Burn for Me (Edanholme Book 1)

by Catherine Fitzpatrick

  Burn for Me

  { Edanholme Series: Book One }

  Copyright © Catherine and John Edward Fitzpatrick 2015

  Registration Number: 284694243

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Dedication

  For Michelle, my amazing sister, who sorted out my questionable grammar and the

  typos that crept in unnoticed.

  For Mazelle, my ditzy friend, who fed me some of her whacky humour.

  For Alex and Sara, the two people I trust to read my books first.

  Thanks for all the encouragement ladies.

  *********

  Burn For Me

  Brutally woken up to the fact her life was nothing more than an illusion,

  Cat Ireland faced a different reality, one where she was hunted by a relentless

  warrior of the Sidhe nation. Unwilling to relinquish a life as a human, she

  refused to submit to the demands of a malicious ruler of a once noble realm.

  Cat fought for survival, sanity and the losing battle to deny a gorgeous male

  as her eternal mate.

  Drusal, Dark Hound to the Queen of the Sovereign realm, had been ordered to

  seek out his decreed mate, the only living kin of a depraved Monarch.

  A seemingly human female repulsed him, even as her stubborn refusal to accept

  the servile fate mapped out intrigued a proud Sidhe Noble.

  Fae glamour and human scepticism clashed as they formed a tentative truce to

  save what remained of a once illustrious society. Hot passion and a craving for

  love paved the way for desires to be fulfilled. But would it be enough to breach the

  barriers of distrust…..

  Burn for Me

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  CHAPTER ONE

  Slender arms lifted high above her head, Cat emulated her namesake in a bone creaking

  stretch, back arching to ease the knotted tension along neck and spine. She tapped the

  touch screen to log out, signalling the end of another harassing but satisfying day. Her

  cheeks felt tight, muscles aching from the fixed smile she had held onto until the last

  patient was ushered politely from her consulting room. A hint of citrus perfume announced

  the approach of her favourite employee and best friend in all the world. An unrepentant

  serial dater, with fewer morals, but more taste, than an alley cat.

  “Oh My God… I mean, you will not believe what just walked through the door…”

  A dimple appeared on Cat’s cheek at the throaty exclamation interrupting a moment of

  peace and a long awaited moment of solitude. Hearing a body collapse against the open

  door, on a sigh of resignation she swung round in the swivel chair. Boot heels scuffing a

  wide arc in the pile of the mottled green carpet, narrowed eyes fixed on an efficient, but

  easily distracted clinical assistant’s face. The face of an angel atop a body as curved and

  luscious as hers was long and lean, beamed at her with drooling intensity.

  “Some hot body got your hormones on the rampage again?” The easy laugh that left Cat’s

  lips was pure music, a symphony of husky voice and lilting tones.

  “Ouch… Come on Cat, that’s not fair. I like men full stop. Why do you think I work here?

  You attract testosterone like flies round a garbage truck.”

  Up-tilted hazel eyes met Alex’s grin with the fortitude of long friendship. With a wince she

  recognised the unmitigated lust sparkling in sapphire blue orbs.

  “Nice analogy… Thanks Alex.” She choked back a groan. “Ok I’ll bite.” Sometimes it was

  simpler just to go with the flow. Easing onto aching feet, she smoothed down the navy pants

  and long sleeved stretchy top that served as the practice uniform, dropping her name badge

  on the desk top.

  “What or whom has got your knickers in a twist?” She tried hard to sound officious and

  bitchy. It never worked for her. No one took her anger seriously. They just smiled or patted

  her on the head, like a child having a baby strop. It was so frustrating to be pandered to all

  the time. Even her boss and long term lover Phillipe St Clair, treated her more like a pet

  than a partner, in a bed or at work.

  Most people needed anger management, she needed empathy management. It was so

  draining to be the nice one all the time.

  “You really have to see this for yourself.” A flush sped her assistant’s neck, a delightful

  shade of peach that emphasised wide sapphire eyes.

  “I couldn’t do him justice with mere words. He puts your pet policeman in the shade.”

  Perfect eyebrows arched, Cat snorted. “Not possible...”

  The pet policeman held pride of place as the magic man-fix for the practice. At least once

  a day he dropped by for a chat with the staff. He wasn’t a stalker, just a cute hunk of a man

  with a smile to die for. Not once in all the forays into a female laden practice had he made

  overtures of an intimate nature, much to the disgust of Alex the man eater.

  His was a presence that made each day a little brighter. It cost nothing and made them all

  feel better to know the constabulary was doing its job, in making sure a public workplace

  felt a mite safer.

  Pushing a clip board into Cat’s outstretched hand Alex shivered theatrically.

  “He wants to make an appointment with you. Personally…”

  With a deep sigh Cat shook her head, long glossy pony-tail lashing at her back.

