Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance

by Lisa Rae Roman

  “Yes. If the tales are to be believed, a Na’fhuil can stop time with their magic. If Abigail’s lineage were brought to light, you can be assured she would not have been allowed to walk away. Anyone with access to that kind of power would have an unparalleled advantage over a rival.”

  The muscle in Samuel’s jaw jumped. He’d be angered by any Fae Touched being forced to use magic, but picturing Abby hunted and abused for her gift set his teeth grinding.

  The queen cocked her head, listening. The Dádhe had extraordinary hearing. More acute than a Ferwyn’s and unequal to any spell an Anwyll could conjure for that purpose. “The police will be here shortly.”

  Rose tidied her blood-splattered jacket and placed La Bella’s shoes on her feet, managing to look regal among the carnage. A calculated gleam entered her eyes. “I have decided Abigail is in grave danger. She requires our protection and will return with us to the island for her safety.”

  Before Samuel could comment, Abby’s eyes popped open, her spine bowing in soundless agony. Her pupils were dilated, the blackness almost blotting out the crystalline blue of her irises.

  Samuel laid his palm on her shoulder to hold her still.

  She shrieked at his touch. The sound tormented.

  “What the hell?” Noah fell to a knee beside him.

  Abby’s scream cut off with a wrenching sob.

  “Don’t,” Cindy called out weakly. She crawled to the edge of the dressing room and halted, noting the bloody, glass-strewn floor. “I think she might be having a seizure. Abby said she hadn’t had one in years, but I wasn’t to touch her if she did.”

  “What else did she say?” Samuel’s tone was harsh, and the woman paled further. He didn’t give a shit. He’d never seen anyone experience this type of magical backlash.

  Magic always evoked some level of pain upon initiation, like a witch’s spell when cast or a vampire’s incisors dropping to feed. But it was fleeting.

  The act of shifting hurt like hell, but once the change was completed, the discomfort evaporated within seconds and allowed the smallest pups to cope with converting their forms.

  “What else,” he grated out, enraged by her continued suffering.

  Rose placed a gentle hand on his back and turned to Cindy. “Did she tell you anything else about her…seizures? Think, Cindy; it is extremely important.”

  The older woman lifted her hand to push her hair out of her face and realized she still held her gun. She set the loaded pistol gingerly on the floor. “She carries medication in her purse.” Her voice shook. “It’s under the cash register.”

  Tucker was on the move before she finished speaking. He found Abby’s bag and tossed it to Noah who passed it to the queen. Rose rummaged inside, found a clear plastic tube and handed it to Samuel.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the ambulance?” Cindy asked. The wailing sirens were getting closer, as was the potential conflict with human authorities.

  “No.” He didn’t want Abby hurting longer than necessary, and any medical personnel would ask questions. Questions he didn’t have any intention of answering. He removed the four-inch auto-injector from its case, thumbed off the safety cap, and sniffed. “Fentanyl.”

  “But that is…” Rose trailed off, dumbfounded.

  “A hundred times stronger than morphine,” Samuel whispered, as stunned as his queen. How can magic…any magic…cause enough pain to require a dose of a dangerous drug like fentanyl?

  Rose closed her eyes briefly before drawing up to her full height and visibly pulling herself together. “The officers are here. I will take care of them. Do what you need to do, commander.”

  Chapter 3

  “Always wear a matching bra and underwear. You never know who might see them.”

  Bridget MacCarthy

  Abby awoke to a thumping headache and bright sunlight piercing her closed lids. Memories of the attack at La Bella crashed into her, and she bolted upright, gasping as every muscle protested. Ignoring the pain, she shoved aside a fluffy white comforter, swung her legs over the side of the massive king-size bed, and after waiting for the dizziness to pass, slowly stood.

  A black tee smelling like a freshly mown lawn slipped down her unsteady legs, the length ending a few inches above her knees. Planting one hand on the bed for balance, she used the other to yank the neck of the oversized shirt from her chest. She sighed in relief—her pastel pink bra and matching boy-shorts were right where they should be.

