Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance

by Lisa Rae Roman

  The connection solidified, hard as diamonds and just as unbreakable. The pressure in Samuel’s head receded, and the terrible ache in his chest eased. His pulse slowed, heartbeat syncing with his Ca’anam in perfect harmony.

  He removed his fangs and licked the wounds clean, healing them instantly. His bite had encompassed most of her small breast, stamping opposing sickle-shaped stains on her satin skin. The brand was large, the color of a fresh, ugly bruise, and wondrously permanent.

  “Samuel?” Abby sounded tired and weak but her heart beat strongly, its rhythm steadfast and sure. “Did I miss something?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning,” he lied smoothly, but couldn’t hide his broad grin. He pulled his tee off and maneuvered her into it. The black cotton concealed her from chin to knee.

  The bond was completely open, emotions flowing unchecked and unguarded, dousing him in a multitude of sensations. All of them good. He kissed her softly, clawless fingers on the pulse at her throat.

  She kissed him back, and his happiness spilled over the mating bond, coursing down the pack link in a deluge. Noah and Buck regained their human forms, faces beaming. Ethan sped over and clapped a recovered Tucker on the back.

  “Nothing exciting, huh?” Abby repeated when their mouths finally broke apart, taking in the bloodied vampire bodies strewn across the floor.

  “We’ll discuss it after you’ve seen a healer for that shoulder.” Samuel’s arm slipped under her knees, sweeping her up. He stood carefully, mindful of her injuries. The claiming had saved Abby’s life, but she still needed her dislocated joint reset along with time to heal from the numerous Walks in the Rip.

  “Pfft…I’m fine.” Her good hand was absently petting his bare skin. “It hardly hurts at all.”

  Samuel grunted but didn’t argue. She was going to the healer. End of discussion.

  “I’m just tired.”

  “You can rest on the way.”

  “Stubborn Ferwyn,” she said on a warm exhale, her cheek on his naked chest. “Can’t we go home now?”

  It was the first time Abby had referred to the island as home.

  “Soon, darlin’,” he managed to say after swallowing hard. Boosting her higher in his arms, he rubbed his chin over her hair, reabsorbing his mate’s scent into his pores. “I’ll take you home soon.”

  Samuel was already there.

  Chapter 29

  The fine hairs on Daimhín’s arms raised in warning, the unanticipated precursor of incoming magic making him frown ferociously. He didn’t like surprises.

  Activating the locking ward on the outer doors, he allowed his human glamour to fade, exulting in the return of his true form. He shook his head, and the long fall of his platinum hair swished pleasingly against the small of his back. The pinna of his ears extended to fine points while his neck elongated gracefully. He sat straighter behind his desk as his torso and legs lengthened, waist thinning to willowy proportions, shoulders broadening; his expensive suit adjusting to the change as though made of quicksilver. The skin on his face smoothed into an ageless visage, his cheekbones sharpening and irises lightening to an almost colorless silver hue. His pureblood Sídhe features were that of the ethereal beings mistaken throughout Earth’s history as gods and angels.

  The pressure in the room shifted. An alteration so subtle only the eldest of the Fae nobles would take note. The slight fluctuation identified the type of power being utilized, infuriating Daimhín further as he recognized its finite source.

  The popping of displaced air was quickly accompanied by a thud and the ominous sounds of gagging.

  “Vomit on my Persian rug and you’ll be licking it clean with your tongue,” he promised the man who landed on hands and knees in the center of his office. A dull gray rock the size of a chicken egg disintegrated as it rolled across the floor. It had once been dark red, soaked in his magical essence.

  The visually stimulating threat broke the last of the human’s precarious control, and he lurched toward the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before spewing the contents of his stomach. The sickening odors and mumbled apologies between bouts of loud retching brought Daimhín’s already stretched patience to an end.

  “If you’re done puking your guts out, tell me why you wasted a travel stone to visit uninvited?”

  The faucet squeaked on, and he heard running water, slurping, and spitting before his unexpected guest replied unsteadily, “I had no other choice, milord. They would’ve killed me if I’d stayed.”

