, even if she was a vampire. Never departing from her body, his caress slipped up to cradle her head. He used the fall of her hair to shield his skin from the silver of her necklace. Sensual though it was, it also gave him the control he desired. Leaning close enough to feel the stir of her breath against his lips, he inquired, "And by what name shall I call this lady of midnight who desires the pleasure I can give?"

"Selena," she confessed.

"Selena," he repeated, the sensuality of his voice caressing her name like a lover. An easy game to play. A familiar one. One he'd mastered ages ago. As his mouth hovered ever so close to hers, Lugh's tongue dipped between her lips. The quick prick of his tongue against fang brought forth a mere trickle of blood. In the kiss that followed, Lugh barely tasted his own blood, as Selena hungrily consumed every drop. She moaned into his mouth and he returned the compliment. He wasn't the only one who'd honed the art of the kiss for centuries. Even after the slight wound ceased to bleed, neither of them ended the mutual appreciation abruptly, allowing the kiss to linger and subside naturally.

Her gaze remained fixed upon his mouth for a thoughtful moment, savoring the memory, he imagined, and no doubt craving more. He prompted her, "About the earthborn Sidhe?"

"The children of the Unseelie exiles who fled the Mounds over the last few decades."

Lugh absorbed her explanation, still no closer to true understanding. Unseelie exiles? His spies in the Unseelie Court had made no mention of any such exiles. "The Sidhe do not sire offspring as swiftly as other races. Surely, these children are not true Sidhe."

"Oh, but they are." Selena stared at his mouth almost obsessively. "Nothing else tastes like Sidhe."

This much he knew. Magic laced the blood of the fey. Blood drinkers craved the fey above all other donors. And the Sidhe, with the purest and strongest natural magic, over the other races of fey. From what he'd gleaned, the scent of Sidhe blood could be detected through intact skin and at a short distance. Even a vampire who had never before sampled Sidhe blood instinctually salivated with feral desire at the mere whiff of a nearby Sidhe. "Where might I discover these earthborn Sidhe, that I might gaze upon them with my own eyes and know them for what they are?"

With a lovely and thoughtful tilt of her head, Selena considered her answer, no doubt determining her price. "What brought you to my place? Not the search for the earthborns, but certainly something worth risking your neck." As Selena stroked over the flesh of his throat, Lugh felt the light drag of her fingernails along the pulse of his artery. No spent vein blood for this nightwalker. She craved the heart-fresh manna with the thickest concentration of magic. The woman knew how to feed from a Sidhe to the greatest intoxicating effect. Arteries dwelt deeper than veins, more challenging to pierce and potentially more deadly. Should she feed from him there he'd immediately suffer blood loss to the brain, impairing his judgment and reaction time.

"I propose to offer you a trade." With a smile of seduction, Lugh gathered her closer. Never did he release her hair, trusting her not that far. Controlling her by her silken tresses, he arched her neck for him. The subtle brush of his nose traced her jaw and she rewarded him with a catch of her breath. With his lips feathering against her ear, he murmured, "I shall grant you the remainder of the evening in a private sharing of selves, in which you yield all command to me, in exchange for one item of my choosing. No questions or exceptions."

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, demanding more of the attention that he lavished. "And for the location of the earthborns?"

"I shall grant you the privilege of muscle blood." The least potent. He offered her not a vessel of any consequence, but the dregs which might be lapped from a flesh wound. If not for the Fade, he might have offered more, but he dare not waste even what magic laced his blood.

Selena's deep, purring laughter chilled him with the delight of a predator. With an amused snarl, she pushed back from his embrace even as she tore open his shirt, scattering the buttons that popped free and baring the definition of his muscled chest for all to see. Abandoning the whisper of their conversation, she demanded, "And why shouldn't I just take what I want, Sidhe? Take you for my own and bleed you whenever I choose?"

Although Lugh's gaze never departed from her face, the awareness of the vampires that now blocked the front entry and the back hall with the 'exit' sign above it was not lost upon him. No one spoke now. The vampires watched with hungry eagerness, edging closer like beta dogs wanting access to the kill. Undoubtedly, they believed him a brazen fool to stride into the vampire's lair with any expectation to leave it. Selena already proved her aggression and intent, challenging him to deny her. Lugh's easy smirk lost none of its flirtation. "You shall not harm me, nor allow any other to do so. My offer is fair. My friendship and good humor are prizes not to be squandered. Think carefully before discarding them."

Wisely, the vampire mistress hesitated. "What don't I know?"

"My name." Lugh relaxed back against the bar once more, propped easily on his elbows, hands hanging relaxed. Not at all bothered by the damage to his clothing, nor the covetous leers.

"Which is?" Selena's fingertip trailed down the line of his breastbone. A tease. More so a symbolic demonstration that she might take from him anything she wished. Such a small gesture, though, proved her trepidation. She was no more a fool than he.

"Lugh."

He chuckled as nearly a third of the vampires fled the establishment, leaving nothing but a brief blur of movement in their wake. Those that remained were either brave or ignorant. He categorized Selena among the brave, even though her hand snatched back from him.

"Sun god." The whisper escaped her as if unbidden. With that clarification, the ignorant departed in a second wave. The humans, abandoned by their companions, slipped away in silent retreat. Only the stalwart of Selena's coven remained, refusing to abandon their mistress, though none stepped forward to test conclusions with him.

"Have we an accord, then?" Presumptuously, Lugh gathered Selena against him once more, his arms easily wrapping about her narrow waist. Her cool form softened against the solid wall of his chest. No longer challenging or resisting him. "I have use for a vampire ally of your proclivities."

