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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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...

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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.

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Uprising - Sneak Peek

Uprising - Rise of the Unseelie #5

Chapter One

The music was dying.

Way far away, so far that Malcolm shouldn’t even hear it, the music just barely, barely played on. Just a whisper. Just a melody that his ears strained to catch. Even cupping his hands behind his pointed elven ears didn’t help. Nor trying to hum along.

But it was out there. Playing for him.

So very far away.

Dying… bit by bit.

And very soon, it would be gone forever.

Malcolm opened his eyes when Donovan’s deep voice covered the music. “Bloodhounds are trackers. It’s what you do best.”

Even though the breeze tugged at Donovan’s night-black hair, the movement of the rock dust in Donovan’s magic only stirred to that Sidhe’s will. Malcolm could see Donovan’s strength of focus through the tight, slow coil of power. You might not know it to look at Donovan, who seemed pretty controlled most of the time, that he commanded such devastating magic. He could tear a gash open in the world big enough to swallow this whole town and not even tense a muscle. Donovan was that kind of badass. Sometimes, when he was close, Malcolm could even smell the earthy scent of his magic and hear the crushing grind of rocks. And as impressive as all that magic was— and it was truly brilliant stuff— that wasn’t even the most amazing thing about Donovan. Not by a long shot.

Malcolm shook out his hands, like that could cast off some of his nerves. Getting ready for business, he shoved up the long sleeves of his t-shirt, showing off the leather bands around his wrists that Donovan had given him to cover the scars. “I’m ready. It’s just… It’s real faint.”

“We’ll find this Sidhe. Just point the way.” Donovan bound a blindfold over Malcolm’s eyes, and then lifted the headphones slung around Malcolm’s neck and settled them into place. The cushions completely encased his ears, so that if Donovan said anything else, Malcolm couldn’t hear it.

With the world closed out, all that Malcolm sensed came from magic. Even from the rooftop of his apartment building, he still caught glimpses of the lights whizzing and flickering out of the Glamour Club across the street. The magic noise from the club wasn’t too bad, though. Not so much that he couldn’t still hear the music. Straining to catch the tune again, Malcolm gripped the headphones with his hands, like that might help pick it up somehow.

Once before, he’d tracked magic; his own magic that still lingered on one of the humans that he’d Touched. And he’d found a fragment of his magic and followed it back to the person attached to it, only it wasn’t the exact human he’d been looking for. Magic was tricky. Slippery. Constantly moving and flexing. And very weirdly, it reached into the fabric of everything. Like little bitty threads. It moved through the sky. It moved through the ground. It went all over the place. Picking out just the thread that he wanted from the current flowing around them was extra tricky. Especially this faint little tune.

But he’d studied it real good. When he’d found the human whose body still held traces of his own magic, Malcolm had found this music, too. The human stole the magic; Malcolm was straight-up positive about that. That human witch, Flora, was all about stealing people’s magic. And this music belonged to a Sidhe, no doubt about that either. It was Touch magic, and only the Sidhe could make that.

A little less sure, Malcolm figured this Sidhe was a lass. The tune had a girly sound to it, he thought. Kinda higher pitched. Like violins or flutes. Kinda… well… pretty. Dainty, even.

He didn’t know. Whatever. Didn’t matter. Lass or bloke, Malcolm meant to find her. Him. Whatever.

Reaching out toward the fibers of magic flowing all about him like neon gossamer strands of ghostly pixie hair, Malcolm stretched out his hand. Shifting his fingers through the energy like caressing the soft whispers of a stream, Malcolm listened for the music he knew by heart.

And the thread he sought curled about his fingertips. A fine thread so fragile it might snap if he tugged on it. Rather than pull on it, Malcolm tilted his head to follow it with his blindfolded eyes as far as he could see before it was lost in the ocean of magic. “That way.”

The solid warmth of Donovan’s hand gripped Malcolm’s shoulder. And in the next second…

Slip!

The stretching, sliding sensation of teleportation startled him. The lurching movement nearly upset his stomach. Just like in a dream where the ground suddenly drops out so you jump to catch yourself, Malcolm jolted. Only Donovan’s hand kept him steady-ish on his feet. Malcolm widened his stance, hoping to overcome the sense of tilting. If he could open his eyes maybe he could orient himself better, but he didn’t want to mess with the magic. Not now that he had a grip on the thread he wanted.

