“Abigail…Barnes, milady.” The false surname was the third in the past twenty-two months. Did it sound as fake to them as it did to her?
“So, Miss Barnes. May I call you Abigail?” She didn’t wait for an answer, taking her assent as a given. “How do I look?”
“Stunning. So much better than–” Abby snapped her mouth shut, shocked at what she’d been about to say. Cindy’s eyes bugged out of her thin face. Noah choked on muffled laughter in the background.
“So much better than what?”
“I meant I like the changes made to the outfit.” Abby crossed her arms over her waist, feeling a bit sick to her stomach.
“And what exactly was wrong with it previously?” the queen asked, lobbing the loaded question with a lifted brow.
“It might have been a bit…” She hesitated, searching for the least offensive adjective. “Flashy?”
Abby inwardly cringed as Cindy sputtered a denial.
The vampire shushed her boss with a wave. “Flashy? Are you implying my attire is that of a Covent Garden nun?”
“Well…” She blew out a breath, thrown even more off-kilter by the thirty-something-looking Dádhe’s terminology, which presumably stemmed back centuries to the Infusion that transitioned her from human to immortal.
“Or perhaps a blower?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that…exactly.” Because what did that even mean?
Abby’s last quietly spoken word boomed off the shop’s white walls like a crack of thunder, the ensuing silence deafening. The queen’s full mouth compressed into a straight line as though mulling over the idea that her style choices might be questionable.
Astonished by what she had just insinuated, Abby rubbed her forehead with cold fingers. If Bridget MacCarthy were alive, she’d be appalled by her daughter’s uncharacteristic rudeness. It was a testament to how badly she’d been rattled by Samuel and the others that her ingrained manners had slipped so spectacularly.
The work shift needed to end, and Abby needed to leave—not only the boutique but the state. Without a doubt, it was time to move on again. Past time.
She’d lingered in Memphis too long, lulled into a false sense of security and tempted by the prospect of making real friends instead of passing acquaintances. The warm southern climate and dulcet twang of the city’s people had reminded her of home, the familiarity easing the constant aching loneliness that came with pretending to be someone she was not.
Emotionally exhausted, Abby heaved a sigh. “Lady Rose, please forgive m—”
The glass storefront imploded, and five men jumped through the broken window’s jagged opening, firing automatic weapons. They were dressed in black, their faces hidden by nylon balaclavas.
Dropping into a crouch, Abby reached around the small of her back to grab her compact SIG Sauer. It wasn’t there. She hadn’t worn the holster that day, carrying her gun to work in her purse instead. The purse she’d stashed underneath the register.
On the other side of the room.
Lady Rose narrowly avoided the barrage of bullets that shattered the trio of full-length mirrors behind her.
Abby covered her head, protecting her face from the shower of broken glass buffeting her bare arms and legs. Cindy screamed, dived into the nearest dressing room, and scrambled into the corner. She pulled out a .22 LR pistol, aiming it unsteadily at the gap in the privacy curtains.
Although it felt like an eternity, the gunfire didn’t last long. The assailants abandoning their firearms and drawing sleek katanas as they opted for the more traditional form of Fae Touched combat. The two-handed blades—opposed to the Ferwyns’ curved tulwars and shields—identified them as vampires as surely as if they’d hung signs around their necks.
Four of the masked Dádhe charged Samuel and Tucker. The fifth engaged Noah who had been separated from his clanmates during the initial salvo. The young shifter’s neck was bleeding.
Abby’s heart lodged in her throat as the commander narrowly evaded a vertical strike from one vampire, deflecting the oncoming blade from a second with his dish-sized shield. Before either opponent could counter, Samuel delivered a powerful kick to the nearest one’s ribs, sending him flying across the store. He crashed loudly into La Bella’s clothing racks, his arms and legs tangling in stainless-steel and silk shirts.
Samuel didn’t spare him a glance, his sword slicing toward the remaining assailant’s neck.
