A Faerie Wedding

by Stephanie Keyes

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Faerie Wedding (A Star Child Novel, #5)

  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

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A FAERIE WEDDING

  A Star Child Companion Novella-Book 4.5

  Stephanie Keyes

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, places, or events is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case the author has not received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  A Faerie Wedding

  A Star Child Companion Novella- Book 4.5

  Copyright © 2015 Stephanie Keyes

  All rights reserved.

  Inkspell Publishing

  5764 Woodbine

  Pinckney, MI 48169

  Edited By Melissa Keir.

  Cover art By Najla Qamber

  You can visit us at www.inkspellpublishing.com

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The copying, scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Dedication

  To all the fans of The Star Child series...

  I've gotten to spend the past eight years in this world and they've been the best of my life.

  I hope you've enjoyed the journey as much as I have!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Meet the Parents

  Three Months After We Kicked The Scourge's Ass

  The sound of a hairdryer gave me the nudge I needed to open my eyes. I reached out and grabbed a fistful of empty sheets. Somehow I'd ended up alone. So that's how it'd gotten so freaking cold.

  Forcing myself up, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out my small apartment window. February snow had dusted the sidewalks outside. Winter in Boston was normally long and boring, but I didn't have Singer with me before. A slow smile spread across my face.

  "Get a move on, Stewart." Singer peeked around the doorframe, her long black hair spilled over her shoulders and down the front of her righteous chest, curling at the ends where it met her creamy skin. Singer was the one. Period. End of story.

  "I love you." The words slipped out before I could stop myself. I'd tried not to say them. Ever since she'd found out her birth father, Ainmire, was a magickal psychopath, Singer had different views about love. For example, she didn't want me to tell her I loved her. Ever.

  And she never said it either–at least not after the first few times.

  But I knew.

  "Thanks." Despite her kicking my butt with her words, a smile tugged at her mouth. "Seriously, are you gonna get ready?"

  Oh crap. Dinner with her parents. I was supposed to meet her dad for the first time and ask him if I could marry his daughter. Not that Singer knew anything about that last part. I swallowed. "No, I didn't forget." Technically, that was true. I just didn't remember it was that day.

  After spending the equivalent of months in the Green Lands at Lugh’s castle, heading back wiped me out with the time change and stuff. We still didn't quite get how many mortal days equaled one immortal day, but somehow it was the middle of winter and I totally remembered leaving Boston in the fall.

  "Now, get your fine, feathered butt into the shower."

  "Yes ma'am." I launched myself out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Singer had changed into this little black number which clung to her lithe body. Everything about Singer was muscular–a testament to her ability to shift into a leopard. "Wow. You look.." I pressed a slow kiss to the side of her neck. Unbelievable...Incredible...

  "Thanks." She sounded like she didn't care if I liked the dress or not, but the faint blush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eye said different.

  Stripping, I climbed into the shower, twisting the cold metal handle toward the faded H and yanking the curtain closed. The spray beat down on my face. After about a minute-long hot water assault, the fuzziness in my brain evaporated and things snapped into focus.

  K. Where was K?

  Kellen St. James was my best friend, but also the Prince of Faerie. The one person I was sworn to protect.

  K, you there? You all right, dude?

  Since I'd shifted, K and I had been able to communicate telepathically–from any distance. All I had to do was think the words and he could hear me.

  When we were at the palace, I had zero issues keeping tabs on him, but now we were disconnected. K was my charge. What if something happened to him on my watch?

  After a pause, his reply came back. In Mexico, but kind of in the middle of something, here...fine...talk later.

  "How's Uncle K?" Singer asked, from the other side of the curtain.

  "What about K?" I asked, trying to make it sound like I hadn't been worrying about him.

  I scrubbed soap all over me. The wounds Ainmire had inflicted on me with a baseball bat had healed, but there were these nasty white lines running across my body. Singer said they made me look dangerous. They reminded me of ugly shit I'd rather forget.

  "Come on. I know you Protector types. You wouldn't be good at your job if you didn't constantly check in on your charge."

  "Yeah, it would be better if he actually let me protect him. Give a guy a mega-powerful amulet and he thinks he doesn't need a bodyguard."

  "Uncle K's just figuring stuff out. I mean, you remember how hard it was for you when you found out you weren't mortal."

  "Actually no, I don't. I mean, I shifted to save K and then there was the battle and then us. I never really thought about it until I had to, and even then..."

  It wasn't that much of an adjustment. I remembered everything that had ever happened to me, as well as to my ancestors after that first shift. But there were holes in my memory–patches of time I sensed were missing, though I had no proof. I still didn't know everything about how I ended up with my family. I closed my mind off from those thoughts. I had to stop thinking of them as mine.

  "Even then, what?" Singer asked.

  "Nothing." I turned off the spray and wrapped a towel around myself. The instant I stepped out of the shower, a buzzing sounded as my cell vibrated on the countertop. Snatching it up, I peered at the display.