  “Stayed where?” he asked sharply.

  “Texas.” Derek stumbled into the main room, his complexion waxen. “I wanted to check on Abby’s progress.”

  “I gave no such orders,” he replied, voice low and sinister. “Sinclair keeps me well informed.”

  “I know, but I didn’t think—”

  “You never do. How even a drop of my blood runs in your veins is a mystery of epic proportions.”

  Daimhín had been tracing the rare Na’fhuil lines for generations, waiting for halfbloods with the mutated gene to be born. But the overwhelming majority were virtually worthless carriers like Derek, useful for little more than breeding roulette. Of course, the first Rip Walker produced in a thousand years would be from that bitch Niamh’s line, while his stock spawned a meager two Jumpers in the past four hundred years.

  Derek’s position with the MPD was convenient for keeping an eye on local island politics and for monitoring Abby while in Memphis, but he certainly never planned to pair the uniquely gifted female with his magically impotent progeny. He had a Jumper in mind for the role when the time came.

  If Derek had a brain in his head, he would question why they hadn’t bred the halfblood years ago and then ask why Daimhín would ever mate the only Walker to a biological dud.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” he said in a strangled voice. “She’s gone.”

  Daimhín rose slowly from his chair, reigning in his fury. “Príoh Walker?”

  Derek nodded. “If the king’s hybrid succeeded in capturing Abby sooner, she wouldn’t have acquired the second Mark that enabled the wolf to track her to Sinclair’s warehouse. You promised Abby to me, and now she’s with him again.” His voice gained reckless volume in his anger. “We have to retrieve her quickly. What if they are truemates and the Ferwyn impregnates her?”

  “If she whelps a pup, we’ll kill it.”

  “You vowed I’d be transitioned to Dádhe in my prime.” He sniveled, wiping his still-watering eyes and wet mouth with the back of his hand. “She has to bear my heirs before I’m made infertile.”

  “She will,” Daimhín lied easily. The inability of his race to tell a falsehood was another untruth the Fae intentionally cultivated from the moment they entered Earth’s realm. “But first she has a more important duty to perform.”

  It had been laughably easy to manipulate the unwitting director into allowing Abby to remain free. And it was absolutely necessary. The facility took too many chances with their Na’fhuil operatives. The deadly hazards began to outweigh the advantage of growing the halfblood’s power through repeated usage, daily training, and age. It also conveniently separated her from her brother.

  Daimhín’s plan for the female to mature safely and ignorantly underneath his thumb had gone perfectly. Until Abby’s unexpected presence during the attack on a momentarily vulnerable Rose ruined everything. He lost the oldest and most skilled member of his bastardized House that night along with temporary control of an irreplaceable asset. In hindsight, a more expendable Ferwyn outcast should have been sent to do the job. Or maybe a witch would have been better suited to the task? Though getting an Anwyll prima donna to jeopardize their anonymity was like pulling pixie teeth.

  And yet, he still might have taken the chance on a preemptive strike against a queen who would fight his ultimate vision. The odds of an emotionally scarred Abby revealing her existence had been infinitesimal. He underestimated the petite halfblood. It wouldn’t happen again. “And Sinclair?”

>   “He ran from Prince Myles before I transported. Why you put so much trust in that arrogant vampire—”

  “Am I correct in assuming your cover has been, how do they say, blown?”

  Derek’s faced paled, sweat forming on his upper lip. “Yes, but I can still be of service. As a cop I can help the Athair behind the scenes and—”

  “Silence,” he ordered the insignificant whiner, stalking forward. He halted when close enough to sense the absence of the ancient relic’s magic. “Where is the dagger?”

  Derek fell prostrate. “I’m sorry, milord. I…I was angry. I wanted the commander dead. I threw the knife and Abby…”

  “Abby what?” he seethed. Entrusting the human with the priceless artifact had been an impulsive mistake. One he would be correcting shortly.

  “She entered the Rip.” He raised his head from the carpet, dared to meet his eyes. “And saved the bastard. That’s when I used the stone.”