  “It’s your responsibility to book my clinics.” Waving a hand at the records piled high on her

  desk ready and waiting to be filed, she pouted, a pursing of pink tinted generous lips.

  “You buy lunch tomorrow if I do this for you.” Her glance fell to the slip of paper attached to

  the clip board. Dru Greenhill, The Withins, West Yorkshire, sat scrawled across it in black ink.

  “This address is pretty vague.” She murmured in a whisper, cold apprehension tightening a

  churning gut. A misty impression of rolling hills covered in purple heather, dotted with yellow

  gorse bushes flashed across her vision. It felt almost real, an open invitation to run bare foot,

  to relish the joy of freedom. Brow creased in a frown, Cat shook off the enticing image,

  surprised by a random vision of a carefree existence. She rarely had free time. Her life was

  too full of boring practicality, to allow the promise of total abandon in the everyday humdrum

  of caring for the crotchety whims of her patients. Biting at her lower lip she acknowledged

  that Phillipe, an elusive co-director in a busy Optical practice, and lover, didn’t always bring

  her joy. Recently her relationship with him had felt more like servitude.

  Where the hell had that thought come from? She lived with Phillipe, she loved him.

  Nibbling at her lip, lost in a fugue
of clashing realities and negative emotions, Cat stepped

  past Alex. Head bent to familiarise herself with the name of her would-be patient, she made

  ready to repel another besotted idiot, one who pleaded to wine and dine her in the hope of

  getting a seriously bemused female into bed. It was ridiculous the way men were attracted

  to her, she wasn’t special or beautiful. For god’s sake, I’m Cat Ireland, an optometrist not a

  burlesque Queen. The thought was derisive and absolutely true, as for as she was concerned.

  “ISCATYA….”

  A rumbling voice uttered the one word aloud in vibrating tones, the texture and sound hit her

  in a wave of sensuous harmony, a true naming called forth to dispel the contentment of

  insidious thrall. The name seared her brain, delving deep within her psyche, bringing with it

  the sweet smell of fresh mown grass, the warmth of a lazy summer afternoon.

  The voice echoing in her head was deep and mellow, hitting her full on with a sense of smug

  triumph. Her head shot up, gaze falling on the apparition that consumed her oxygen supply.

  Cat felt naked, vulnerable, her hazel eyes narrowed at the sight of absolute male dominating

  the tiny waiting area with a fog of testosterone. From head to toe he oozed power, taller

  than Phillipe’s six foot four, bulkier, all muscle and sinew stretching white t-shirt and washed

  out jeans to their limits. A shock of dark blonde hair with astonishingly bright copper streaks

  fell in a mass of tangled curls to brush wide, wide shoulders. The face now held all her attention.

  Ivory skin glowed faintly green under stark fluorescent lighting, thick black lashes outlining

  eyes of pearlescent grey, eyes that raked her body as she absorbed the curves of a mouth

  compressed in a firm line of distaste, accenting a hard square jaw. The disdain, bordering on

  disgust evident in compelling grey eyes sneered at her, at a mundane little world.

  She had been deemed unworthy, dismissed out of hand.

  A small gasp left Cat’s lips, Hazel eyes devouring the economical movement as a reluctant

  patient slid gracefully from languid repose to stealthy predator in one swift graceful motion.

  With a sharp nod in her direction he loped easily down the stairs without a word being

  spoken out loud, except for the one name.

  In a silence that had held out an illusion of hope and stark terror, Cat felt bereft, as if a part

  of her had been torn away. She had found something she wanted but didn’t understand it.

  She’d been rejected thoroughly and nastily in one swift encounter. With a thump her butt

  hit the floor, trembling fingers gripping an aching head.

  Her heartbeat went into overdrive at the images crowding her mind, repressed memories

  battered at her senses, a visual migraine of nightmare proportions. A slow motion capture

  of bloody battles between beautiful beings and vicious creatures, dredged from the deepest

  darkest pits of hell, foremost and frighteningly real scenes of her flesh being punctured.

  The reality of long fangs sinking into the softest areas of her body as Phillipe took her body

  repeatedly in an orgy of sex and feeding. A scream tore from her throat, ripping apart the

  vampire thrall that had held her captive, under Phillipe’s control for years.

  The scream announced painful emergence into the realm she truly belonged to. Her secure

  little world had shattered, fragmented into slivers of betrayal and tortured pain. A seemingly

  normal, everyday life unlocked in seconds to reveal a vista, sadistic, brutal and terrifyingly

  familiar. Night terrors had been ignored as so much mush, a release of the tension at dealing

  with the general public on a daily basis. A healthy way of eliminating mental garbage from an

  overactive brain. No way… This was a wake-up call of gut wrenching proportions. She had

  been used, betrayed and fed upon. Cat was lost, adrift in two worlds. One she knew with

  complete certainty, and one that had been eating at her soul in the misty smog of dreams for

  as long as she could remember.