Though the glint of distrust flickered in her eyes, she played his Seelie game with aplomb. With true feminine prowess, Selena curled about him, yielding to his touches. One of her thighs slipped between his legs, so that each tiny sway of her body caused her to rub intimately against him. The tactic could distract a less determined man. As could the press of her breasts. Or the inviting caresses of her hands over his bum, drawing them closer still. "An ally? In what war would you have me enlist?"

"The war to save the Sidhe." Lugh's gaze purposefully lowered to her lips with a hunger that was not wholly feigned. "A connoisseur of your refined tastes surely can appreciate such a quest."

"I can indeed." She tilted back her head, offering her mouth to him. "We have a deal."

Which they sealed with a kiss both deep and salacious.

###

Read the rest of the story in 

Protector of the Light - Champion of the Sidhe #4!

You can grab your copy at Amazon,
Barnes and Noble, Nook or Smashwords!

Don't forget to add Protector of the Light on Goodreads!

Sneak Peek of Bloodhound - Rise of the Unseelie #4

If you read Enchanted, you will certainly see a lot of crossover into this Rise of the Unseelie story. 

Bloodhound

by S.A. Archer and S. Ravynheart

Chapter One

“You’re so dead, mate!” Bryce shouted over the explosion of gunfire.

Malcolm flung himself back from the onslaught with a growl. “You suck!” Blood splattered on the telly as his man on the video game got massacred for the fifth time in a row. “That’s it! No more Mr. Nice Guy.” He hit the rematch button. “This time I’m bringing out the railgun. See how you like that.”

They jostled into each other as they jumped and dodged with their computer guys in a no-holds-barred, two-player combat to the death.

Again.

It didn’t even matter that Bryce crushed him on the stupid video game. Not really. Leastwise for the last few hours Malcolm hadn’t thought about magic at all. Pretty much, anyway. Donovan was the only one who didn’t think Malcolm’s bloodhound ‘magic’ was lame. The other Sidhe did, even if they played it off like it wasn’t any big deal. Like Malcolm wasn’t too awful weird, just kinda twitchy. But for the last couple hours, he’d just been one of the lads with Bryce, playing this video game like they were just regular 17-year-olds. And Malcolm sorta forgot for a tiny bit that they weren’t just that.

All up until a high-pitched whistle sliced over the racket from the game.

It was one of those annoying sounds that echoed in the brain and not just the ears. Malcolm winced, trying to ignore it as he mashed the buttons at a rapid-fire rate. “What is that? Car alarm?”

“What’s what?” Bryce twisted his controller as if that could make his guy dodge for cover faster. “Got me in the leg, you creep!”

“You don’t hear that? For real?” Malcolm paused the game. Even hunching his shoulders against the constant peal couldn’t stop the sound from jangling his nerves. “That whistle?”

Bryce listened and then shook his head. “I don’t hear anything. It’s probably nothing. Come on.” He unpaused the game. A fresh explosion of noise covered most of the magic, but not the whistle.

Malcolm hardly noticed when he dropped the controller. The first sparks of panic prickled all though him as he jumped up and yanked the power cord out of the wall, shutting up the telly. “Is that Kieran? Where is he?”

“Hey! I was winning!” Bryce scowled.

Malcolm turned in a circle, tilting his head this way and that, studying the magic around him. Through the walls and floor Malcolm saw glowing silhouettes, like seeing heat signatures, only his senses were geared to magic. Flames flickered around Bryce constantly, though no one else saw that. In the flat across from them Dawn twinkled with her healing sparkles. On the floor below the fey mingled in a sea of rainbow hues. Trip’s darkness floated around her like scarves on the wind as she danced in the club with a group of elves. “He’s not in the club.” Malcolm twisted around. “Where’s that sound coming from?” He blinked as the sudden silence startled him. “It just stopped. Only…” The whistle had been wrong. Desperate, like panic. “Where’s Donovan? He’s not in the club either. Is Kieran with him?”

“Who cares?” Bryce reached to plug the telly back in, but Malcolm stepped on the cord. “Will you move your bloody foot?” He swatted at Malcolm’s leg.

“No! Just wait.” Malcolm listened harder, but couldn’t hear anything of Kieran over the clatter filtering up from the fey in the Glamour Club. Even scrunching his eyes closed tight and gripping the sides of his head, Malcolm couldn’t shift through the racket. Sometimes it was all too much; never ending chaos that blared and flashed and buffeted against him. A minute ago, he’d been able to ignore it. Now it was everywhere around him and inside him and pick-pick-picking at him. And right now, reaching for the itty, bittiest thread through all the masses of magic crowding and pounding into his mind, made him want to scream.

Instead, he ran from it. Malcolm raced from Bryce’s flat and up the flight of steps to the roof. A little further from the magic roiling up from the fey in the club. Bryce chased him though, with his ever-present crackle of flame and campfire scent. Malcolm spun in a full circle, actively listening, but hearing nothing of Kieran’s sound magic. Which was wicked bad. Kieran was one noisy chap, constantly buzzing or humming or whirring or something else loud and usually obnoxious. Only now…

Nothing.

Heart pounding, panic mounting, Malcolm shook his head. “Kie’s in trouble. I know it. Where’s Donovan?”

“How would I know?” Exasperated and impatient and totally not getting it. “Malcolm, forget it. You’re freaking out over nothing.”

Everybody always thought it was nothing. Like Malcolm was some kind of nutter. “It’s not nothing!” Malcolm snatched Bryce by the front of his shirt and jerked him close. “Call Donovan!”