Donovan’s hand stayed tight and when the wooziness settled down, Malcolm whispered, “I’m alright.” But he couldn’t hear himself outside his own head, which was weird and only made him feel even more disconnected from the ‘real’ and more immersed in the magic.

Malcolm lifted his hand. The thread still interlaced about his fingers. The slack lessened. Turning with it, Malcolm faced the wind. The scent of grass and trees brushed over his face. Other magic sounds reached him through the silence of the headphones, but Malcolm ignored them. Only the music mattered. The fragile, fading song that tugged at him. He pointed toward it. And…

Slip!

The ground seemed to slide beneath him, stretching to someplace new, and then snapping into place again. Malcolm pitched backward, losing his balance in the massive sense of moving. They’d teleported a lot farther this time. A lot farther. The slip lasted like forever… or about five seconds really… which was forever in teleportation time. He’d always thought of it before as instant. Only it totally wasn’t.

Donovan gripped Malcolm tighter, jerking him back to his feet before he fell on his bum. The ground beneath him really did move under his feet this time, as Malcolm worked at getting his footing. It was soft, like sand. The smell of the sea filled his lungs as he caught his breath.

Taking a moment to orient himself, Malcolm glanced out and then up. Out a ways, maybe a kilometer or so, although he couldn’t be at all sure about that, a massive curtain of magic rose from the ground and arched overhead. “What is that?” The colors flexed and shimmered with a rainbow of hues. He’d seen the curtain of magic in the sky before. For a long time, he’d thought the sky was like a ceiling way, way overhead, but his parents told him ‘no,’ that it just seemed that way. But they couldn’t see like he could see. They couldn’t see magic like him at all. Malcolm had been right. There was a ceiling over them, just made of magic, and it curved into the ground right out there a ways, like they were inside a giant bowl turned upside down.

The squeeze on his shoulder woke Malcolm out of his pondering. “Right, right. Find the music first. I’m on it.” He sucked in a breath and then blew it out. They’d gone so far, he didn’t keep hold of the thread this time. Malcolm lifted his face toward the sky. Ignoring the bowl thingy, he watched for the current of magic. The thread he wanted drifted along with the others, close to the surface. Malcolm reached for it, and like it had come to anticipate his caress, it floated out of the mass and stroked over his outstretched hand. The music played for him. So familiar now, but no less beautiful for it. “Getting closer now. Just there.” He pointed.

Donovan’s hand disappeared from his shoulder, and Malcolm turned to see if he’d left him. But he could still see the man, even with the blindfold on. Now he saw the magic of him only. The way it moved and twisted inside him like watching a neon rendering of the circulatory system. The dust moved about him, defining the shape of him. And like always, the magic reached down into the earth below Donovan like a pipeline of power.

Looking at this magical version of Donovan, Malcolm pointed again. “Just… Right that way a piece. We’re not far now. Just a bit past the curtain-bowl thingy.”

He felt the headphones being lifted from his head and the blindfold removed. Malcolm blinked against the setting sunlight still sparkling off the water. “I don’t understand.” He frowned, accepting the headphones Donovan handed off to him that he needed to give back to Emma, the Glamour Club DJ. “What’s with the curtain? Why can’t we go past it?”

“I think you are seeing the Great Veil. It covers Ireland and keeps out the wizards.” He nodded out to sea where Malcolm had pointed. “I know what’s out there, and you’re not ready for it. You’ve done your part, Malcolm. This is as far as you go. I’ll take it from here.”

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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

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Sneak Peek - Compelled

Chapter One

"You screwed the pooch on that one, babe." Joe tilted back his beer bottle like that was the punctuation on the statement.