The Dádhe parried the death blow but strained against a Ferwyn’s greater strength as the commander stepped in close and locked their blades at the hilts. Samuel swiped at the vampire’s abdomen with his shield, converted nails extending beyond its rim ripped savagely through skin and muscle. His opponent collapsed to his knees, dropping his sword on a silent scream.
His comrade returned and attacked before Samuel could finish him off.
Abby watched in disbelief as the eviscerated Dádhe placed a bloody fist on the floor and retrieved his weapon. He regained his feet and staggered forward, yelling commands above the din of combat. His cohorts responded with a gale of sword strikes too fast to follow.
Afraid the coordinated effort would allow the injured vampire to slip past the queen’s protectors, Abby shouted for Cindy to get ready to shoot.
Modern-day ammo was made of steel and injected with iron, which was the single material guaranteed to harm a Fae Touched. Though a bullet wouldn’t necessarily kill a shifter or vampire, if it penetrated the heart or brain it would be debilitating. Their bodies would need to expend considerable effort and more importantly, time, to reject the toxin and repair the damage.
Cindy’s pocket pistol used small caliber ammunition but was rapid fire and carried ten rounds. If she succeeded in hitting the hostile vampire in one of those two susceptible organs, it would incapacitate him long enough to give the monarch a fighting chance.
Her boss jerked her head to the side. No.
Abby frantically sought the outnumbered shifters who were fighting furiously to obstruct the path to their queen. Noah leaped over the defeated vampire lying at his feet, swiftly joining his clanmates and evening the odds. Samuel went on the offensive, sweeping his blade in a horizontal strike. It sliced through the vampire’s forearm, and he reeled away shrieking in pain.
Her stomach lurched at the gruesome sight of the limb hanging by a grisly thread. Then it dropped like a stone as the previously gutted Dádhe skirted the ongoing battle and headed their way.
His arm was wrapped around his stomach, but the wound that would have killed a human hardly slowed him. The determined vampire picked up speed and was halfway across the long showroom when the commander spun, blood dripping from his curved sword.
Samuel’s rage-filled eyes met Abby’s horrified ones.
Dragging her gaze from the angry shifter, she pleaded with her terrified boss. “Cindy, please try.”
“I can’t,” she replied, the gun quaking in her grip.
Abby stood on trembling legs to face the queen, turning her back on Samuel and the rapidly approaching vampire.
Lady Rose was balanced on the balls of her bare feet among the chips of glass, readied to meet her attacker armed with nothing more than a sliver of broken mirror and an impressive set of fangs.
The masked Dádhe charged, sword slashing toward the queen’s neck. She ducked, and the blade whistled over the top of her head.
Abby gasped at the close call. It was time to choose.
She wasn’t who she claimed. Samuel suspected something was wrong, that her scent wasn’t right. But he couldn’t know why she smelled different. Not yet.
Abby understood better than most that acting didn’t guarantee success, and failure would expose her kind needlessly.
There was still a chance of walking away with her secret intact—if she stood by and did nothing to help. Allowed the queen to die.
Her parents would have been ashamed Abby hesitated at all.
While she struggled with her conscience, Lady Rose hadn’t stopped moving, jabbi
ng her crude knife into the attacker’s abdomen. The vampire ignored the glass embedded in his gut, rotated the single-edged katana and went for the killing upstroke.
With no other option, Abby steeled her nerves, inhaled—and reached for her magic.
It had been almost a decade since her first, accidental entry into the Rip. Two years, six months, and twelve days since the promise to never willingly enter it again.
It never got any easier.
The magic was vicious, the agony so intense it blinded her for a stuttering heartbeat. Gritting her teeth, Abby allowed the Rip to yank her into the blistering coldness of the void between realms. The dense atmosphere inside molded to her flesh like a coat of wet cement, compressing her slight form in its viselike grip until she feared her ribs would crack.
The thick lilac-scented air clung to her skin. It invaded her nose until she couldn’t breathe. Clogged her ears so she couldn’t hear. The constant pain made it hard to focus. It took every speck of Abby’s willpower to block the anguish long enough to concentrate on the frozen scene in front of her.
