Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance

by Lisa Rae Roman

  He probed the connection with the Ferwyn sentries outside, relieved to find they were alive but plainly drugged.

  It must have been a fast-acting narcotic or Samuel would have received a warning through the pack bonds. Strong emotions like heightened anxiety, anger, or fear always garnered his immediate attention, but Alphas routinely blocked the more mundane emotions of their clanmates for sanity’s sake.

  Samuel worked his way to the bottleneck at the front of the club, tearing at the vampires in his path. The trapped humans were defended by Noah, Sarah, and the young witch Scarlett who’d boldly confronted him and Abby earlier.

  Scarlett held a busted chair leg in a hand stained with blood, jabbing at an unhinged vampire. The splintered wood blazed bright white through the red smears. Her human friends clung to her slender back as though they were drowning and the witch was their only lifeline.

  Scarlett was too young to have offensive spells tattooed on her body, so she used the stake as a conduit while her blood fueled the incantation. How she’d acquired the catalyst to carve a magical rune into the broken piece, Samuel wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  The Dádhe was zapped with a shot of electricity whenever her stabs connected, his body jerking with every hit. His blind hunger kept him coming back for more.

  Noah’s slender golden-brown wolf fought alongside the courageous Anwyll, his vicious teeth bared. His claws swiped at the vamps who got too close to either the witch or the terrified humans gathered behind her. And Sarah…

  His sister’s clothing was stained with blotches of the blackish concoction, her neck and exposed collarbone covered with the stuff. She swung at an encroaching vampire’s stomach with her converted nails, the female retreating to avoid the blow. Like a mythical Valkyrie, Sarah’s long hair flew around her too-thin frame as she wheeled a kick to the Dádhe’s jaw, her beloved face pale but fierce with determination.

  A narrow stream of fire shot past Samuel’s right shoulder, the flame hitting a vampire in the leg as he attacked a group of hysterical women piled on the floor beneath a dancer’s swinging cage. The Dádhe screamed, batting at his smoking slacks with both hands. The shirtless Anwyll repeated the spell, a pair of detailed tattoos on his upper back gleaming white hot. He cast another volley, smacking the vamp in the center of his torso and knocking him on his ass.

  Samuel clawed through the war zone Chess had become with the disturbing awareness that dangerous witch secrets were being exposed. But that was something they’d have to deal with later. For now, he needed to focus on opening the locked doors before someone got killed.

  When he reached the exit, Samuel reverted to human form. The shifting of bone and muscle made a soft pop; the conversion completed within a handful of seconds. The change nothing more than a blur of color and muffled snaps to those watching.

  He pushed through the panic-stricken Untouched blocking his way and shoved at the padded steel exit with his shoulder. It gave but didn’t break. The small opening he made in the double doors revealed a thick chain fastened around the outside bars. Bracing his feet, he dipped his knees and pushed again. The galvanized links groaned in protest but continued to hold.

  Tucker suddenly appeared at his side, his gray wolf banished. His beta lent his considerable strength to the task, and the doors finally burst open, the padlock exploding into fragments. They moved aside, avoiding the humans stampeding past them.

  At the first whiff of clean air, the vampires who’d been fighting his family and Scarlett like wildcats stopped. The red in their eyes dissipated, expressions altering from manic to puzzled and then to stupefied horror as they saw the devastation they’d unwillingly wrought.

  “Noah, open the emergency exits. We need to get rid of this stench,” Samuel called out. “And send someone to check on the Guards outside. I think they’ve been tranqued.”

  He signaled two clanmates and a capable-looking witch whose human charges had already run to freedom, ordering them to make sure none of the vampires left the building.

  Samuel took in the destruction in a heartsick glance.

  A dozen wolves had corralled at least thirty dazed Dádhe into the center of the dance floor, forming an unbreakable circle. Everywhere he looked, witches were ripping pieces of their clothing, tearing the cleanest portions into strips and bandaging the bitten humans. The Anwyll with healing abilities worked to save those with throat wounds, preventing them from bleeding out from the more savage feedings.