  Daimhín crouched onto the stiff toes of his shiny leather wingtips in front of the prone man. He used three slender fingers, curling them under Derek’s chin and lifting until the human’s neck stretched unnaturally.

  Derek gasped in pain but didn’t dare protest.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now for disobedience?”

  “I saw something,” he said, licking his lips.

  Quick as a striking viper, Daimhín seized Derek by the throat and rose, hoisting his weakling progeny until his feet dangled off the floor.

  “You saw what?”

  “Will you spare my life if I tell you?” He gasped again, face turning purple. He clutched at Daimhín’s wrist to relieve the pressure. “I can still…help. My father is—”

  “Rich and powerful. Yes, I know.”

  “His influence in the government—”

  “Talk and you’ll live another day. What did you see?”

  Daimhín lowered him to the ground, granting just enough leeway for Derek to speak. “Something was different when Abby Walked that last time.”

  “Explain.” He released the worm, wiping his palm on his pristine suit coat.

  “Trees. I think I saw trees,” he said, taking a step back and rubbing his bruised throat.

  “Faery?” Daimhín breathed. After centuries of waiting and plotting, could he finally be close to success? Close to his people retaking their rightful place as gods among mortal men? “Are you sure?”

  “I think so. It all happened so fast, but I had the impression of a forest before Abby collapsed at the Ferwyn’s feet.”

  Daimhín slammed Derek against the nearest wall, palm over his heart, keeping him in place. “Does the halfblood live? If your impulsiveness cost me her life, I will make you wish for death before I am through.”

  “I don’t know.” His eyes were wild and filled with fear.

  Daimhín pushed against Derek’s torso, and his breastbone cracked. “Does. She. Live?”

  “She must.” Tears ran down his face, breaths coming in shallow gulps.

  Daimhín fingernails sharpened and dug into Derek’s flesh, drawing blood. “But you don’t know for sure?”

  “The wolf wouldn’t let her die!” Derek screamed, fighting in earnest. Shrieking in pain.

  Daimhín used his other hand to slowly unbutton his cuff, methodically rolling his sleeve along with his jacket up his forearm while continuing to exert enough force to pin the struggling human.

  Once his arm was bare, he spoke a phrase in the Fae language—and then drove metal-like talons into Derek’s chest.

  He held his descendant’s heart as it pulsed, kept unnaturally beating by an ancient spell.

  “You said I’d live.” Derek gurgled, mouth agape with horror, gaze morbidly fastened on the fingers inside his chest.

  “I lied.”

  Twisting his wrist, he tore the organ from its warm, wet cavity and let the body drop. Murmuring another complex casting, Daimhín set the empty husk on fire from the inside out, turning it into a small pile of ash within seconds.

  He held his arm straight to avoid dripping onto his clothing as he walked into the bathroom, dropped the pulverized pulp in the toilet, and flushed. Carefully washing and drying his hands, he set his sleeve to rights and returned to his desk. Happy to see none of the blood on his favorite designer suit.

  The sting of magic engulfed his lithe frame as he reverted to the more cumbersome human facade. Opening the top drawer, he grabbed a bandage and applied it to his index finger before disengaging the sealing ward on the door and calling for his secretary.

  She entered his office after a soft knock. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ve had a bit of an accident, Mrs. Burns. I’m afraid I’ve cut myself and need housekeeping to clean the small mess I made on the way to the washroom. If you could take care of that for me, I’d be grateful.”

  The diminutive older woman rushed forward, blanching after spotting the trail of blood on the hardwood floor. “Do you need stitches? Should I call the driver to take you to the emergency room?” Her brow furrowed, the toe of her sensible shoes shifting through the gray powdery substance alongside the red splashes.

  “That won’t be necessary, it’s nothing,” he said, showing her the clean adhesive strip wrapped around his knuckle. “I’m just a heavy bleeder.” He flashed the killer smile that garnered many of his past human broodmares, displaying perfect white teeth and completely distracting her from Derek’s chalky remains.

  “Anything else, sir?” she asked, pushing her thick glasses up the bridge of her nose, flustered by his flirtatious attention.

