by Tamsin Baker
She shivers, and moves away from me to take a seat on the top porch step. “What did everyone say?”
“They said the banshee child cried out when Veronique entered the apartment. She cried out to sing of death and sound a warning to her father, but a blast of protective power silenced the child.”
“Protective power? Took out my voice?”
“Your mother. Or at least, someone she appointed to watch over you.”
Aleah’s shoulders droop. “I don’t whether to love or hate that woman.” She drops her face into her hands.
“For what it’s worth, they do say that, without the protection, the baby would surely have died as violently as the father. She—or rather, you—would have been drained and left a husk. So, I guess that protection did save your life that day.”
“Or—” Her voice is low, spilling out between the fingers still covering her face. “Perhaps the baby was saved because a decent vampire swept in and took action. Action that went against every grain of his being. Action that involved a life and death decision between saving a human life, and destroying the Mistress he loved—the woman who gave him life. Perhaps that’s why I’m alive and sitting here with you today.”
“Perhaps.”
“Oh, Luc.” She lowers her hands and lifts her face to look me squarely in the eye. “I may have saved your life in recent times, but I suspect, twenty-five years ago, your actions saved mine. And most likely, many other innocent lives as well.”
The thought that it was my action that contributed to letting Aleah live all those years ago eases the ache that invaded my soul when I thought she was dead. I take a seat beside her on the step. Where our thighs touch, heat ignites.
“I think I still owe you one. Or at least, I definitely owe your bees.”
She smiles at me, and the vision is priceless. “I thought that was a hallucination. My dying brain playing tricks on me.”
“Nope. Without the intervention of your bees I would not be here now. How did you do that?”
“I have no idea. I just called them in my mind. Asked them to protect the one I—” Her cheeks transform from pale to an attractive shade of pink.
I knock her gently with a shoulder. “The one you…like? Maybe just a little?”
She stares down at her feet. “The one I like more than a little. The one I like quite a goddamn lot.”
I place a finger under her chin, forcing her face back up to meet my gaze. I hope she can read my conviction when I nod and say, “I like you a lot, too, Aleah. More than a lot. When I thought you were dead—” A shudder shakes my frame, and she rests a gentle hand on my thigh and leans her head on my shoulder. The pain of loss dissipates.
“I’m not planning to go anywhere, Luc. How about you?”
“I can’t promise to be here every night. It is the nature of my work to have to travel. We still haven’t gotten to the bottom of whatever or whoever is controling the rogues. Or turning preternaturals into rogues in the first place.”
“I think it might be necromancer magic.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it, that night. I thought it was part of my dying. The purple haze…it seemed to be winning, devouring you. I’m so glad it didn’t.”
“Hmm. Me too.” Necromancer magic. The fact that Aleah saw it too makes me certain my guess is correct. “We found a medallion at the site of your neighbors’ murder; a pendant with an unusual and intricate pattern. We think either Darrie or Gwen tore it off one of their attackers in the frenzy.”
She nods slowly. “Laura said something about that. With everything else that happened, I never got the chance to ask you about it.”
“It’s back at SUDAP now, in the secure facility in Melbourne. They’re still working on unlocking the pendant’s secrets.”
She shifts as if restless. “Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Good. Not sure why that matters, but I feel like it does.”
“It felt wrong when I first saw it lying there in the dirt. Wrong…like…bad magic.” A shiver traverses my skin. Very bad magic.
I shift a lock of hair behind her ears. After all Aleah has been through, it seems petty to keep anything else back at this point. “I believe there’s a hidden agenda that is playing out here. An agenda that relates to the Accord. Someone, or a group of people, are trying to work against everything the Accord stands for. Possibly led by a necromancer. My team will need to investigate further. But at least we’re no longer proceeding completely blind.”
I cover her hand where it rests on my thigh and interlace our fingers. “While I will still need to travel, I do need a base…a place that…perhaps I might call…home?”