"Should I be thankful you didn't say 'I told you so?'" London picked up her cell phone from the bar. She'd set it out to show him the text message she'd gotten. We're coming for you. It still gave her the shivers, like she needed to keep looking over her shoulder. The number hadn't been one she'd recognized, but she had a good idea who sent it. Kieran had taken her business card. If the message didn't come from him, then it had to be one of the other Unseelie of the Glamour Club. There were two kinds of people in the world; the kind that dropped the chase when you outran them and the kind that would hunt you to the ends of the earth no matter how long it took. Wouldn't you know it? The Unseelie were the grudge-holding kind. "It's not like I got a manual on how to be enchanted when the Sidhe cursed me. I made a mistake."

"A bunch of mistakes," Joe corrected her.

"A bunch of mistakes," she agreed. "But I am trying to change." She dropped her phone into her jacket pocket. "Probably too late now. I've got a big target on my back and no way to redeem myself."

Joe slid a glance at her, eyes half-closed like he was debating something. The cold blue of his gaze made his attention hit with more impact. For a human, Joe Lansing was one hell of a guy. Tall, casually handsome in those worn jeans and Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, with an edge of toughness that could stare down a werewolf without flinching. The military and law enforcement background showed in his bearing, but he'd been out of them long enough to lose that clean-cut look a lot of guys kept for a while after the service. His sandy-colored hair looked finger-combed and the stubble on his face was at least a day old. It added to his whole 'don't mess with me' vibe. It was a trick that worked for a guy like him. Made him seem impressively badass without even trying. And yet he was just as enchanted as she was. Just another human cursed by the magic of the Sidhe. He said, "Don't count yourself out just yet."

"You're not thinking of introducing me to your boss. He's Unseelie."

"Donovan might run the show at the Glamour Club, but he doesn't speak for all Unseelie." When Joe smiled, he looked like trouble.

London shook her head, playing with her bottle of Guinness without any real interest in drinking from it. Amazing how living on borrowed time put a damper on the small joys of life. "But you said this Tiernan fellow is mates with Donovan."

"You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Tiernan's a businessman. He wraps himself up in the partying playboy image so people underestimate him, but he's wicked sharp. Trust me." Joe pointed at her with the neck of his bottle. "Your problem isn't that Donovan wants you dead. It's your reputation. Snatching one of Donovan's boys for your personal Touch slave isn't something anyone's going to soon forget. It doesn't matter that you came to your senses and gave him back. It doesn't matter that you fought your way through a bunch of werewolves to do it. Nobody even cares about that."

She winced. "Tell me again why I shouldn't count myself out yet?"

"You've got a bad reputation. A well-deserved bad reputation at that. But it happens. What you need to do now is prove yourself." Those blue eyes twinkled with wickedness.

London laughed, and not the amused kind. It was the I-know-I'm-going-to-regret-this kind. "Why do I have the feeling that you have just the very idea about how I can prove myself to your boss?"

He grinned, and somehow it managed to be both sexy and sly at the same time. "Because you're perceptive."

"You want my help for something and that's why you called me." London finally put two and two together. That evening she'd driven all the way to this pub in Dundalk to meet him, since it was halfway between Dublin and where he was staying outside of Belfast. Catching up over a couple of pints and bending his sympathetic ear was all she'd expected. After all, Joe was the only other person she knew who'd been cursed. The only person who could really relate to what she was going through. The only person who might clue her in on how to survive as an enchanted human. "It wasn't just that you'd heard about my death sentence and wanted to give me a friendly pep talk."

"I never have been much of a pep talk kind of guy."

"And you reckon Tiernan will take me on if I prove myself?" The possibility seemed valid. Joe hadn't a pristine reputation, either. They'd met on a nasty job for a Changeling. Turned out that the Sidhe the Changeling claimed to work for was actually his captive. London hadn't figured it out at the time. From the things he'd said, she was pretty certain that Joe had. So if Tiernan could overlook Joe's sordid history, maybe he could overlook hers.

"Honestly? I haven't a clue." Joe shrugged, all casually blunt. As if it wasn't her life or her death that they were discussing. "But couldn't hurt to try. What else have you got to do?"

"You're a prat, you do know that, don't you?"

"Pretty much." He set down his beer. "So that's a 'yes, I'd love to risk my neck to help you,' right?"

London snorted. He was right. What other choice did she have? Wasn't that the story of her life since becoming enchanted? Not having any choice but the one that fed her addiction to the Touch, no matter how dangerous or morally questionable? "Just tell me the job."