  Samuel’s gut twisted. His first instinct had been correct. The attack wasn’t about the queen, but the ongoing deconstruction of peace. Whoever initiated this heinous act got exactly what they wanted—Fae Touched harming innocent humans. The ramifications would change the magical community forever.

  The house lights came on, blinding him for the seconds it took to adjust to the harsh glare. Once his vision cleared, he noted remaining blood-mad vampires on the upper levels of the club where the cleansing oxygen hadn’t yet reached. Several converted Ferwyn were keeping the Dádhe stragglers from the humans left in the building, herding the vamps down the steps and toward the ring of waiting pack members.

  Although Myles and Rose were too old and experienced to succumb to bloodlust, Samuel desperately wanted to check on Abby. If she had obeyed him and stayed put, there was no reason to worry. He still wanted—needed—to confirm she was all right for himself.

  A spine-tingling shriek rose above the snapping and snarling of wolves. Above the cries and moans of the injured. Above the wrath of starving vampires being denied their dinner. Although the scream wasn’t Abby’s, somehow Samuel knew. He just knew she hadn’t stayed fucking put.

  Breaking into a run, Samuel converted mid-stride, hitting the first row of steps on four legs. His sharp claws left grooves in the slick cement flooring as they sought purchase. His spiking distress zipped through the pack ties. Around the club, wolves howled, feeling his anger as keenly as if it were their own. Tucker trailed him, the gray wolf vocalizing along with his clanmates as he strove to catch his Alpha.

  Samuel was halfway up the stairs when Myles’ arms locked around Vicky’s chest from behind. She was hunger-maddened and bucked at the steely hold, head-butting the prince in the face. Samuel heard the crunch of smashed cartilage and a grunt of pain, but the Standish thlán didn’t retaliate, moderating his superior strength so as not to harm the mindless Guard.

  The source of the heart-wrenching wail was currently sheltered by the queen; the human shoved between Rose and the overturned table. The woman was grabbing at the monarch’s jacket, pleading for someone to help her husband.

  Hop’s black wolf stood sentinel, protecting them both.

  Samuel reached the top level, and Tucker veered left, plowing into the struggling combatants. Myles released Vicky, rolling deftly away from the impending collision.

  Tucker’s large paws pushed the Guard’s shoulders to the floor while the full weight of his haunches trapped her legs, deftly immobilizing the vampire.

  Samuel chose the opposite direction, racing toward the woman’s endangered spouse—and Abby.

  His halfblood was far removed from where he’d left her and too near a man cornered against the bar. The human wielded a wooden stool, attempting to hold off a male vampire while his forearms bled from multiple bite wounds.

  The crazed Dádhe grabbed the chair by its legs and heaved, easily stealing the improvised shield and tossing it over the frightened man’s head. It crashed into the mirrored wall, shattering shelves packed with liquor bottles and glassware. The trapped Untouched tried to scramble over the polished counter but was caught by the ankle, the hungry male sinking his incisors into the man’s calf. The human screamed in agony and kicked futilely at the vampire’s face. His wife screamed along with him.

  Samuel’s wolf pounded down the narrow aisle and leaped the railing. His paws hit the hard concrete as Abby hefted a crystal decanter and smashed it on the Dádhe’s skull.

  The male retaliated by disconnecting from his me
al and backhanding her across the face. The strength of the blow sent Abby into flight. She landed on a tabletop ten feet away; momentum forced her body to slide over its edge.

  Samuel’s wolf was in a full-blown rage when he reached the errant vampire. He bit on the male’s thigh until his teeth met bone. Flesh tore as he pulled the screeching Dádhe off the unresponsive human, uncaring that the femur snapped under the pressure.

  He left the writhing vampire on the ground, but couldn’t calm himself enough to revert to two legs—even after detecting Abby’s steady heartbeat. He padded to where she lay pale and still. Nudging her with his nose, he rolled his muzzle over her hip.

  “Samuel?” she said softly, her long lashes fluttering open.

  Crouching low, he laid his head gently on her stomach.

  “Is that woman’s husband okay?” Her voice shook.

  Samuel nodded, reinforcements had arrived.