Get your copy of Bloodhound!

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashword

Aftershock - Excerpt

Chapter One

Jhaer dodged through the local fey crowding the market street of the village built up around the Seelie castle, thankful that his plain, loose-fitting clothing disguised him. Brightly colored streamers from the celebration draped from tree limbs and windows to flutter festively about the revelry. The ale flowed and the music played. Seelie fey of every race danced and sang ancient victory songs, obliviously ignorant that in conquering the Unseelie, they ensured the downfall of all fey.

Stealth carried Jhaer as far as the courtyard wall and then he unsheathed his fury and magic. With a rage that rent a boulder from the ground, Jhaer’s magic burst forth. His power over the element of earth belonged to him alone, so the boulder that splintered the teak courtyard gate with the explosion of cannon fire announced with certainty the Unseelie Elite who wielded it.

Anticipating a final assault while the captive Unseelie monarchs imprisoned within succumbed to the pressure to surrender their authority, the Seelie forces lined the top of the inner castle wall beyond the courtyard. Archers drew back at the sight of him, even as the Seelie Champion on the parapet called out to Jhaer. The corona of sun magic flared around Lugh, as if determined to prove his nickname as the Shining One. The golden boy of the Seelie Court in his sculpted armor vaulted down into the courtyard with a dramatic flair. If the demonstration of grace and courage aimed to impress, it missed the mark with Jhaer.

“Lugh! Have you been staring at your own magic so long you've blinded yourself?” Jhaer rushed into the courtyard. As the archers launched their first volley, Jhaer summoned a shield of stone from the very ground before him. The rock wall preceded him, the last couple feet at the top tilted back over his head, in case any clever archers aimed with a high trajectory. After the arrows in the initial strike splintered on his shield, Jhaer jerked up his hands, his magic heaving skyward the ground in front of the castle wall to block off the archers. His personal rock shield fragmented into dust that defused to the ground he’d drawn it from. He snarled at Lugh, the sole obstacle between Jhaer and the castle proper. “This must stop! Before it’s too late!”

“One Court, Sidhe!” Lugh proclaimed. “We can be brothers, you know. This feud can end. It should end!” Yet the Seelie ignited a barrier of fire, disproving his claim of brotherly love.

Jhaer shielded his face against the fire between them, an all too familiar tactic from the Sidhe with the magical aspect of the sun. “Light and dark cannot merge. One will always consume the other. You know this! Yet the arrogant Seelie’s hunger for power would rather destroy everything than have balance!” With that, Jhaer sank into the ground, closing it up over him.

Moving swiftly through the earth in a self-contained cavern like an air bubble rising through a viscous liquid that parted the ground before him and resealed it behind him, Jhaer detoured beneath the flames. He felt the vibration from the footsteps of the Seelie above, rushing to pursue him.

An unexpected tremor charged though the earth and slammed into him, lancing a dread dead into his heart. The Unseelie warrior gripped his chest, breath stolen from him by a horrendous shift in the magic surrounding him. Stunned to the point of panic, Jhaer surfaced once more, the Seelie not but a few quick strides from him. Before a cry of dismay could escape his lips, a shockwave of magic knocked him off balance. A crack climbed up the outer wall like a growing vine, reaching ever higher.

“Trying to bring down the entire castle?” The Seelie snarled. “Danu is in there!”

Jhaer stumbled backward before catching himself, his eyes wide as he stared at the fractures creeping up the courtyard walls. “Would I knock myself off balance? Open your eyes, Lugh! Something is wrong!”

Thunder rumbled like a landslide and then the sky flickered. Or rather the magic that gave the ceiling of the Mounds the appearance of a sky. Both Sidhe warriors relinquished their aggression to witness the cascade of destruction rupturing the fabric of their world. Cracks like a spider’s web shattered the illusion until the great bowl of rock overhead became visible for the first time in as long as any Sidhe could remember.

Jhaer kept his balance better the next time the ground shifted, although the horror that stabbed through him threatened to drive him to his knees. The thunderous sounds of earth ripping from earth filled the cavern that housed the magical realm of the Mounds. As the ground above them shifted ominously, Jhaer’s hands snapped upward, fingers curled as if gripping something heavy. Trembling from the strain, his mastery over the earth alone supported the bowl of rock overhead.

“Lugh!” Jhaer growled through clenched teeth, “Help Danu! NOW! I can't… hold it up… much longer!” All his concentration, his strength, focused solely on preventing the Mounds, home to hundreds of thousands of fey, from catastrophic collapse, for as long as he could.

Differences postponed in the face of imminent demise, the Seelie raced toward the castle as Jhaer bore the weight of the world. With muscles trembling from the effort, Jhaer waited for the dread to dissipate, anticipating the Creatrix to reach out and fortify the Mounds. But what he felt was life, the connection to Danu, fading away. The All-Mother, she who bound the Mounds together for centuries, was disappearing. She was dying.

All hope shattered, leaving only fatalistic determination. Through raw force of will, Jhaer held aloft the vast cavern ceiling, allowing as many fey as possible the chance to escape, the stronger ones via teleportation, the lesser fey certainly crowding the portals that might whisk them to the surface. Alone, Jhaer balanced each rock, each clump of dirt. For miles. Sweat ran in rivulets down the strained muscles of his body. Holding. Binding. Unyielding. And yet fissures snaked through the cavern under the oppression of tons upon tons of earth overhead. Fissures Jhaer could not mend. Fissures that sheared as chunks broke free and rained from the sky. Chunks that slipped through his shattering strength. Jhaer dropped to his knees, giving all his power to the failing magic. The edges of the cavern crumbled, creating a cascade as each lost rock freed those above it. Rockslides like waterfalls poured down in a roaring that could not completely annihilate the screams of terror. Down the ceiling fell in ever greater pieces until the entire cavern plummeted down like a mountain to entomb everything beneath, burying alive everyone who had not already escaped. Including Jhaer.