  Abby despised being defenseless. The vulnerability she experienced in the aftermath of a Rip Walk was one of the many reasons she hated using her halfblood magic. Regaining consciousness in a strange place half-undressed was at the top of that list.

  Abby shuffled to a window near the upholstered headboard and pulled aside the sheer panel. She immediately recognized Greenbelt Park and the Mississippi River flowing just beyond the well-groomed tree line.

  “Blood Island,” she whispered, letting her forehead thunk against the glass with a groan. “Great. Just great.”

  Mud Island, or Blood Island as the locals called it, wasn’t an island at all but an eight-hundred-something-acre peninsula situated between the Mississippi River and Wolf River Harbor on the northern side of Memphis. The island was given to the magical community by the US government in the early 1930s in keeping with the edicts of the recently signed Fae Accord. The treaty allowed the nonhuman races to divide America into nine autonomous territories, the boundaries invisible to the human citizenry but as tangible as stone castle walls to the Fae Touched residing within them.

  After Rose Standish accepted the newly created role as monarch to the ESC Region, she took the previously useless muddy sandbar and turned it into a self-sufficient district providing housing for thousands of nonhumans and their families. All Fae Touched inhabiting the states of Tennessee, Alabama, Kentucky, and Mississippi, whether living on sovereign land or not, fell under her reign.

  Abby unclenched her stiff fingers and let the drape fall into place.

  She walked gingerly to the suite’s modern kitchen, which took up the entire right side of the apartment. The updated space was decorated with whitewashed cabinets, gray quartz countertops, and a butcher-block island. The handles on the stainless-steel appliances were coated with spray rubber in consideration of the more iron-sensitive Fae Touched races. The added protection more psychological than physical as the metal alloy contained little of the toxic element.

  The thought of food made her stomach roil, but she opened the refrigerator and found it fully stocked. Mouth dry, Abby grabbed a water from the bottom shelf, uncapped it, and gulped half its contents. Then she set the plastic bottle on the counter and limped to the dove-colored sectional in the main living area. Using the couch as a crutch, she hobbled to the other side of the apartment and opened the first of two closed doors.

  The bathroom had a huge glassed-in shower, but no bathtub. The counters were made of the same stone as in the kitchen, the ceramic sink raised and shaped like a birdbath. The vanity held a stack of folded white towels and her overnight bag.

  “Wait. What?”

  She scurried inside and unzipped the familiar yellow duffel, finding it stuffed with toiletries from her downtown rental. Panic washed over her. Abby rounded a mirrored chest of drawers with as much speed as her abused body allowed, and threw open the closet door.

  It seemed like every piece of clothing she owned was inside the large walk-in. Her hand flew to her mouth as she scanned the evenly spaced hangers holding her dresses, blouses, skirts, and slacks. Her shocked gaze dropped to the row of familiar shoes and boots lining the floor. Two oversized roller suitcases with bright pink ribbons tied around the handles were set side by side against the rear wall. Her fingers shook as they left her lips to touch her favorite strapless, black dress.

  She rushed to the short dresser and jerked open the top drawer. Her bras and panties were folded inside. The middle drawer revealed her nighties and sleep shorts. The bottom held her jeans. Slamming it shut,
Abby raced into the closet and frantically rummaged through the neatly aligned tops, unable to breathe until she spotted the red and blue plaid button-down hanging alongside the rest of her things. Tears sprang to her eyes. She fought them back, lovingly smoothing the worn flannel sleeve into place before walking out.

  “This is so not good.” Shutting the door behind her, Abby slumped against it and tried to think. There was one explanation that made any sense—the queen knew she was a halfblood and meant to keep her.

  Forcing herself to move, she reopened the drawer with her jeans, grabbed the top pair, and pulled them on underneath the gargantuan tee. She hurried to the front door, ignoring her body’s aches and pains. Her hand froze on the doorknob. What if it was locked? And did it really matter when the island was practically a fortress?

  “Only one way to find out.”