She raises our interlinked hands to her lips and drops a kiss on the top of my knuckles, one by one. The gesture sends tentacles of warmth reaching into every part of my cold vampire body. The residual unease that rose when I mentioned the medallion seems to dissipate into thin air. It feels so good to be warm. It feels so good to be with Aleah. It feels so good to finally, once again, feel alive.
“You are home, Luc. If you want. You have my permission to enter or leave this place as you wish. I rescind my own power to rescind the invitation. There. What do you say about—”
I end her inane chatter with a kiss that feels like everything I’ve ever wanted wrapped up in this one connection. Her mouth, her lips, her generous heart—even the strange gift of her banshee call. I accept everything she has to offer, and give all that I have in return. Home. Yes, I truly believe I may have finally found my place.
Epilogue
Tarrien
Neither of the creatures sharing a passionate kiss appear to have sensed my presence. Lady Renna bade me be discreet and no one, not even an armored winter warrior like myself, wants to end up on the wrong side of an enraged banshee’s temper.
My brief is to watch for danger, protect if needed, and above all else, don’t let the hybrid know of my presence.
The vampire is more problematic. If Aleah were full-blood fae, she’d sense my proximity in a heartbeat. Vampires, as a species, are generally far less skilled than fae in terms of their ability to detect the ancient magics, but this one in particular has a keener sense than most.
I roll my eyes as their kiss progresses to fondling. This is not a warrior’s task, to stand and watch others making love. And yet here I am, stuck until my brief changes and I am handed a new—and hopefully more suitable—task.
I touch the moonstone that sits in the silver filigree ring on my right thumb. The gem is a vehicle for communication, and it doesn’t take long before the air shimmers and Renna appears by my side.
“What is it, Tarrien? Is she in danger once again?”
My lip curls up in annoyance. Oh, how I dislike this woman. “Depends on your point of view.” I wave my hand, indicating the couple on the porch stairs now in the throes of tearing each other’s clothing off, and Renna takes a tiny step back.
“Oh!” Then her face clears and interest overtakes the shock. “Well. She seems to be doing all right for herself, doesn’t she? Truly, the vampire is not bad-looking at all. Hmm…his rear end is particularly shapely, now that he is free of his clothing.”
She leans forward. Not okay, woman. She’s your daughter. I drag at her arm, eventually managing to turn her attention back to me. “Do you seriously expect me to stay here and watch over this, Renna?”
She is quiet for a moment, closing her eyes and sniffing the air. “Can’t sense anything odd in these parts, any longer. Maybe they will be fine, after all. Maybe…” The banshee taps her lips thoughtfully, and then nods in a decisive manner. “Yes. I’ve decided. I want to relieve you of your duty here, Tarrien.”
Well, thank the winter gods for that. About time. I turn, readying to leave for home, when she stops me in my tracks. “Instead, I need you to visit Melbourne and check on Indigo’s welfare. I’ve been getting bad vibes about some of my other children. Should have had you check on Indie a whi
le back, but to be honest—” She laughs lightly. “After my visit when she was seven, I forgot she existed.”
“How old is she now?”
Renna counts mentally. “Hmm. Must be thirty? Perhaps thirty-one. She came prior to Aleah.”
Distaste once again curves my mouth. This woman is seriously hideous, but my family owes her a blood debt and it is upon me, the first-born, to fulfil it. If I do not, my father will be killed, and my family will lose their place at Court. That fact alone would probably kill my mother.
“If I do this for you, my family debt will be paid, Renna. We will be even.”
“Of course. Now off with you, Tarrien, and report back via the usual channels.” She points at my moonstone and touches the matching gem at her neck, and then is gone before I can answer.
Fucking banshee witch.
I cast one last look at the couple making love on the porch. They seem well-matched and Aleah’s silver-white aura has extended to encompass the vamp. A sure sign that she has begun to find true happiness with her mate.