###

This ebook is free in most ebooks stores.
Get a copy from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords

Find out more about the Rise of the Unseelie urban fantasy series.

End of the World - Excerpt

Chapter One

“The world as we have known it ends this day.” The warriors, men and women both, needed to hear him speak. The grit and determination in his voice carried as much emphasis as the words themselves. Many cut uncertain glances his way, the deep-seated beliefs ground into them over the centuries nearly as much a part of them as their skin and their magic. Lugh patrolled the top of the castle wall, watching the courtyard below. The elaborate breastplate strapped to him served more as a status symbol than actual protection, even with the magicraft worked into the polished leather. He was the Champion of the Sidhe, even for the Sidhe who would sooner slit his throat than call him their champion. It mattered not. He protected his people regardless, most especially from themselves.

The Sidhe and lesser fey warriors of the Seelie Court spaced themselves at intervals of less than a full arm span. Wood elves, dwarves, selkies, and even a stout-hearted fairy held the line for this final watch, bows, spears, and magic at the ready. Although the technology-embracing world beyond the Mounds  long ago abandoned the grace of the bow for guns and other modern weaponry, the long-lived fey of the Mounds shunned such graceless devices.

“Keep a sharp eye on the barrier.” The canopy of magic reached just beyond the courtyard wall, preventing Glamour or teleportation within the castle grounds. If any fey dreamed to raid the stronghold of the Seelie Court this day, they faced more than simply this entire cadre of fey warriors. They would have to best the Champion of the Sidhe, a near impossible task. For greater than a thousand years, only a handful had ever crossed purposes with Lugh and bested him. A few of these skilled warriors manned the line with Lugh now. Others, such as the greatest of the Unseelie guard, had yet to breach the courtyard threshold. His heart harbored no doubts that at least one would challenge Lugh’s mettle and resolve.

Lugh cast a proprietary glance across the outer wall to the fey town in the protective shadow of the castle. The hills rolled into the distance. The internal measure of the Mounds roughly equated to Ireland in width and length. Lugh knew every tree, every step of every path. Twice he held the Seelie crown. Since he was a much younger Sidhe, Lugh held the mantle of Champion. He earned it. The very sunlight in the sky was his gift to the Mounds. The Celts once worshipped Lugh as the god of the sun, for in that lay the aspect of Lugh’s unique magic. All the life that grew and prospered in the Mounds did so by the very power of his love for this place and these fey. He would defend it, and them, until his final breath.

With a great explosion of shattering wood, a boulder crashed though the courtyard gate. No such boulder had been transported though the city beyond the castle. This one had been ripped from the ground and flung with a magic only one Sidhe possessed.

“Jhaer!” Lugh growled, “Bring me your rage, Elite.” With his spear, Lugh pole-vaulted the low parapet and dropped the twenty feet into the courtyard. Using the grace of the fey, he hit and rolled, then came back up to his feet in a charge for the Unseelie intruder.

This ebook is free in most ebook stores. Grab your copy!

Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords

Sneak Peek: Eyes of Magic

Chapter 1

Kieran slammed into the fey in his way, shoving them aside in his scramble. “Boss!” He bashed into the dancers as he tore his way across the dance floor. “Bloody hell, get out of the way!”

Donovan hadn’t seen the young Sidhe run this frantically since the vampires hunting him were just two steps behind. As he held up a hand, Kieran skidded to a halt just shy of crashing into the table. “Did Bryce catch something on fire again?”

“No,” Kieran gestured wildly back the way he’d come. “Hurry! The kid’s awake. He’s absolutely freaking out! They’re shouting for you!”

Where Kieran had to run over those who’d been in his way, all the fey of the Glamour Club parted before Donovan. In his excitement, Kieran jogged ahead in fits and starts and then bounced with his impatience as he waited for Donovan to catch up. All the while, he kept repeating himself. “I was next door. All this scuffling and shouting. I heard screaming. Dawn shouting for me to get you. ‘Kieran, get Donovan! Get him now!’ and stuff like that. So I did. I can still hear them hollering at each other. Come on! Hurry!”

The earthborn bounded up the steps to the second floor three at a time. Even as they entered the hallway, Donovan heard the shouting for himself.

“Just calm down!” Dawn yelled. “Just put it down!”

“Stay away from me!” the young man shouted over her. “Where’s the man?” Something crashed with the shattering of glass. Furiously, he cried, “Don’t come near me!”

Kieran peeked around the open doorway, but Donovan gripped his shoulder and maneuvered him aside so he could pass. He crossed the threshold into the flat that was laid out similarly to the others on this floor. The generous studio design was divided into a living room to the right and a kitchen on the left. With hands upraised, Dawn approached the young man she’d cornered. Even as the lad slashed the air between them with a carving knife to force her back, he struggled with the latch on the window, intent upon escape, even though the drop from this height would probably snap a bone.

The healer obviously didn’t realize it, but she was taking the exact wrong approach, putting herself and the young man in danger. Her uplifted hands didn’t prove to him that she was unarmed as much as her intent to snatch away his weapon if given the opportunity. Such an attempt would assuredly result in a serious injury to one or both of them. Already, the shards of a busted ceramic lamp and variety of other debris littered the floor. Apparently, he’d pitched anything within reach to drive her back. Donovan ordered, “Dawn, get out.”

