by Cameo Renae
Both my father and mother are very powerful and highly respected Daoine Sidhe Fae, which means in the Seelie realm that we’re royalty. It also means that once my father is permanently appointed on the Seelie Court, I will see even less of my parents than I do now.
My grandfather, Akeel, held a prestigious position on the Seelie Court. When he died in December, he left his seat open. In the fae realm, only a direct bloodline descendant can fill a Seelie Court position after the rare death of an elder. So my father was invited to the island of Tír na nÓg in the fae realm, which required an extended stay for he and my mother to prepare my father to take over my grandfather’s position. We’ve summered on the magical island since I was a small child.
It’s the one place I feel free.
Normal.
Where I don’t have to hide who and what I truly am.
Unlike this small town I’ve grown up in.
Forced to mask my true identity from the human residents who call Havenwood Falls home.
That is how I ended up living with my human grandmother, Miss Mary Beth Fairchild. I moved in with her so I could finish out my senior year at Havenwood Falls High School. I stare at the mess, wondering how to best curb my desire to fix it. Even with the handful of items I brought from my parents’ house in Creekwood Estates to my grandmother’s house in the prestigious Havenwood Heights, it feels like I’ve moved my entire life.
Getting up, I internally curse Zal as I walk over to my closet, pull out a pair of ripped and washed-out gray skinny jeans, a white tank, and my worn-out black short boots. While brushing my teeth, I debate whether I should try to tame my mass of unruly, long lavender waves. After a few seconds, I throw them into my signature loose side-braid, using my flower hair tie.
Stifling a yawn, I grab my sweater, stuff cash into my pocket, snatch up my car keys and head out, leaving my grandmother a note in the event she wakes up to find me gone.
Seconds later, I am in my Rubicon, heading up to Mount Alexa. Unsure of where to go, I keep my eyes open. Halfway up the mountain I spot the bikes and know I’ve found the place. Really, Zal?
Dirt bikes and motorcycles are parked by the side of the mountain paths, an occasional truck or car between them. A small handful of supernatural students walk around, inspecting them. The riders are all high-school-aged, decked out in ripped jeans and leather jackets, laughing and hanging around with pride-filled grins that ooze confidence. The purring of a few of the bikes gliding over dirt, jumping across rocks, and climbing up the mountain fills the late evening air.
I park my car, shutting it off before hopping out. Instantly, I hear my name, and look over to see my best friend waving her arms over her head. I cross mine over my stomach for warmth as I make my way toward her. Even though it’s the end of August, the Colorado air is chilled due to the late hour. The higher up the mountains you go, the colder the air, no matter what season, even now at the end of summer.
“Hey, thanks for coming.”
“What is all this?” I ask Zal, staring into her warm brown eyes.
“Motorcycle trials and racing.” She beams with excitement.
Her expression falls when she notices the tightness of my lips and the worry in my eyes.
“This is why you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night?”
“Yes,” she replies with a frown. “They needed a healer in case anyone gets hurt.”
“In case?” I look around. “Who organized this?”
“River’s new friend. He’s attending Sun and Moon Academy this year.”
At her reply, I realize there are very few kids here from Havenwood Falls High, the public school.
The sound of dirt bikes rumbling cuts off my thoughts as two bikers race down the mountain at insane speeds. I stiffen when the racers barely miss the trees and rock formations surrounding the tight dark path.
“You know this is illegal, right?” I turn to Zal. “If Sheriff Kasun finds out . . .”
“Relax.” She waves me off. “It’s the last weekend before school. Have some fun!”
I look at her in disbelief. “Fun, huh?”
“Yes. Fun. You remember what fun is, don’t you?” Zal pins me with a look.
Feeling a twinge of annoyance, I look away from her, down the path a bit to my right.
A tall, muscular guy is holding a helmet in one hand while he flirts with a group of girls surrounding him. Somehow, he seems older than all the other people milling around. His dirty-blond hair is shorter on the sides and back. The top is shaggy. The relaxed look makes me feel like the style takes more effort to create than it looks like. I roll my eyes. Why do guys do that?
The girls surrounding him giggle and swoon, which makes me assume he’s charming, with seemingly little effort. In the moonlight, I notice his face has a perfect symmetry to it. His jawline, a bit of scruff. A headlight beam flashes over him, glinting off his brow and lip piercings. As if he can feel my gaze on him, he turns his eyes my way.
Our gazes meet and lock. I’m instantly captivated, helpless to turn away. There is something carnal about him. Dangerous. Exotic. I stare into his dark-colored eyes as they bore into mine.
One edge of his lips curves into a devilish crooked grin. It’s both playful and promising.
“Jules?” Zal’s voice breaks the hold he has on me.
Quickly, I turn around so my back is to him and face my friend. Inhaling a deep breath, I attempt to force my heartrate to slow down and my lungs to breathe normally. I’m a hot mess.
“What?” I attempt to keep my voice even.
“The final race is about to start.” She grabs my wrist and pulls me up the mountain, so we’re closer to the path. As she does, I risk a glance over my shoulder at the hot guy, but he’s gone.
Excitement rolls through the small crowd, the energy of the spectators causing a zing of anticipation and excitement to rush through me. With the roar of the bikes, we look up toward the top of the mountain, and my heart stops. Straddling his motorcycle is the hot guy. His helmet is on, but his visor is open. Revving his engine, he looks at me. When our eyes meet, he winks and slams his visor shut.