Lady Rose was unnaturally still, her skin ashen, her sable hair dulled to a matte silver hue. It was as though she’d been captured onto a single frame of an old black and white film, the shadowy image stuck on pause. Abby knew everyone within her sight lines would appear as motionless as the queen if she could spare the effort it would take to look.
The heels of Lady Rose’s hands were thrust forward, targeting the attacker’s wrists in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt to disrupt his swing. But she’d been a fraction too slow, and the deadly sword hung in stasis above her outstretched arms—mere inches from her throat.
Abby’s moment of selfish reluctance had almost cost another life.
Ordering her abused body to move, she pushed through the gelatinous environment. It was like swimming through freezing tar. Each millimeter of ground gained only added to her misery and tried to break her resolve.
She didn’t want to be there. Wanted nothing more than to leave the unimaginable agony behind and never experience it again. But she couldn’t, at least not yet.
Physics didn’t change within the Rip. The larger the mass, the more force it took to move it. Once positioned in the middle of the dueling vampires, Abby reached for the attacker’s blade, driving through the icy sludge until her palms wrapped around the hilt of the katana. Seconds ticked by with excruciating slowness, wrestling the point of the weapon to the floor with the last of her strength.
Buoyed by the condensed atmosphere, Abby floated above the arms of the unknown Dádhe at an impossible angle. The thickened air lashed at her skin. The negative pressure crushed her lungs. Her body felt bruised and bloodied. Her eardrums were close to bursting.
If she didn’t leave the Rip soon, she would essentially drown.
Seeing no further way to aid the queen—Abby let the magic go.
Chapter 2
The attack was unexpected, and Samuel’s gut told him it was hastily planned. The current climate between the nine Fae Touched territories and their US hosts necessitated days of preparation for Rose to safely leave ESC property. But the decision to come into the city had been an impromptu one. The excursion set in motion by a restless, obstinate monarch and contingent upon Samuel heading a handpicked security team.
No outsider could have known that Rose would be at La Bella. And it was apparent whoever sent them hadn’t counted on engaging the príoh of Clan Walker and his beta, or they would have sent more warriors. And maybe a battle witch.
The opening spray of bullets had grazed Noah’s neck, but the wound hadn’t kept his nephew from steadfastly meeting the vampire with his sword and shield, or swiftly taking him down. If the rogue Dádhes estimated even the youngest of the Guard escorting the queen would be an easy mark, they’d thought wrong.
Trusting his clanmates to watch his back, Samuel turned away from the battle. His gaze collided with Abby’s. The terror and despair he saw in her large, blue eyes had his priorities flipping. The loyalties of a lifetime called into question as every instinct screamed to protect her above all others. Above his monarch. Floored by his wolf’s visceral response, Samuel hesitated for a fraction of a second before regaining control and sprinting to the queen.
Rose’s lithe form moved with preternatural speed, narrowly dodging her attacker’s blade.
Samuel retracted his claws, grasped his leather-covered shield like a discus, and hurled it at the vampire’s head. Equal measures of disbelief and relief washed over him when the makeshift projectile completely missed its target—and the small blonde laying inexplicably in his arms. The vampire tossed Abby roughly aside and raised his sword.
Samuel vaulted the last yards and guillotined the Dádhe before he could strike at the unarmed queen again.
The severed head dropped with a sickening plop. A shrill scream rang out.
“Oh, do be quiet, Cindy,” Rose said, snatching the dead vamp’s katana off the floor, prepared to face another attack. But she was no longer in danger.
“Report,” Samuel barked over his shoulder, crouching next to the unconscious female on the floor and placing his fingertips on the pulse at Abby’s throat. He could easily hear her erratic heartbeat, but strangely couldn’t settle until he felt the additional proof of life beating against his skin.
He had been captivated by the petite beauty from the moment he walked into the store, his wolf enticed by her scent despite the stink of artificial jasmine drenching her skin. Samuel brushed-off the intense physical attraction and possessiveness wreaking havoc with his usually ironclad restraint, reasoning his dominant nature was innately drawn to the female’s shy sweetness. Abby’s vulnerability and underlying smell of fear would have triggered any Ferwyn male’s protective traits. That’s what he told himself anyway.