To her credit, she didn’t argue. She backed away and then pushed Kieran from the doorway out into the hall with her, leaving the door standing ajar.

Donovan leaned against the arm of the sofa, not blocking the boy’s path if he wanted to make for the door himself. The shouting had certainly only heightened everyone’s anxiety, escalating already intense emotions. He spoke with calm authority. “You wanted to see me?”

Already, the boy held the knife at a lower angle. Donovan was fairly certain the lad’s name was Malcolm, though they hadn’t been able to confirm that. Between Dawn’s healing sedation and the lad’s own blood loss and exhaustion, he’d been unconscious for the three days since Donovan brought him here. Given the boy’s mistrustful and panicky demeanor, Donovan thought revealing what he knew about Malcolm and his family might only upset him further. Better to leave some things unspoken.

Even though all the Sidhe were, by their very nature, beautiful creatures, Malcolm was gaunt. The only clothing he wore was a pair of grey pajama shorts, and those hung low about his hipbones. Being underfed and malnourished wasn’t the worst he’d suffered. His back was a mess of scars, so much so that not even the tip of a finger could rest upon an unmarred spot. Those scars were old, healed over before rescue. The worst damage had been to his wrists, and the lad still wore the bandages around them that Dawn had fashioned days ago. Half hidden under his unruly hair, Malcolm’s dark, frantic eyes fixed on Donovan. “You brought me here. I remember you. You killed the vampires and you brought me here.”

“That is true.” Donovan waited, as patient as the very earth that was his element.

The knife trembled from the sudden tension in the young man’s body. “She… She…” He pointed toward the door.

“Her name is Dawn.”

“She…” Malcolm raised his hand before his face and shook it, attempting to express something he couldn’t articulate. “My head. She was…” He shook the hand before his face again. “Messing… Messing with me.”

“Dawn’s a healer.”

“No! She messed with me! Making…” He jiggled the hand before his face.

“She made you sleep.”

“Yes!” His outcry was a mixture of hurt and fury. “I don’t want it! I don’t want her messing with me!”

“Dawn will never make you sleep again. She won’t touch you, unless you ask it of her,” Donovan stated with finality, knowing that Dawn was within earshot and would take his promise as an order. “When you came here you were very weak. You’d lost a lot of blood. Dawn helped heal you.”

“You have magic.” Malcolm said it like an accusation. “Made those rocks bash into the vampires. I saw it. So what do you want with me?”

“I’m called Donovan. I’m Sidhe, like you. Dawn,” he nodded toward the door, “she’s also Sidhe. As is Kieran, the other young man you saw.” He lingered for a beat, letting things sink in. “This place is called the Glamour Club and it’s a safe haven for Sidhe.”

The astonished confusion on Malcolm’s face was priceless. He’d not gone from one type of captivity to another, as he’d clearly feared. Donovan continued, “This flat belongs to you, if you want it. No vampires can find you here. No goblins, either. You’re safe here. This, I promise you.”

The knife had lowered, but Malcolm didn’t look quite ready to relinquish it yet.

Donovan asked, “What’s your name?”

The hand that wasn’t clutching the knife handle pumped opened and closed repeatedly. A nervous movement, like pacing. He was struggling to process this change of circumstances and not ready to believe.

“They stole a lot away from you, didn’t they?” Donovan waited for him to nod, but those watchful, dark eyes just remained fixed upon him, shining with moisture. “But they didn’t take away this.” He tapped his finger to his chest, over his heart. “No matter how hard they tried. No matter what they did. You are Sidhe. You are one of the most magical beings to have ever existed.”

The young man shook his head to this, eyes downcast. His fingers stroked his throat as he made a sound of strangled emotion, unable to even speak of pain too raw and too recent.

“Kieran.” Donovan summoned the young Sidhe from the hallway. Kieran obliged him, stepping into the room three steps and stopping when Donovan raised his hand. He didn’t want him invading the buffer Malcolm yet required to feel safe enough not to plummet out the window. “Would you mind sharing a little about your experience? How you came to be here and what it’s been like for you?”

Malcolm lifted his head, intent on hearing what Kieran might reveal.

“Oh, hey, sure. No problem.” Kieran smiled brightly at Malcolm, not seeming the least put off by the knife. “So, like, my parents just up and disappeared when I was fourteen. I just came home one day and they were gone. I knew this Brownie family and they thought it might have been foul play. Like wizards or werewolves or something. I never did find out one way or another. Anyhow, the Brownies thought I’d be better off making myself scarce, so they took me ‘round to Waterford and dumped me off there. I was settee surfing for a while, staying with different people. I got in with a gang of fellows and we bashed around some.” Kieran shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes you do what you have to so you have cash enough to eat, right?

“Anyway, didn’t take long for these vamps to find out about me. They’d come around every so often. Beat the crap out of me and chomp on me, then leave me a bloody mess ‘til they got it in their heads to come ‘round again. Only, a few months ago, Donovan comes along, scares them off before they can even get a fang in me. Brought me here, where I hang out in the club and with the other fey. I’m learning to get a handle on my magic. Pretty much, that’s it.”

Kieran gestured toward the side of his neck and then at Malcolm’s where the vampire bite was not entirely healed. “I see you’re a member of the same club. Does that make us blood brothers?” He smirked. “Us fang-bangers got to stick together. Just sayin’.”