My pulse quickens as the riders move into position, and with a cheer of encouragement, the starter waves the flags. The bikes surge forward, and I hold my breath, watching as they fight to reach the finish line first. The bikes fly by us in a blur, dodging obstacles by jumping on and off rocks, and fishtailing dirt into the air around corners. It’s so dangerous and yet, exhilarating.
Suddenly, the crowd erupts in hoots and hollers, shouting, “Row.”
I bend forward and look down the end of the path to see that the hot guy won.
“OMG! That was so awesome,” Zal screeches next to me. “Aren’t you happy you’re here?”
“Thrilled.” I exhale my nervousness. “Can we go now?”
She rolls her eyes at me and nods. “Let me just grab my stuff.”
“I’ll meet you by my Jeep.” I turn on my heel and start toward my car.
When I’m within two steps of it, the roar of a bike engine approaches, and the hot guy pulls up between me and my beloved vehicle. The world shifts as I snap my attention to him.
His helmet is off, and his dirty-blond hair is sweaty. The strands stick out messily in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. Fix it. Make it perfect. Less . . . wild.
He hunches over his bike, hands on the grip and throttle, while I stare. His penetrating gaze studies my face for a moment. There is something in his eyes I can’t quite grasp. It’s like a combination of interest and curiosity. And it has me frozen.
His gaze drops and then roams over me—I become helpless and trapped. I note his thick, sooty lashes fanning the tops of his cheeks. When his eyes finally travel north again, he extends his hand toward me, and when he does, my fingers itch to touch him. I don’t.
As a headlight from a dirt bike flashes over me, a shadow flickers over his face, darkening his eyes. “Your eyes are violet,” he points out.
I nod. Most residents of Havenwood Falls ignore their color. It’s normal here. “I know.”
As if encouraging me, his grin turns suggestive. “Did you enjoy the race?”
He slouches on the bike, cool eyes holding my steady gaze, as the corners of his mouth tilt up. My heart fumbles a beat, rendering me speechless, as I gawk at him. His smirk isn’t welcoming. It reeks of trouble and mischief.
The wind shifts, blowing his scent over me. Looking down, I wrinkle my nose, taking in a deep breath, trying to figure out what he smells like. Something rich and warm. Like hot chocolate mixed with cinnamon buns. Something you to want to curl up with and never let go.
He cocks a brow. “Do you speak?”
For some reason, it doesn’t sound as though he is asking me a question. “Of course, I speak.”
Something glitters in his eyes. Amusement. “Is it me that you aren’t a fan of, or motorcycles?”
I glance up in time to catch another dark grin, this one daring me to answer him, causing me to fall speechless again. Both eyebrows are raised, as if he is questioning my ability to truly speak.
His eyes stay connected to mine. “Nah, it’s not me. You’re scared of what you can’t control.”
The sudden need to defend myself claws at my skin.
Who is this guy, and why is he assessing me? Embarrassment and anger fill me at what he’s implying. Regardless if he’s right or not, he’s irritating.
In my group of friends, I’m not the quiet one, but I am focused. On my future. I maintain a perfect GPA, enjoy community service, am captain of the tennis team, and try to be the perfect all-around kid. I’m afraid to do anything reckless or wild; growing up, it wasn’t allowed.
I need to find my voice, which is always strong. Right now, I’m just standing here, looking like I don’t know how to open my mouth. Or speak. I want to die. Say something smart, Jules.
“I’m guessing fun isn’t in your vocabulary,” he challenges.
I take in a deep breath. “This has been a stimulating conversation. One that I will cherish for a long time, but I have to go,” I bite out through a tight jaw, and step around him toward my car.
A warm hand snaps out, and long fingers wrap around my wrist, forcing me to stop and whip around, turning my attention to him. At his touch, energy flows between us. He lets out an irritated breath as he stares at the spot we are touching, quickly and almost angrily releasing me.
“You’re too tightly wound.” His voice is deep and mocking. “With you, it’s all about order, control. I bet you have your whole life planned out. Ivy League. Daddy’s girl. Flannel pajamas.”
“I do not wear flannel pajamas,” I lie.
He laughs, deep and throaty. “Naked it is then.”
I flip him off. I have no idea why. He’s just so infuriating.
He laughs again. “Very civilized.”
“Listen . . .” I pause.
“Rowan,” he interjects, catching on to the fact I was searching for his name.
My eyes narrow. “Listen, Rowan.” His name falls out of my mouth more severely than I intend, but I can’t stop myself. “It’s clear that most of these airheads find you charming. I don’t.”
“You sure about that, flannels?”
I smile sweetly. “Oh yeah. Very sure.”
“Hey, Bishop.” River runs over to us. “You left your helmet at the bottom of the mountain.”
Bishop. My heart sinks, and any fantasies I had about him being hot disappear.
“Hey, Jules.” River smiles down at me. “I see you met my bud, Rowan Bishop.”
“Rowan Bishop?” I repeat in a whisper.
“In the flesh.” Rowan winks at me.
“Sorry. I thought you two formally met,” River scrambles. “Rowan, this is Julianna.”
“Fairchild,” I add and watch as Rowan’s face falls and realization sets in.
A Bishop and a Fairchild.
Mortal enemies.
No wonder I think he’s a douchebag.
He is.