"I need to check out some guy who's come to Tiernan's attention."

"Why do you need my help? You've got skills." And wasn't that the truth? The man handled a gun like the Marine Corps Special Forces that he'd been. All focused and professional, even in the heat of a firefight.

"But not the right equipment." He winked with a randy flirtatiousness that was altogether delicious on him. "This dude's a real ladies' man. You could probably just do the hair-flip thing and get him to spill his guts."

"My hair's too short to do the hair-flip thing." She slid her fingers through her close-cropped, dark hair. The style looked good on her, she thought, but more importantly, it kept it out of the way. One time having her ponytail snatched in a scuffle was enough for her. And since she frequently worked for vampires, she could imagine one using her hair like a handle to force her to arch her neck. No point in making it easy.

"Then do the sultry batting-eyelids thing. Work it, girl."

"This is the part where I slap you, right?" she joked.

"Nope. This is the part where you think it's an easy gig and if it gets you in good with a Sidhe, then it's worth admitting for five minutes that you're a sexy woman."

She smirked at him. Admittedly, she might be somewhat attractive by human standards. But compared to the fey, she was the epitome of average. Even if Joe thought she was easy on the eyes, she knew this flattery was all about leverage. "You're so full of it."

"Part of my charm." He dug a folded bill from his pocket, tossed it down on the counter for the bartender, and then extracted a slip of paper and handed it to her. "Meet me at the pier in Newcastle tomorrow. The arrangements are all set up."

London watched him walk out. Nothing wrong with the way his jeans fit when he swaggered. The cocky chap hadn't for a minute doubted that she'd agree to this job. In truth, she'd not at all been offended by the suggestion of sex appeal to get an advantage. It was nice to know Joe thought she had some.

Smiling a little to herself, London unfolded the paper. It was a flier for some bloke claiming to be a druid. He was having some kind of a ceremony at Cashtal Yn Ard, an old burial site on the Isle of Man.

London's smile vanished. The Isle of Man. Wizard territory.

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Enchanted - Touched #3

 Here's a sneak peek at the first chapter in Enchanted!

 Chapter One

London wasn’t looking for Mr. Right. Not even Mr. Right Now. No, she searched for someone much more special than that. More unique. She searched for someone with that special Touch. The Touch she craved. The Touch she would die without.

Most humans cursed with this particular addiction died lonely, miserable deaths. But London wasn’t most humans. She wouldn’t go out that way.

Six weeks.

For six weeks she’d scrounged for every lead. Hit up favors from every underworld scum, fey or otherwise. Promised some disgusting favors to others, if they could point her in the right direction.

Six weeks of total agony. The need… the longing… twisted within her, becoming more and more unbearable with each breath. Finding a Sidhe wasn’t an option. It meant her life and her sanity.

But finding this special someone was only the first problem. The second… well, that’s what the gun was for.

So when she spotted tall, dark, and Sidhe slipping out of the curtain of Glamour that disguised the entrance to a fey-only club, London trailed him. She knew how to tail a suspect, not that this fellow taxed her skill set. He glanced up from his smartphone just often enough to navigate.

To the uninitiated, this particular Sidhe could pass for human. A really sexy human male. The kind of sexy that made you stare. The kind of drop dead gorgeous Hollywood would pay millions for, but could only achieve after hours in a make-up chair and with careful camera angles and creative lighting. There was simply no such thing as an unattractive Sidhe. Heck, there was no such thing as a kind-of good-looking Sidhe. They were all— every last cursed one of them— too damned sexy for anyone’s good.
So that was one reason London hadn’t a single doubt that her prey was Sidhe.

The rugby jersey, the jeans, the trainers, none of it fooled her for a second. He moved with the fluid grace of a dancer, covering ground easily on those long, sexy legs of his. London spoiled herself, admiring his gorgeous bum as she followed. Those jeans fit him wicked perfectly.

The enjoyment lasted only a few blocks, where he passed from the sparsely populated industrial area to a street lined with shops. The Sidhe ducked into the music store. London paused outside, watching him through the window as he flipped through CDs. She smiled to herself. That should occupy him just long enough.