  Mom.

  I sent it to voicemail, and then pressed Play. "Gabriel Stewart, you'd better call me back right now, young man. It's been months–" I hit Delete before she could finish.

  She wasn't my mother.

  I powered down my cell. Once the screen flashed black, I set it on the counter.

  "Just call her, Gabe. Don't say anything. Let her believe nothing's changed. You can do that much for her."

  Singer was right. I could keep pretending. But what if I told Mom and Dad the truth about me? Would they think I was a freak? I got that it was selfish of me, but I wanted just a little more time in a world where they thought of me as just Gabe, instead of a member of a race of Avian shifters called Protectors.

  "I need to figure some things out, first."

  And, I didn't exactly have a super urge
to figure things out. I was immortal. It was easier to think about the one person I knew I wanted.

  Singer.

  She was the most important thing to me, after Kellen. No, before Kellen. Until I figured out the rest, Singer was all that mattered.

  And before I concentrated on that?

  I had to meet her father.

  Yeesh.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Richard

  The cold wind buffeted my feathers as I soared through the air, Singer riding astride my back. We didn't have far to go to get to her parent's Connecticut mansion, at least not with me flying at warp speed. Most girls would have been freaked out or freezing in the winter air. As shifters, our blood ran hotter than mortals', making us less sensitive to the cold. She didn't complain once.

  You okay? I pushed the thought out with my mind.

  Yeah.

  Cool.

  Telepathy didn't work with everyone–K (since he was my charge), the other Protectors, and Singer (my soul mate). You'd think we would only use it in emergencies.

  Singer used it to transmit important requests for coffee.

  The whole shifter thing was what had brought us together in the first place. We had a lot in common. For example, we could shift as needed, become invisible–so badass, and the telepathic gig.

  My feet touched the frozen ground. Singer slid off my back and hopped onto the grass beside me. I shifted back in an instant.

  With a quick glance down, I straightened my tie. At least I never lost my clothes when I shifted. I had no friggin' clue where they went during the process, but I’d learned not to ask a lot of questions about Faerie-related things.

  "At least your landings have gotten better." Singer smoothed out her hair. "I would have been pissed if you'd bucked me off, again."

  Singer had done a header the first time I'd flown her. To be fair, I kind of didn't try for a good landing. Things were different now.

  Taking her hand, I pulled her to me. "I won't let you fall again. Promise."

  She started to say something, but I didn't give her a chance. I opened my mouth against hers, tasting her, savoring the feel of her tongue against mine.

  "Gabe." The way she whispered my name sent shivers crawling over my skin.

  She bit my bottom lip and I groaned out loud. "You can't start doing stuff like this, Sing. Otherwise, we'll never make it inside." Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing? At least, I wouldn't have to meet her father.

  Yet.

  She kissed me again, her mouth doing things that made my head spin. Focus, Gabe. You're here for a reason.

  I pulled back and dropped my hands to my sides. "What the hell am I supposed to say to your father? I've never met a rock star before." I brushed off my jacket. It probably would have looked snazzier if I hadn't paired it with jeans.

  She shook her head. "Don't make a big deal out of it. He's just a person. An insanely talented person, but a person."

  "But he's one of The–"

  Singer put a finger to my lips. "Seriously, Gabe. You want him to like you, right? Stop fidgeting."

  "Yeah. Right." About a kajillion butterflies were dancing in my gut.

  "Treat him like a regular guy. You already know, Mom."

  She was right. I'd gotten to know Rowan pretty well, what with all of the teleportation and Faerie battles during the past few months. People bond over that kind of stuff.

  "Are you two going to stand out there freezing all night or are you going to come in and join us for dinner?" Rowan stood on the back porch, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze.

  I gripped Singer's hand. "Hi, Row."

  Rowan returned my smile as she walked toward us. "Hi, Gabe. Hello, sweetie." She opened her arms. Singer stepped into them, never taking her hand from mine.

  Rowan smiled, winking at me. "Ah, so you're here to..."

  Great. Rowan was psychic–beyond psychic. She used to be a goddess, so she had this insane power that her dad, Lugh, had given her. She knew exactly why I was there.

  I narrowed my eyes. Hopefully, that was code for 'shut it'. "To try out your cooking, yeah. I heard your Shepherd's Pie was to die for."

  Rowan grinned. "We're having Italian. I hope that's okay."

  Great. Something I would undoubtedly drop all over myself. I was kind of a tall guy. Sometimes way less than graceful. "Sounds awesome."

  Rowan smirked. "Well come on, then. You need to meet Richard."

  Gulp.

  We trailed Rowan into the house. I'd been in the kitchen before, with its Mexican tile in shades somewhere in-between red and brown. Today, a fire blazed in the open hearth. It was like a bundle of warmth wrapped around me the moment we stepped inside. The smell of spices, maybe oregano, filled the kitchen.