I’m glad for her. There was a moment there, in Faerie, when her kindness touched me more than I expected. She seems nothing like her mother, thankfully. Instead, she seems like the kind of creature I wouldn’t mind getting to know.
I wonder if I will ever find such a one? As a winter warrior, my heart is, of necessity, cased in ice. We are protectors, not lovers, and it is our duty to ignore the call of the flesh as much as it is within our power to do so.
Indigo. Indie. The name sends skitters of energy across my skin. Interesting. Will the hybrid prove to be more like her mother, or her half-sister? Or will she be nothing like either?
I turn my thoughts toward Melbourne and a human-fae hybrid named Indigo.
***
The End
I hope you enjoyed this first instalment in The Blood Fae Chronicles. Keep an eye out for Tarrien and Indie’s story, coming soon in Book 2, Banshee Song. Here’s a small taste…
Indigo
The last note dies away and silence fills the theater. The quality of that silence is sharp and expectant, as if everyone in the audience is holding their breath and waiting for more.
There is no more. Not for these humans. If I truly gave them everything I have, there’d be no silence. Only terrified screams, and the rush of bodies toward the exit. Away from the horror. Away from me.
Slowly the applause begins, escalating as the audience rises to their feet. A standing ovation. I must have excelled, tonight. I lift my chin and gaze out past the stage lights to acknowledge the accolades directed my way.
“Bravo, brava, huzzah…” The shouts vary from person to person, but all convey essentially the same message. I delivered what this audience wanted, and then some. “Encore, encore…”
I incline my head, blinking hard to force back the threatening tears. Do they know I sing of death? Do they know I sing of loss and all things that might be and never eventuate? Do they know how much it costs me, every time I stand up here on this stage, to croon the song of every human passing?
The power of a banshee is beyond any mortal understanding.
The power of a banshee’s voice is beyond the understanding of all of them, mortal and immortal alike.
Of course, I’m only a half-banshee. But even so, I have to rein in my voice to deliver as much as they can take, and not a single note more.
***
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Jen Katemi is a USA Today and international bestselling author of steamy contemporary and paranormal romance. She is published with Evernight Publishing and as Jennifer Lynne with Red Sage. Jen also has forged a successful indie career starting with her popular GODS OF LOVE and FORBIDDEN series of novellas.
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Biting Temptation
Kim Cleary
Chapter One
I hesitated on the front porch of Tilly’s house—well, my house now—unlocked the door and peered into the darkened hallway. With a groan, I kicked off my heels and ran my fingers around the door jamb. Should be a light switch on the left wall, if my memory served me correctly.
After wriggling my fingers up and down, unsuccessfully searching for the switch, I collapsed against the wall and broke into a fit of chortling. Only a few wines and I was as tipsy as Aunt Tilly at the end of Thanksgiving dinner.
Thinking about Tilly put an end to my laughter. It was still hard to believe the vibrant and energetic woman could be dead. We’d been close, but inheriting her wonderful Queen Anne house had been a shock. Getting the Literature Teaching role at the Dogwood Grove Private High School was a dream come true and my new work colleagues seemed like a friendly bunch. I’d somehow survived the first week of the school year—which was also my first week at the school—and several teachers had roped me into Friday evening drinks at their favorite bar. They proved good company and I’d drank more and stayed out later than I’d meant to.
I’d taken so long to get through the door my eyes had adjusted to the light. I’d left the kitchen curtains open and a sliver of moonlight cast a shaft of dull grey across the kitchen sink and table. Thank you, genetics, for my good night vision—better than daytime, given I needed reading glasses to do my job. I blinked at the still unfamiliar setting, the furniture little more than shapes in the dim light. I hadn’t changed a thing since moving in two weeks ago. Tilly loved this house and all her well-worn possessions, so changing things around didn’t seem right somehow. A heavy, antique coffee table occupied the middle of the rug in Tilly’s sitting room. My knee still ached from the thwack I’d given myself on its edge a couple of days ago. No way I wanted to do that again.