Within five minutes, she parked her car along the Sidhe’s route. London squeezed the steering wheel, but her hands still trembled. Every second telescoped with impatient agony as she glared at the empty street. Where is he? What if he doesn’t come back this way? The earthborns, the young and inexperienced Sidhe, didn’t often stray from the club. There was no telling how long she’d have to wait for another opportunity. “Come on, now,” she murmured. “You’ve jerked me around long enough.”

The Sidhe turned the corner two blocks down, heading her way. London stared at him, transfixed by the perfection of his body and the promise of his magic, both lethal obsessions. Snapping herself out of her daze, she accused him, “You did this to me.” Maybe not this guy in particular, but one of his kind. They didn’t care, these Sidhe. None of them cared. Just like Rico, who cursed her so she’d work for him. Just like the dark-eyed Sidhe whose name she didn’t even know, but who’d sent her and the other hapless humans he controlled off on a doomed temple raid, to slaughter or be slaughtered. They just didn’t care. None of these Sidhe cared.

They’d meant to enslave her with this curse. Time for them to pay the price. Time for her to take control again.

The Sidhe carried a small shopping bag, his attention focused on the CD case in his hand, reading as he walked.

London slipped unnoticed from her vehicle and circled around the rear bumper, out of his line of sight. As she peeked over the car, her hand slipped into her blazer pocket. She’d have to time it just right. When the Sidhe passed the front bumper, London moved.

Not every private investigator was trained in hand-to-hand combat. In truth, London hadn’t done much herself until she’d begun to specialize in parahuman cases, those involving former humans who’d become either vamps or weres. Even now, she’d still be considered a novice. But what skills she did possess, coupled with the element of surprise and the determination of her addiction, inspired her body to flow almost without her conscious effort.

As she strolled past the Sidhe, he glanced up and flashed a smile so brilliant that she couldn’t help but blush as she smiled back. Certainly, the Sidhe never expected her to catch his wrist as she ‘brushed’ against him. The click of the handcuff snapping into place caught his attention, too late though. London spun in behind him, jerking back the wrist she’d snared and grabbing his other arm before he could fathom what she meant to do. Just after she locked the second cuff into place, London kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to kneel before her.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” the Sidhe yelled over his shoulder, struggling against the bonds.

With a handful of his incredibly silky hair, she arched his head back. The muzzle of her gun pressed to his temple. “This is the part where you come with me,” she said, her voice low and direct.

“Are you insane?”

Certainly a rhetorical question, but she snapped, “If I am, it’s all your fault, Sidhe!” She released his hair to reach over and open the door. “Now get in!”

He closed his eyes. Winced hard.

London bent close to his ear and whispered, “You’re not teleporting anywhere with those silver handcuffs you’re wearing.”

He twisted around, maybe trying to look at her, maybe attempting to wiggle away from her. It didn’t matter. He managed to plant one foot on the ground in his struggle and London used the moment when he was off balance to shove him, with all her weight behind him, right into the backseat. He dove in head first. When he rolled back up to a sitting position she had the seatbelt ready. With the gun jammed in the hollow of his throat, forcing him to lean back, she reached across and belted the restraint into place. She backed out of the car and slammed the door. Snatching him from the street hadn’t even taken a full minute.

London hopped into the driver’s seat, diagonal from the Sidhe. The gun she tucked into the pocket on the door, where she could retrieve it quickly. She sped off. The only evidence that he’d ever even been there was the CDs, scattered and abandoned on the ground.

###

Read the full story in Enchanted - Touched #3

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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!

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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.

###

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Addicted (Touched #2) Excerpt

Addicted 

Chapter One 

(This story begins two weeks before the final scenes in Scars of Silver: Rise of the Unseelie #2)

“Are you sure he’s Sidhe? Not just some other kind of fey?” The very notion that the four young vampires across from her might lead her to a Sidhe catapulted her heart into a frenzied beat. It was all London could do not to reach across the booth and snatch one of them and demand they lead her to him. Knowing that they might still have a wisp of his magic embedded in their bodies had her fingers curling, wanting to tear open their flesh to get at it. That’s how horribly the addiction shredded her. Even the barest notion of Sidhe magic slashed at her sanity. The Sidhe Touch was the only thing that could give her relief from the growing, aching desire. London hated it. Hated that this obsession possessed her so mercilessly, destroying the life she’d once known, eliminating the freedom she’d once taken for granted.