  We passed through the space and into a formal living room. I'd never seen the rest of the house. Pale-yellow fancy couches had been placed throughout the room at various angles. The walls held glass cases with shelf after shelf of awards. Several of them were Grammys. My throat went dry.

  "Just keep your cool and don't be a geek." Singer spat the words into my ear.

  "Uh-huh." I swallowed, my throat already parched.

  A man with longish brown hair stood by the fire. He turned as we walked in. "Singer." I'd known Richard was British, but for some reason his English accent surprised me. Though he'd lived in the states for decades now, he sounded like he'd never left home.

  "Hi, Daddy." Singer hugged her father before taking a step back.

  Richard crossed his arms in front of him. "And, this must be Gabriel. The man who stole my daughter."

  Uh-oh. "Well, to be fair, sir, stole is kinda strong. I mean, she went willingly." Was that the right thing to say? Maybe this is one of those times I should have kept my mouth shut?

  Richard's lips twitched. Was he messing with me? I couldn't be sure. Rowan's face was unreadable.

  "Sorry, sir, uh, I'm Gabriel Stewart." I extended my hand the way Dad always did at business meetings. "Nice to meet you."

  Richard eyed my hand for a moment before grasping it. "Nice to meet you as well. I understand they call you Gabe. Any objection to my doing the same?"

  Sweet. "No sir. None."

  "So...you're a Harvard Law man?" Richard took a drink from a glass on the mantle. "Beer?"

  God yes, but this was probably a situation where I didn't need alcohol to help me act like more of an ass. "No, thank you, sir. And yes, I am." Was–however, a law track sounded way easier to explain than my real job: Protector of The Prince Of Faerie–when he let me.

  Richard set his glass down. "Excellent. Do you play a musical instrument?"

  "Daddy, he just got here," Singer said.

  "I'm only getting to know the lad, Singer." Richard smiled, but I couldn't figure out if it was one of those threatening smiles that meant he'd try to kick my ass later.

  "Um, I took drum lessons in elementary school." I'd just told one of the world's most talented drummers I'd taken lessons in the fifth grade.

  Lame.

  Richard's eyes lit up. "Brilliant. We can jam later!"

  The only thing I would be jamming was my head into a closet if he tried to get me to play. "With all due respect, sir. I don't think it'll be much of a jam session."

  Richard laughed. "Fair enough. What do you like to do in your spare time, Gabe?"

  Was this a job interview? I tried to think about what I did in my spare time, besides make out with his daughter. I hadn't had a whole lot of time for extra-curricular activities at Yale and even less at Harvard. The only thing I'd done was... "Save the world."

  Rowan's eyes widened. Singer ground her fingernails into my hand. Awkward.

  "Is that so?" Richard patted my shoulder. "You know, Gabe, I think I might actually like you. You're the first guy that Sing's brought home who hasn't drooled when they met me."

  "Thanks, Daddy." Singer rolled her eyes.

  Richard gestured to Rowan and Singer. "Why don't you two run along and let Gabe and me catch up? I ha
ve some important, fatherly-type things to ask him."

  "Richard, what are you up to?" Rowan's words were a pretense, though. She already knew what he wanted to talk about.

  He shrugged. "Nothing. I just want to talk to the lad without you two standing over me fussin' about."

  Singer towered over Richard in her heels. "Be nice." She glanced back at me. "I like this one."

  "Off. Go." Richard waved her away.

  Sing squeezed my shoulder before following Rowan out of the room. Should I ask Richard about marrying Singer now? Or wait? It seemed way rude to just, like, blurt it out. I should at least try and get to know the guy first. I tried to put myself in his position, but I couldn't imagine having a daughter.

  Richard sat down in a wingback chair by the fireplace, then leaned forward. "I have a very important question for you."

  "Okay." I sat across from him, mimicking his position. What are your intentions with my daughter? Are you sleeping together? Do you love her? Those were all the obvious questions ricocheting in my mind. I pressed my sweaty palms onto the worn knees of my jeans.

  He grinned. "Do you follow football at all?"

  I blinked. That was so not what I thought the dude was going to ask me. Once I processed his question though, I knew I had to tread carefully. "You mean, like American football or British?" I'd learned that lesson the hard way, when I showed up for footy tryouts in England wearing my American football jersey.

  His face broke into a smile. "Good boy. American, though."

  "Yes, sir. I do." Of course, I'd missed the entire season since I'd been running around with a bunch of immortals with a death wish.

  He practically bounced up and down in his seat. "Wonderful. Let's talk teams. I'm in this Fantasy Football league..."

  And that's how it went. A couple of awkward moments and then I ended up talking FF quarterbacks with one of the most well-known musicians in the world.

  And possibly, my future father-in-law.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Question

  Dinner rocked. Manicotti, homemade bread, a righteous Tiramisu...Now, as I hung out in the yellow room, with the warmth from the fire seeping into my bones, I fought to keep my eyes open. No falling asleep on the job, Stewart.