A hollow, lusty, meow came from the kitchen.
“Coming, Snugs. I know it’s past dinnertime.” My stomach rumbled and I let out a jaw-stretching yawn. “Past mine, too.”
Luckily my handsome fur-baby, Snuggles, possessed the easy-going nature of all Maine Coon cats and I’d soon be forgiven for a late dinner. Especially if I shared the spaghetti and meatballs waiting for me in the fridge.
“Food for both of us, a quick bath and then bed with a book, I think, Snugs.” Now I was home, I couldn’t wait to rejoin Dimitri, the sexy-as-sin vampire in the paranormal thriller I’d started reading last night.
Snuggles pattered across the floor to me, head-butted the back of my knee, and wailed even louder.
With hands outstretched, I made my way across the room. At the arch into my kitchen I jolted to a stop, mouthed a silent wow and let out a slow breath. Heavens if that wasn’t the biggest, silveriest super moon I’d ever seen. Snuggles trilled and chirped as he circled around and between my calves.
He jumped to the countertop, chattering nonstop. I reached for the light switch but let my hand drop away. The orb was just too gorgeous, and with the moonlight I could see well enough to find the vet only premium food my fusspot preferred to eat. I dropped my bag on the table, found his food and serving spoon and mixed half wet and dry in his bowl.
I pushed the bowl to his feeding mat below the window. “Do you think I could get a shot of that moon, baby boy?”
Busy eating, Snuggles didn’t answer. Being a Maine Coon, he normally did respond and we conversed easily all the time, but he also loved his food. Nothing going on here. Doesn’t everyone talk with their cat?
“I bet the camera is in one of the still packed boxes in the spare room.” Seriously, I’m talking to my cat, not myself.
I shrugged out of my coat and laid it across my bag on the table. “No way I’ll find the camera before morning, let alone find it while the moon still hugs the horizon. My p
hone camera probably won’t cut it.”
Snuggles jumped onto the window ledge, pawed at the window, and chirped at the moon.”
“Yeah, you’re right, bubs. Can’t hurt to try.”
I dug my phone from my bag, traipsed to the door, and swung it open. A blast of cold air raised the hair on my neck. Ignoring the shiver that ran across my shoulders, I snapped oodles of photos of the moon framed by the huge red oak at the back of the garden. Snuggles peered at me from the door mat but made no effort to join me on the top step of the back porch.
I was still trying to frame the perfect shot when a sudden movement at the bottom of the picture frame startled me. With pulse racing, I squinted into the dark shadows. Out of nowhere, a silhouette appeared at the bottom of the garden. A silhouette of a person against the moon, feet apart, hands in pockets, shoulders easy. A quiver in my stomach grew in intensity. It was either a silhouette, or a man dressed in head-to-toe black. I knew in my gut it was a man, and he had not been standing there when I started taking photos. Holding the phone like a tiny shield, I backed up to the doorway and slammed and bolted the door shut. Snuggles scampered off the ledge. I switched on the lights, yanked the blinds down, and raced to the front door to make sure I’d bolted it as well.
Yep. Safely locked in. Everyone raved about Dogwood Grove, a small town alongside the Columbia River in Oregon. Safest place in the whole USA, according to my work colleagues. No one ever locks their doors, so they all said. Of course, they nearly all kept shotguns in the house, just in case.
Good for them, I’d answered. This girl comes from San Francisco, hardly knows one end of a gun from the other, and is used to locking her doors.
I forced my limbs to relax, but I couldn’t resist a peek through the blinds.
He was still there.
In the same spot.
I started to dial 911, but canceled the call. What if it was a kid’s stunt? A cutout placed in just the right spot to catch my eye from the kitchen window? A welcome-to-the-neighborhood from the local teens? The kids I’d met so far seemed nice enough, but who knew what the adolescent terrors got up to after dinnertime.