  “Yes, notify my pilot to have the jet ready in…” He glanced at his wristwatch. “One hour. I’m heading to Memphis and want to be in the air by midnight.” He needed to meet with his associate, make sure the halfblood had survived her premature success.

  Abby had nearly reopened the pathway to Faery. Daimhín felt it in his bones. But she had pushed herself too far too quickly in her desire to save the príoh and would require a secure place to recuperate. Who better to keep her safe while she regained her magical strength than a Ferwyn mate?

  Maybe what Daimhín initially thought was a failure was in actuality a boon. He’d leave the Na’fhuil alone for the foreseeable future, knowing he could collect the female whenever he desired. After all, he did have an ace in the hole on the island.

  Daimhín was nothing if not patient. Centuries of expanding his secret army while waiting for a Walker to be born, maneuvering the right people into place like pieces on a chessboard in both the human and Fae Touched worlds, gaining their loyalty with real and false promises—it all required boundless perseverance. A decade anticipating Abby’s majority and the fullness of her powers only to discover she wasn’t ready was disappointing, but not catastrophic. What was another year or so in the grand scheme of his immortality?

  “Right away, sir,” his secretary interrupted his musing, already halfway to the exit. “Will there be anything else, Ambassador Faraday?”

  “No, Mrs. Burns, that will be all.”

  Epilogue

  “Being a lady is not about how you look or speak. It’s about choosing to respect yourself and others every day. It’s about outward kindness and inner strength. Grace and compassion. It’s about keeping your heart soft when life gets hard.”

  Bridget MacCarthy

  “It’s gorgeous.” Johnnie was practically squealing, her high-pitched vocals piercing the otherwise quiet stretch of Greenbelt Park. “Not every Ca’anam gets a ring. Most of our males think the permanent Mark is the symbol of their love.” She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Seriously? How stupid can they be? Why do you think so many of their mates want a human ceremony along with the traditional claiming celebration? What’s a wedding reception but a big fancy party anyway? Might as well combine them. Get the white dress and a big rock in the bargain. Am I right? Or am I right?” Her enthusiastic friend held Abby’s wrist, waving her hand around as if it were an extension of Johnnie’s arm.

  “Well…�
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  “I’m so happy for you,” she said, releasing Abby long enough to hug the life out of her. “Have you chosen a date yet? Can I help plan the wedding? Do you prefer roses or calla lilies?” She snapped her fingers. “Or maybe buttercups? Then we can refer to them as ranunculus. It’s such an awesome word. You like yellow, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but no, we haven’t picked a—”

  “We will have so much fun!” Johnnie came to her knees on the thick quilt they’d spread over a partially shaded patch of grass. She recaptured Abby’s hand, turning it this way and that, reflecting the rays of the hot summer sun with the diamond on her finger. “Look at it sparkle. Did I mention how gorgeous this is?”

  It was breathtaking.

  Johnnie chattered happily while Abby followed the glittering, bobbing engagement ring Samuel had given her only hours earlier.

  Cool metal sliding over her knuckle and a hot mouth sucking on her neck roused Abby from sleep. Drowsy lids stayed shut as she arched and drove her hands into Samuel’s hair—felt the weight on her finger.

  Froze.

  Her heart lurched, thudding madly beneath her ribs. She tried not to hyperventilate.

  “I love you, Abby. More than anything in this life, or the next.” Lips feathered over her jawline. Her cheek. Mapped her throat. Samuel palmed her bare breast, thumb stroking her nipple. “Marry me, my Ca’anam.”

  Abby opened her eyes, even though he’d see they were wet. “I thought I pretty much already did.”

  Her mate was braced on one forearm, the full length of his muscular, naked body covering hers, his hips seated between her legs. His gaze was intense, focused on her face, but his lips were curved in a sweet smile.

  “You missed our joining.” Then he frowned, forehead creasing. The golden luster in his eyes dimmed. “Let me give you another kind.”

  “It’s all right. You don’t have to,” she said, smoothing away his scowl. Then she stopped and stared, spreading her fingers wide.