Donovan raised an eyebrow at Kieran’s cheeky approach, but he appreciated the effort to make a connection with the skittish youth. And for what it was worth, Malcolm had only a relaxed grip on the knife now as it hung by his side. They were getting through to him a little at a time. “Kieran’s nineteen, just a few years older than you?”

Malcolm nodded.

“If you’re both agreeable, I suggest we have Kieran help you settle in. What do you think? You never mentioned your name. Would you entrust us with it?”

He muttered it like a secret. “Malcolm.”

“Good to have you with us, Malcolm.”

Even as Donovan started for the door, Dawn blocked the threshold, her arms against the doorframe to barricade it. “You’re not leaving Kieran here alone with him, are you?” She hissed, “He’s dangerous.”

Of course, Kieran heard her. “Nah. If he really wanted to hurt someone he’d have used his magic, not a knife. Bryce would have set this whole place ablazin’ if he was upset. So that goes to show you Malcolm’s got his magic under control. Otherwise, he’d be lashing out with it. Right, mate? What is your aspect of magic, anyway?”

Kieran had a point. Untrained Sidhe couldn’t control their aspect of magic and yet Malcolm, who by all accounts was untrained, hadn’t demonstrated any. Donovan turned back toward the room and Dawn slipped in next to him. Malcolm spastically clenched and unclenched his empty hand again. He’d moved back into the corner, further away from them and closer to the window. His teeth clenched and he breathed hard between them. Donovan regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. When Tiernan Kilgrave first informed Donovan about this young Sidhe, he’d mentioned that he was providing the Touch for over fifty enchanted humans. That hadn’t been by Malcolm’s choice. The silver burns and whip marks proved that, as much as the sheer anxiety caused by just the mention of magic.

The details of Malcolm’s ordeal needn’t be public knowledge, unless the boy chose to share it. Donovan spoke carefully, so Malcolm would understand without giving away specifics to the others. “All the Sidhe are capable of three common abilities. Glamour, teleportation, and the Touch. We each also possess a single aspect of magic that is uniquely our own. Kieran isn’t asking about the Touch or those other common talents. He’s curious as to your personal magical gift.”

“Bang on.” Kieran grinned and nodded with his easy friendliness. “Like, what’s something you’ve made happen? Something you’re drawn to and that responds to you.”

Malcolm crossed his arms, the knife still in one hand, although seemingly forgotten. He shrugged and made a sound that Donovan translated into ‘I don’t know.’

“The trauma could have stunted his magic.” Dawn flinched at the look Donovan cut at her, but she persisted. “What? I’m just saying. Silver’s a poison. Constant exposure over time may have caused permanent damage.” Her assessing look at the undernourished youth who still held the knife he’d threatened her with wasn’t exceedingly compassionate. “Or the retardation of his magic could be psychological.”

“I’m not retarded!” Malcolm snapped.

“I didn’t say you were!” Dawn yelled back. “I said your magic was!”

“Dawn!” Donovan jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll let you know if your healing skills or your opinions are needed. Go!”

She cast up her hands in frustration and stomped out. Donovan watched her go, making sure she actually left and didn’t loiter in the hall. The healer was ill-accustomed to being treated with distrust. Not after the fairies with whom she’d spent most of her short years had worshiped and fawned over her. Despite her healing proficiency, she wasn’t much older than the boys. Malcolm’s reaction left her sore and snappish and not at all conducive to resolving the situation.

“We’ll sort out the magic issue later. Right now, Malcolm, why don’t you clean up and change. Kieran will fix you something to eat. When you’re ready, you can come down to the club and we’ll chat some more.” Donovan gave them both a nod of encouragement, giving no outwards indication that Malcolm’s lack of magic might concern him.

###

Read the rest of the adventure in Eyes of Magic!

Get your copy from US Amazon, UK Amazon. Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or Smashwords

New Release - Defender of Magic

 Please enjoy this sneak peek at Defender of Magic - Champion of the Sidhe #3

Chapter 1

With fingers hesitant with longing, Lugh stroked the porcelain cheek of the Sidhe who was once worshipped as the moon goddess. Such a precise likeness, this statue of Rhiannon captured her features in frozen perfection. Crafted with such careful attention to detail, Lugh almost expected the statue to move. More than once he thought it actually breathed. A trick of the light made the statue’s chest seem to lift with shallow breaths. He gazed into the white eyes and felt himself beholding Rhiannon herself.

So painfully beautiful, Lugh fought the sting that blurred his vision. His palm caressed the statue as if he might lift her face toward his. He could not resist the temptation to place a light kiss to the chilled mouth that did not yield to his affection. Drawing back only enough to speak, he murmured, “Return to me.” The statue refused him even the least of encouragements, and that, more than any other evidence of his senses, proved that this sculpture was not his Rhiannon.

His Rhiannon always succumbed to him, just as the moon reflected the light of the sun. She could no more deny him than the fey of the Mounds could resist the dominion of the All-Mother. Although Unseelie by nature, Rhiannon transformed when Lugh’s magic infused her with his influence. When he Touched her, she glowed like the hunter’s moon, full of light and gilded glory. With him as her escort, she thrilled to the dance of the Seelie Court. With her onyx tresses and night-ocean blue eyes set off by her milk-cream skin, she was a rare, dark jewel among the fair Seelie. Alas, she could not sustain his persuasion perpetually. Her phases required Lugh to relinquish his sway over her and surrender her to Crom. As Lugh was the lover who lured her to wax with the purity of the light, Crom was the paramour who seduced her back into the waning depths of the dark.

The sound of Willem clearing his throat parted the veil of fantasy in which Lugh indulged himself. He backed away from the porcelain figure, the daydream broken and fading. The hollowness of longing remained. In all their travels they’d discovered not one Sidhe.