It was harder to explain why he’d held her soft hair in his fist earlier. Had been tempted to run his fingers through its length, depositing the pheromones from his skin onto the silky strands as if she belonged to him. Harder still to justify the uncharacteristic reaction to Tucker touching her—he’d wanted to break his fingers.
“Gone,” Tucker replied.
“You did the right thing.” Samuel reaffirmed his lieutenant’s decision not to chase after the remaining assassins. Reminded himself that the queen’s safety came first. “I want patrols on the island doubled and a cleanup crew here within twenty minutes. Tell Jenkins to get his ass down here ASAP to deal with the fallout we’ll get from the attack.”
“On it,” Noah said, walking away while punching numbers into his phone.
Samuel gently probed Abby’s skull. He discovered a small lump on the back of her head, but was more concerned with the blood staining both ears and leaving thin trails beneath her nose. Next, he ran his hands lightly over her limbs, finding no apparent breaks. After wiping away the blood above her lip with his thumb, he grabbed a discarded blouse from the floor, folded it into a loose ball, and eased it under her head.
“What do you smell, lieutenant?”
His beta’s nostrils flared as he breathed in the amplified odor of magic lingering in the air. “Wildflowers and rain.”
Every type of magic carried a distinctive smell. Witches emitted an undertone of pure vanilla, spicy and delicate like the pod. Different from the synthetic perfumes used in the commercial soaps and shampoos humans loved. Spellcasting would change the natural scent into the stronger aromas of anise or licorice. Nothing at all like Abby’s intoxicating scent.
“She must be a Na’fhuil,” the queen said with a trace of awed disbelief. She lowered her voice so only the Ferwyn could hear. “My nose is not as good as your kind, but I sensed there was something different about the girl. Her blood did not tempt me.”
“Abby isn’t one of your Feeders.” Samuel’s throat vibrated, a low growl emanating from deep inside his chest. “She isn’t prey.”
“No, I believe she is a descendant of a Sídhe Lord’s half-human offspring.”
> “Or Lady’s,” Tucker said as quietly, gaze locked on Abby’s helpless form.
“It’s been a thousand years since the Fae left Earth’s realm and returned to Faery.” Noah’s expression bore his skepticism as he rejoined the group. “Halfbloods are supposed to be extinct.”
“It appears they are not. Although Na’fhuils are so rare that I have never encountered one in the four centuries since my Infusion, I can see no other explanation.” Rose glanced at the store manager huddled in the corner of the changing room. The woman was pale and shaking but had obeyed the order to remain silent.
“There was a rumor that the Swiss Guard had one of her kind protecting the pope about fifty years ago,” Samuel said without looking up, his interest caught on a strand of white hair mixed in with the rich honey color of Abby’s bangs.
“The head of Italy’s Dádhe House and the country’s Anwyll king both denied it. They have sworn repeatedly to me and the other eight US Nine that there has not been a Fae’s mixed-blood progeny with active magic in their territory in over two hundred years.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time our regions’ monarchs were lied to by their foreign counterparts.” He rubbed the bleached lock between his thumb and forefinger, certain it hadn’t been there earlier.
“Yes.” Rose frowned. “But if Abigail is a true Na’fhuil, why is she here?”
“Hiding?” Tucker suggested, yanking a set of curtains from a stall and handing him one.
Samuel used the material to cover a shivering Abby to the waist while his lieutenant threw the other haphazardly over the body of the beheaded vamp.
“Why would she hide?” Noah asked, the wound on his neck fully closed.
“Those with halfblood magic were…vigorously sought after for their unusual talents.” Rose halted her explanation, her face pinched with distaste. She wrinkled her nose, looked at the beta, and gestured imperiously to the vampire’s unattached head.
“Hunted,” Tucker said, dutifully adding the rest of the dead Dádhe to its body, rolling it underneath the cover with his boot.
Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance Page 2