  The door opened easily. A young woman wearing a coral tank top, khaki shorts, and flip-flops waited in the hallway. She was tall, her auburn hair hanging in a shiny braid over one slender shoulder, the tip reaching the middle of her chest. As soon as she saw Abby, she slipped her phone away and pushed off the wall.

  “Miss Barnes? I’m Joan Long, but everyone calls me Johnnie. Everyone except Jacob, that is. He calls me, Jo.” She smiled sweetly. “Either way, Joan is a horrible name. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well, I–”

  “When’s the last time you met a Joan?” The pretty girl was teeming with energy. “And my brothers got stuck with worse. Poor bastards, you can’t make a cool nickname out of Albert or Oscar. Mom’s a pacifist, which explains our stupid names.”

  Ignorance must have shown on Abby’s face.

  “Oscar Wilde? Albert Einstein? Joan Baez? I mean, what the French toast? Why couldn’t my mother name me after Bianca Jagger or something? She’s a peace-lover, isn’t she?” Johnnie sucked in air. “Anyway, how are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Are you hungry? I could run to the Riverfront Café downstairs. They make the best chicken wraps and smoothies in Memphis. Strawberry banana is my favorite, but you can get any combination. Oscar ordered a mint chocolate chip and kiwi once, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It was disgusting.”

  Abby opened the door a bit wider, but didn’t invite the shifter inside. Female Ferwyn couldn’t fully convert into wolf form; the incapability reportedly made their senses less acute than the males of their race. But their noses were far superior to humans, and without the perfume Abby used at the store to disguise her nonhuman scent, it was safer to maintain some distance.

  “Can you tell me whose apartment this is?” she asked, cutting in when Johnnie was forced to take a breath or pass out. “Or anything about what’s happened to me since I was brought to the island?”

  “Oh, wow, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t think. Obviously, you’d have no clue where you are since you were unconscious when my Alpha brought you to the apartment.” She shook her head, and with a visible effort, toned down her enthusiasm. “You’re in one of the Harbor Complex’s private suites. A healer from the clinic was called in to make sure you were okay. Her name is Regan. She’s awesome. She just moved here from…” Johnnie pursed her lips and tugged on her braid, no doubt trying to prevent what Abby suspected was an inherent tendency to ramble. “Anyhow, Regan thought you’d be awake by now, so when I heard you were up…” The freckles across her nose softened as she flushed a light shade of pink. Evidently, she-wolf hearing was still quite good. Invasion of privacy was probably a real issue among the Fae Touched.

  “Do you know where Commander Walker is? Can I speak with him?” Abby was barely hanging on to her composure. She needed answers, but if the gregarious shifter were completely ignorant of the circumstances that led to Abby winding up on the island, it wouldn’t do any good to raise her curiosity.

  “He’s with the queen. Lady Rose wants to see you as soon as you’re feeling up to it. I’m supposed to escort you when you’re ready.”

  “If it’s okay, I’d like to shower first.” She shifted uncomfortably on her bare feet, twisting the hem of the overlarge t-shirt in her hands.

  “Sure.” Johnnie’s interest dropped to Abby’s fingers. Her nostrils flared and a knowing grin spread across her face. “I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half then?”

  “That’d be great, thank you.”

  “No, thank you. Rumor has it you saved the queen’s life last night. We’re all indebted to you, Miss Barnes.”

  Last night? Abby almost sagged in relief. It had been less than twelve hours since the attack. Depending on how long she stayed in the Rip and the amount of damage done to her body, her state of unconsciousness could last anywhere from twenty minutes to an entire day, though the latter had only happened once.

  “I’m glad I was there to help. And please, call me”—Johnnie shot forward without warning and dragged her into a rib-crushing hug—“Abby.”

  Chapter 4

  “There is nothing more empowering than wearing your favorite pair of heels.”

  Bridget MacCarthy

  The hot water did wonders for Abby’s sore muscles. The bone-deep ache eased enough for her to walk without limping. Her head throbbed, but the persistent migraine and nausea that followed a trip inside the Rip was lessened by the Anwyll healer’s care.