Not one.

In all the temples throughout all of Ireland, not even the slightest evidence that any Sidhe, save Lugh, yet lived. Never in his many millennia had Lugh endured such a span of time deprived of the Touch of another of his kind. The bonding of magic was essential. It refreshed and renewed. The Touch was a basic requirement for health, as much as nourishment, sleep, and copulation. The depletion of his magic in the wake of the Collapse certainly heightened this perception of yearning.

Lugh pivoted toward the Scribe, only peripherally aware of his hands wiping down his chest, as if closing the window to the pain within, shrouding it once more from himself and others. Lugh loved his people above and beyond all things. His compassion knew no measure, even for the Unseelie with whom he found so little common ground. Above all else, he was Sidhe. There was nothing he would fail to do, no service he would fail to perform for his people. The very notion that all others, with the exception of himself, may have perished pained him beyond the telling of it.

Embracing both denial and pride as his armor, Lugh fixed his expression into a calm composure. If even one other Sidhe yet lived, they deserved Lugh’s full focus and dedication. What emotions lay buried in the treasure chest of his heart, he’d effectively secured and suppressed. When he regarded the Scribe, nothing but confidence showed. Of this Lugh felt certain, for in that moment it was true. Such self-deception was a Seelie talent that required centuries of practice to master.

The diminutive Scribe angled his neck to address Lugh, who was nearly twice his height. His irrepressible grin blossomed as he presented Lugh with a pair of hair combs of polished ivory. Lugh recognized them. The cameo figures carved into the handles would settle into the flowing waves of Rhiannon’s midnight hair as if they were sprites dancing in the night sky. Lugh reached out to collect the delicately crafted combs, which hardly showed any evidence of wear. “These are from the first realm of fey?”

“Most assuredly.” Willem passed the vial of magicraft over the combs as Lugh inspected them. The vial blazed with magic as the gold flecks within spun in a tight vortex. The Scribe blinked up at Lugh, innocent excitement in his bright, fey eyes.

“But no indication that anyone has dwelled here since the Collapse?” Lugh’s fingers worried over the smooth teeth of one of the combs. Rhiannon left her temple furnished. She’d not abandoned the remnants of her past as a deity to the humans, as most of the Sidhe had done.

Willem nibbled on his lower lip, cast down his gaze and shook his head.

Lugh relinquished the combs to Willem, who stashed them in the satchel with the other artifacts from the first realm. He indicated that the Scribe should precede him from the room with a graceful wave of his hand. The gesture, though polite, served a greater purpose. Lugh tarried at the threshold. Upon the wall to the east of the door, Lugh traced a Celtic knotwork symbol for the sun. His signature. He infused the tracing with Glamour and sunlight, so that it would glow upon the wall for months to come, unless someone dispelled it. One last time, he glanced back at the statue, which passively watched him depart.

###

Grab your copy of Defender of Magic at Amazon 

Barnes and Noble, Kobo, or at Smashwords.

Scars of Silver - excerpt

Chapter One

Malcolm still smelled like industrial hand soap from his sink bath at the gas station. He wiped the pocket fuzz from the black plastic comb that was only missing a couple teeth and then battled the knots in his too long hair. His reflection in the store window winced back at him. The skater boy hair served a purpose beyond just announcing to the world that he didn’t have the cash for a haircut. The unruly waves covered the telltale point to his ears.

Even after he beat the worst of the dirt off his clothing, Malcolm still looked like what he was, a homeless teen.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t go back. They’d take him back. He knew they would. Only, if he went back home they’d never let him leave again. “For his own protection.” That’s what they’d say. That’s what they always said. Like house arrest was what it was. Some kind of fey witness protection program or something.

Only, if they’d ever let him get out at least once in a while, he probably would know something. Like how to get money. Or food. Or a warm place to crash. Instead of having to figure a way to steal what he needed.

Malcolm crouched down behind the lunch special sign, waiting for customers to venture into the Fairy Circle shop. Probably a waste of time, only Malcolm lacked for any better ideas. Not like he could ask someone for directions to a fey hangout or anything.

Mostly, Malcolm would’ve figured the place for a joke, if not for the smell. The smell turned his head the first time he walked past. The smell promised something. Proved something.

Malcolm couldn’t put a finger on what, exactly. But something.

Something more.

Something not normal.

Something special.

Maybe even magical.

The moment a middle aged woman walked in the shop, Malcolm hopped up. Not the best of distractions, but waiting made him fidgety. The bell on the door clattered way too loudly as Malcolm entered. He clenched it, silencing it, as he closed the shop door.

A mishmash of curiosities crammed every available wall shelf and island display. A short bookcase provided cover and he crouched as he slipped along beside it. He peeked around the far side to catch sight of the customer discussing crystals with the shopkeeper.

Malcolm had seen the shopkeeper through the window before. Probably early thirties, the woman decorated herself in a flowery, gauzy hippy skirt and floppy, knit sweater that somehow screamed both “new age” and “thrift shop” at the same time.

Ducking back, Malcolm scanned the titles. His fingertips danced over the spines. Some had a feel to them, like heat or static, but the titles didn’t jive with his search. His sharp hearing kept tabs on the conversation, trying to note if it was coming to an end or if the speakers moved closer or further away.

Until he found the book.

Malcolm’s palm hovered over the spine. The gold embossed title simply read, “The Secrets of the Fey.” What if it contained garbage? Then why did his hand tingle? His excitement bubbled through him. He had to have the book. Had to find the answers to the questions that clawed at him mercilessly.