Digging her nails into her palms, London fought within herself to pull free of the fixation long enough to focus on this conversation.

She leaned forward, her elbows on the more-clean-than-not table. The circle of faint light from the hanging bulb overhead left the corners of the booth in partial shadow. The bar catered to parahumans, so was darker than most. Vamps and weres, with their sharp night vision, didn’t require a lot of light to see by. As a human accustomed to the ways of the parahumans, it didn’t faze London. The place had a stripped down appearance -- all dark wood furniture and paneling, hardy furnishings that didn’t break easily. The seats didn’t even have any cushioning. No pictures or what-nots on the walls that would become debris when fights broke out, less to have to clean up. Clearly a bar owned by weres, rather than vampires. Not that they discriminated.

The young vampires in the circular booth glanced at each other, each waiting for one of the others to answer her question. London knew newbie vampires when she spotted them. The lack of confidence was telling. They were separated into couples, which was another giveaway. In another few decades they wouldn’t waste time playing the boyfriend/girlfriend game.

“Well, they said he was a Sidhe, you know? But for real, how would you know if he’s Sidhe or not? Is there some kind of sign?” Charnel, the blonde girl in the white leather bustier leaned forward, giving London a far better view than she wanted.

“All fey have magic in their blood. But the Sidhe, they are something special. Something more.” London understood parahumans. She negotiated their world almost like one of them. Not like the fey. She’d not been prepared for them at all, especially not the Sidhe. Even this barest thought of them sent her mind tripping compulsively back into unwanted remembrance.


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Sneak Peek of "Champion of the Fey"

 *Enjoy this sample! "Champion of the Fey" coming soon!*

The enchanted gold dust spiraled in a vortex as if a miniature tornado spun within the vial. The glass container itself was not much longer or wider than Lugh’s index finger. Magic twinkled off the dust, as though chips of stars mixed with the gold.

Lugh glanced up from the vial to the row of terraced houses. They had the architectural appeal of bay windows and artistic brickwork. Even still, this neighborhood in Bristol appeared unremarkable compared to most other modern, middle class neighborhoods in England. If not for the reaction of the gold dust in the vial, Lugh would not have guessed that one of the artifacts might have found its way to such an unassuming place. Somewhere in the heart of this mundane humanity, seemingly devoid of even the faintest spark of magic, lay a fragment of the ancient realm of fey.

Even this bit of magic in his hand, this vial of enchantment, seemed ridiculously insignificant in the hands of a Sidhe. And yet held within its simple magicraft it harbored the fragile hope that might save what little survived of the fey. The notion was laughable. The likelihood of success so slim as to be the width of a fairy’s eyelash from total impossibility. Fool’s errand this might be, what else had he? Accept defeat and surrender to the Fade with noble stoicism?

For most of the morning, Lugh watched the house from his perch on the top of a stone garden wall just across the narrow lane. Secure in the belief that his Glamour rendered him invisible to the eyes of mortals, Lugh debated his options. Direct assault? Not his usual strategy, but not beneath him, either. The double-paned, wood-framed windows likely would shatter beneath a precise kick. Then there was the consideration of someone summoning the constables and that was always a needless hassle.

Without having seen inside the building, Lugh could not merely teleport into the house. How ignoble of him to contemplate peeping through the window like a tomcat. Still, if it brought him the prize he sought, then nicety must give way to necessity.

As Lugh debated his options, a young blonde woman emerged from the house. Her loose hair fell in unkempt locks down her back and shoulders. The patchwork peasant skirt flattered her lovely, long legs. The skirt had a gypsy look to it, as did the odd choices of tops. The long, pale blue sleeves flared around delicate forearms, and a dark, tight-fitting top covered it, so the elbow-length sleeves contoured to her thin arms and the feminine curves of her chest.

A seductive grin tugged at his lips. Now charming beautiful women was one of his specialties.

*end of sample*

"Champion of the Fey" coming soon!