  The island’s newest healer and the prince had the wounded man placed lengthwise on the countertop, ignoring the moaning vampire at their feet. The two were squaring off over what appeared to be—Myles’ tie. One of Regan’s hands was outstretched, the other busily pressing a bar towel to the human’s badly bleeding leg.

  “Damn waste of a Brioni,” Myles complained while unknotting the fabric around his neck.

  “Are you kidding me? We’re talking about someone’s life here.” Her dark chocolate eyes were alight with indignation. “Just shut up and give it to me already.”

  Raising one brow high, Myles scanned the witch’s non-club attire of ripped jeans, bright orange tank, and flat sandals. “We should use the rags you’re wearing instead,” he said, zeroing in on the close-fitting top. “I’d be happy to reimburse you its minimal monetary value.”

  “I’m not parading around in my bra when I have a perfectly good alternative.” Her lips firmed mulishly. “Hand. It. Over.”

  Myles pulled the tie loose and held it out grudgingly. “One last chance, sweetheart. I promise I won’t look at your…” his gaze dropped pointedly to her generous bustline, “assets if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart,” she said, snatching the black silk and wrapping it above the man’s bloody wound, securing it firmly.

  A tattoo near Regan’s heart shimmered, the light sending silvery sparks to her clavicle, over her shoulders, and down the length of her arms to her fingertips. Once the glow was concentrated in her palms, she placed them flat on the man’s rent flesh and pushed the white healing magic into the deep gash.

  Myles stood with his arms crossed, the collar of his dress shirt unbuttoned, a smear of blood beneath his nose. “Don’t you think a thank you is in order, sweetheart?”

  “Oh, was I being rude?” Regan kept her focus on her patient. “How discourteous of me to forget to curtsy at your royal presence. And then to have the gall to withhold a simple phrase of gratitude after your extreme personal sacrifice. What was I thinking?” The question was heavy with derision. “So, pay attention, ’cause here’s me thanking you.” She looked over her shoulder, meeting his narrowed eyes. “Thanks…buttercup.”

  Samuel turned to Abby and huffed through his nose. When she didn’t respond to the prompt, he huffed again. Finally understanding the unspoken question, Abby assured him she was fine. Nothing felt broken. She just needed another minute to catch her breath.

  Satisfied with her response, he moved his snout to the hollow of her shoulder, and she timidly tangled her slim fingers into the bushy ruff of his neck. He didn’t protest the intimate touch, and she began softly stroking his fur.

  The rest of the island’s medical team had arrived and were assisting whomever they could.

  Samuel’s ears twitched at the sound of multiple sirens approaching. Rose must have issued the order to let the city’s emergency vehicles and personnel on-site to help treat the damaged humans. He needed to convert and deal with the night’s repercussions.

  Abby’s soft caress slipped away as he reluctantly stood. His wolf towered above the halfblood as she pushed onto her elbows with a notable wince. Samuel growled at the sight of her rapidly swelling cheek, changing to human form with a furious bellow.

  Abby wasn’t fine at all.

  Chapter 14

  “Always wash your makeup off before going to sleep; you’ll thank me later.”

  Bridget MacCarthy

  She hadn’t meant to lie.

  As a Rip Walker, Abby’s tolerance levels were skewed; her body desensitized to all but the most severe pain. She’d been genuinely surprised when Regan glanced at her face and stated it was a miracle her jaw wasn’t dislocated. And was shocked to hear that several of her ribs were fractured and not merely bruised. To Abby, the throbbing in her cheek and the ache in her chest were just that—a throb and an ache.

  Samuel hadn’t said a word while her injuries were being treated, but his fierce glower never left her face. And when the heat from the healing spell hurt worse than the original damage, he pried open Abby’s tight fist and held her hand, interweaving their fingers.

  The human authorities took hours to unravel the mess and vacate the island. Thankfully, no one had died. The quick actions Samuel and the others had taken to protect the Untouched prevented a catastrophic evening from turning into a tragic one.

  It was late when they finally got back to the complex, but Samuel insisted on escorting Abby to her apartment and then followed her inside.