He slipped the book from the shelf and tucked it under his shirt.

Only then did he notice the bell clanging at the door. His head snapped up. Had someone come in? Or the customer gone out? Distracted by the search, he’d forgotten to keep tabs on his surroundings. Hugging the hidden book to his chest, Malcolm crept to the edge of the bookcase.

The place was dead silent.

He peered around the bookshelf. Oh… so… slowly… No one seemed about. The place had an abandoned stillness. Creepy.

A hand touched his shoulder.

Malcolm yelped. He spun about, eyes wide. Heart ready to burst from his chest. The shopkeeper just smiled. “Who are we hiding from?” she asked, and then peeked around the shelves herself in a conspiratorial way. “I don’t see any scary monsters.”

He backed away, clutching his chest. The book made an obvious bulge under his t-shirt.

“What are we reading about?” she asked, all kindergarten teacherish.

Malcolm stammered, not making much of a coherent answer as she reached beneath his shirt and plucked out the book. He backed away, ready to bolt.

She simply turned it over and smiled at the cover. “You have questions about the fey?” She flipped to the table of contents. “How to find them perhaps?”

Malcolm gapped at her. After a long pause, he blinked. “Uh... yeah.”

“The fey are real, you know,” she said. “But, of course you do.” She gave him a knowing smile.

Malcolm trembled, the urge to run nearly overwhelming.

She pretended not to notice his reaction, but instead simply flipped through the book. “Ah, yes. So simple, really.” She closed it with a thump. “Let me jot down the directions.”

Chapter Two

Malcolm checked the hand drawn map, then the surroundings. The little stone bridge spanned the stream there. Check. Clumps of trees down the little hill to the left. Check. So far so good. So where the hell was the circle of stones? He turned the map upside down. Didn’t make sense that way, though. Was he supposed to build the circle of stones? Hell, there were not even any stones around.

According to Flora’s supposed expertise, some fey fella named “Rand” hung out around here. Seemed a pretty unlikely place to Malcolm. Not even any houses in sight. She’d said if he followed the instructions it would call him out somehow. Maybe this Rand guy fished the river or something.

“This is so stupid.” He jammed the paper back in his pocket. “So bloody stupid.” Stupid or not, Malcolm hiked back to the stream. He jerked his shirt off and used it to gather a load of egg sized river stones. Back at the trees he spilled them out in more or less of an oval. He kicked them around until the shape was as close to a circle as he could manage.

Once satisfied, he fished out his lighter and the pocketful of herbs Flora gave him. Malcolm thought her name sounded phony, but who cared? She’d not given him the book, just the instructions and a nickel’s worth of dried out weeds.

After a couple of failed attempts to set fire to the fist sized pile in the middle of the circle, Malcolm scooped the herbs back up and wrapped them up in the paper from his pocket. He put the wad on the ground and set it alight. The flame died down to a glow of smoldering ash, threatening to burn itself out, when with a sudden whoosh the herbs ignited into a massive smoke bomb.

Coughing, Malcolm stumbled back. The sooty smoke burned his eyes and he scrubbed at them. The smoke rose through the trees, reaching like a beacon into the clear sky.

Flora instructed Malcolm to hum or sing to lure the supposedly timid fey out of hiding. Seemed about the dumbest thing, on top of all the other dumb stuff he’d done already. Malcolm gave the ring of rocks and smoke signal about five minutes to kick in. When no fey showed up he started humming “Danny Boy.”

“Is your head a Marley?”

Malcolm spun about. “Rand?” The guy glared at him. Whoever he was, he was no farmer peeved at some punk trespasser. Not in those pressed slacks and clean button-up shirt with the purple sheen of silk. Realizing he was shirtless, Malcolm shook out his wet and dirty t-shirt and yanked it back on. “I… Just…” He scrubbed his dirty hands on his jeans.

“Put it out, fey boy.” The guy pointed to the smoldering bundle.

Malcolm stomped out the ashes, choking on the smoke. Fey boy? Without even asking, Malcolm could feel the difference in the guy. Felt the vibe from him like prickling heat on his skin. “You are fey, right?”

“Shut up and come here already.” Rand snatched Malcolm by the back of the neck. Before Malcolm could squawk a protest they vanished from the bright sunny wood.

Chapter Three

One second he’d been in a summer wood. The next second Malcolm found himself in the shadowed depths of a cave. Luminescent moss glowed with ambient light as if by some enchantment. The weak light glinted off the wet cave walls. The place stank like molded socks and over-used cat litter. Malcolm brought the back of his hand up to his nose, as if that might prevent the onslaught to his nasal passages.

“Dark Rot! Get your filthy arse out here!” Rand shouted into the depths of the cave.

Disoriented, Malcolm dropped to his knees, which hurt like heck on the uneven stony ground, but that pain didn’t completely cut through the confusion frying his brain. His questions gasped out so fast they almost tumbled over each other. “What happened? How’d we get here? What is this place?”

The guy only sneered at Malcolm.

Not good.

A scuttling sound echoed from the deep. Malcolm scrambled to his feet and ducked behind Rand.

A platoon of green-skinned creatures scurried up the cave, filling it from wall to wall with their leathery, naked bodies. Goblins? Huge eyes reflected evilly. Sharp irregular teeth protruded from their opened mouths, like their teeth were too big to wrap their lips closed over them. They hissed and snarled, but Rand didn’t appear the least bothered by it. Between the slurping and guttural mumblings one word kept repeating. “Sidhe.”

So not good.

Get "Scars of Silver" on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, and Smashwords.