  She dressed carefully for the audience with the queen, choosing a sleeveless yellow blouse, wide-leg navy slacks, and four-inch, round-toed pumps. Drying her hair straight, she parted it to the side in an attempt to hide the newfound white strip in her bangs. She was sure no one would notice the difference, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

  After applying her makeup, Abby drank another bottle of water, took some aspirin, and started searching the suite. She didn’t have much beyond her clothing—the less to pack if forced to move quickly—but everything she did own had been brought into the complex apartment, everything except her gun and her phone.

  Abby needed that phone. Her brother would worry if she didn’t call soon.

  Conlan worked outside the country, and Abby hadn’t seen him since their grandmother’s funeral almost two years ago. The day before she ran from a life that had become intolerable.

  Conlan would lose his mind when he found out she had gambled with her freedom by using magic again. He was all Abby had left in the world. It killed her that they couldn’t risk contact for fear her brother’s movements were being monitored and could lead to her recapture.

  The more Abby thought about what to say to Lady Rose and the others at the meeting, the more anxious she became. She pilfered a few crackers from the pantry to settle her stomach but had only managed to choke one down before Johnnie arrived to take her to the queen.

  The leggy shifter chattered amicably as they passed several other apartments and an intersecting corridor on the walk to the elevators. They descended two floors, and the doors slid open to reveal a reception area filled with bright daylight.

  “UVA and UVB glass,” Johnnie explained, noting Abby’s surprise. “It’s mandatory for every building on the island. Good thing too because vamps are the biggest babies evah.” She rolled her eyes.

  The lobby was large and sparsely furnished. Shaped in a semicircle, it seemed more of a hub than a foyer, the hallways branching from its center like the spokes of a wagon wheel. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, the clear dangling prisms catching the late morning sun. A circular table with an elaborate floral arrangement sat in the middle of the room, vibrant with the colors of spring.

  A male carrying a beat-up duffel bag, dressed in workout shorts, a t-shirt, and dark sunglasses appeared from an adjacent corridor. He waved but didn’t slow. Moving with panther grace, the vampire entered the elevator and pushed the button to shut the doors. Repeatedly.

  Johnnie winked and mouthed babies. Apparently, specially treated windows could only do so much.

  They veered left and took the first offshoot, Johnnie describing the queen’s residence as though she was a real estate agent angling for a lucrative commiss
ion. Beyond the administrative offices and meeting spaces, the complex offered two casual dining options, a fully equipped gym, a twenty-five-meter lap pool, several game rooms, a shooting range, and a small movie theater. The amenities were available 24/7 to anyone working or living on the island.

  Her fast-moving escort passed double doors with an Anwyll in full combat gear stationed on either side. She waved at the witches but didn’t stop to talk. The next entrance they came to was identical to the first, except a pair of shifters flanked its entrance.

  Ferwyn males tended to be bigger and taller than the average Untouched man, and these shifters were no exception. Both were well over six feet, broad-shouldered, and thick-muscled. While Johnnie spoke to one Guard, the other’s nose wrinkled and a deep crease marred the space between his brows. He studied Abby openly, the confusion on his face reinforcing the urgency pushing her to leave Mud Island and the city of Memphis behind.

  She passed through the outer office doors, and the warriors sniffed. Abby hoped the extra layer of perfume she applied before leaving the apartment would be enough to camouflage her scent.

  “Hey, Zee!” Johnnie greeted the attractive woman sitting behind an antique desk.

  The queen’s secretary was typing furiously on a glossy, black laptop while speaking into a small mouthpiece hanging from her ear. The witch appeared to be in her mid-forties. Her lips were painted bright red, her black hair twisted into a neat chignon. A forest green cap-sleeved blouse contrasted with the multitude of white-inked curlicues running over her arms and the backs of her hands; the identifying Anwyll tattoos were exquisite.

  Halting her work, she looked up from her computer with a wide grin, covered the microphone with slim fingers lacquered with cherry polish, and whispered, “Go on in.”

  Johnnie answered with a mock salute, leading Abby to the second set of richly stained doors. “They’re waiting for you inside,” she said, squeezing her arm encouragingly. “I’ll catch you later, okay?”