  “When are the police conducting their interviews?” She opened the refrigerator door and winced at the painful tug on her ribs. Grabbing two bottles of water, she offered one to the commander.

  He accepted the cold drink and leaned against the butcher-block island, muscular legs crossed at the ankles. Samuel took a long chug before saying, “Tomorrow night in one of the conference rooms downstairs.”

  The simple fact that Chess was sovereign ground had ensured no one from the Standish House was arrested. The MPD had no authority on the island. Allowing the police to ask their questions was a courtesy Lady Rose didn’t have to extend.

  Abby nodded and circled to the other side of the counter, afraid of giving in to the frighteningly strong desire to lay her aching head on his chest if she remained too close.

  After the events at the club, her confused feelings for the Alpha should be the last thing on her mind. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the explosive kiss they’d shared. Couldn’t stop thinking about him. The taste and texture of his lips on hers. The way her stomach muscles clenched, and her heart went haywire every time Samuel was nearby. Every time he touched her. How much she honestly liked the bossy male and wanted him to kiss her again.

  “Okay. I think I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep,” she said, hoping Samuel would take the hint and leave before Abby embarrassed herself even more than she already had that night.

  She’d petted his wolf!

  Abby blocked out the image of stroking Samuel’s glorious fur as though he was a freaking German Shepherd and not an eight-hundred-pound beast the size of a bear with sharp claws and even deadlier teeth. What came over her at that moment, she’d no idea. Maybe she did have the concussion Regan cautioned because threading her fingers into his wolf’s thick coat had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” he said. “Mind if I make a quick phone call?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” she said, but he was already sitting on the couch, cell phone to his ear.

  Abby walked to the dresser, surprised by Samuel’s easy agreement to leave. She chose a pair of stretchy boy-shorts along with a matching cotton camisole while his baritone rumbled in the background. Then she patiently waited for him to notice her hovering, gesturing to the bathroom, and waving goodbye. He could let himself out. Samuel nodded distractedly, engrossed in his phone conversation.

  She gasped at her reflection in the mirror. It looked like a tornado picked her up, spun her around for an hour or so and then ruthlessly tos
sed her out. Onto a concrete street. That was littered with roadkill.

  Abby plucked at her sticky, alcohol-covered blouse and torn sleeves. A clump of blond hair hung over her shoulder, crusty from the sugary drink Samuel had thrown on her. Her once-pristine shorts were covered in grime from their extended visit with the club’s cement floor.

  She really needed a bath.

  Leaning over the counter to inspect her colorful abrasions, she admired the Dádhe’s handiwork.

  From her right temple to her jawline was a mass of green and yellow splotches. The bruises, thanks to Regan, were in the end stages of healing but also hideous. Lifting her shirt, she found the same garish hues running from her waist to underneath her left breast and inching toward her underarm.

  Abby didn’t regret trying to help the woman’s husband, but cracking a vampire over the head with a glass bottle hadn’t been her smartest idea. Next time—please don’t let there be a next time—she’d remember vampires had extremely tough skulls and would find something less fragile to hit them with. Maybe a two-by-four.

  She kicked off her heels, tossed her ruined clothes into a pile on the tile floor and hopped in the shower. She washed her hair twice, heaping on conditioner. The aches and pains of her ill-treated body alleviated by the pounding hot water until she could’ve fallen asleep standing up.

  Abby forced herself to get out and go through her regular evening routine, removing her makeup and spreading moisturizer on her tender face and body. She dried her hair, put on her pjs, and was brushing her teeth—gently—when she heard a noise in the apartment. Toothbrush in her mouth, she cautiously opened the bathroom door. And stared. She couldn’t help it.

  Samuel reclined shirtless on her bed, his hair, which was its usual tousled mess, falling onto his forehead as he focused on his phone. His chiseled jawline was scruffy with a few days growth of beard. His chest was broad and tanned a light bronze, abs flat and ridged with hard, packed muscle. Well-developed shoulders leaned against the headboard, legs stretched in front of him, feet bare and on top of the blankets. His cargo pants were on, but the top button was undone.