  Drusal heard and felt the brittle scream as he bolted from the building, legs pumping easily

  in a long loping stride. Reaching the fragile security of the Range Rover he triggered the

  remote, diving into the driver’s seat, obscured from view behind tinted windows. Forehead

  resting on the steering wheel, his breathing became ragged and uneven. Not from exertion

  but fear, fear that his fate had been sealed for eternity. He had been ordered to track down

  his intended mate, not invited to consider the female as an eternal companion. No gentle

  ushering of her to accept him as a mated male.

  No… A stark command…. She is to be your mate. I am your Queen. Make no mistake Drusal

  of the Green Hill… You will do as I wish.

  The threats were always implied. Like a good little dog he had obediently followed orders,

  unwilling to submit to the pain of defiance, to face this… A Human shaped female…

  Teeth clenched Drusal re-lived the moment Iscatya emerged from her cell. That is exactly

  what he saw, a prisoner emerging from incarceration. All pale skin and soft brown hair tied

  back from a face so delicate, so fragile it would crumble to dust beneath his hands. A dark

  fan of lashes lifted slowly to reveal nondescript tHazel eyes until he spoke her true name.

  Iscatya… Wild-fire flashed in those tilted eyes, Emerald sharp and fiercely intelligent.

  The face, the body were unremarkable but the spirit was pure and true Sidhe. How had she

  lived to adulthood in the human world without discovery? Only a hybrid could merge so

  seamlessly into a realm governed by human technology. Drusal’s loins tightened at the

  recent memory of an anguished scream. He had been used to hunt down another soul to be

  tortured by his mistress, the ruler of the sovereign Sidhe court.

  That is what you do so magnificently Drusal. Queen Istirina’s smooth tones invaded his mind,

  pushing aside his distaste at doing her bidding.

  You find the lost ones for me, my Hound. He shuddered at the satisfaction in her voice.

  I knew you could be counted on to uncover a life mate, when I have been denied my dearest

  granddaughter, a precious little Princess hidden from mine eyes.

  Drusal shot bolt upright, disbelief that his Queen had any altruistic feelings toward a

  member of her kin. He had seen with his own eyes the depths of depravity a twisted mind

  had used on the Nobles of the Court. Iscatya is your Granddaughter?

  He had been given, for some base ulterior motive, a mate of the Royal line, one he could

  make good use of, to take revenge for all the indignities he had suffered at the Queen’s hands.

  His question hung in the ether waiting to be claimed.

  Did I not say so Dog? The words wove silken threads of pain over his skin, the derogatory

  epithet clawed at a gravely damaged soul.

  You would mate the Heir to your throne, to a Dog? Voicing a scathing dismissal of a genuine

  gift of a truly bonded mate, he waited for the backlash. He wasn’t disappointed…

  I will do whatever is necessary to control the offspring of a traitorous daughter. If it means

  she has to spend the rest of eternity tied to the Dark Hound of my court, then so be it.

  Coldly uncompromising Istirina sealed his and Iscatya’s fate with grim finality.

  As you wish My Queen... Drusal acquiesced silently, offering nothing but his loyalty, in an

  equally surly bl
ast of mental power. For as long as it suited him.

  What of the Incubus who has held Iscatya in thrall to subdue her talents? He dared to ask

  the question foremost on his tongue. The car rocked violently in the backwash of anger

  emanating from Istirina’s mind. Drusal tasted the rush of blood from a bitten tongue.

  “My Queen…?” He whispered aloud, fear making him vocal.

  I feel her power Drusal… He could discern a hint of pride in a reluctant admission.

  She is vividly aware of more than the mortal world, thanks to you. Dark laughter fed his

  fear of the Queen.

  A child of my body can deal with the un-dead. Leave him to her mercy, come home my pet.

  The silken invitation left him shaking with anger at the capriciousness of a Queen who

  would mate him to her Granddaughter, and then offer him her bed. One day, he promised,

  behind the steel barriers that hid his innermost thoughts. One day I will be avenged for my

  Father, I will not suffer his fate. Determination hardened his jaw. Ignoring the command to

  return to the Court, Drusal made the decision to know more of this female who would be his

  ruin. If he was to be tortured, he was ready to return the pain a hundredfold.

  Cat sat in the BMW gripping the steering wheel as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks,

  dripping slowly, forming a wet patch on her pants. The ugly scene she had just left etched

  forever on the walls of her mind.

  She had stormed home to the rambling country manor she had shared with Phillipe, ready

  to confront the monster who had drained her to the point of exhaustion for too long.

  They say ignorance is bliss. Wrong…

  Ignorance is an excuse to be betrayed by someone you loved, or thought you did.

  The blinkers were off. Dru Greenhill, whatever the hell he was, had pierced the spell hiding

  her true heritage, one that scared her more than a blood-thirsty Vampire.

  The fog had lifted to expose the fact she had been held prisoner, a pampered pet for a lust