Fae Touched (Fae Touched Book 1): Paranormal Romance

by Lisa Rae Roman

  Hodge was ex-military and human, as were all those on the protection team. On the rare occasion when a Na’fhuil was sent on assignment, it was standard facility policy that they weren’t allowed to work with another Fae Touched. The chance of discovery while in proximity to a Dádhe’s or Ferwyn’s acute senses over a prolonged mission was too high.

  The director had only agreed to send Abby because the Texas politician, along with being a future presidential candidate, happened to be the younger brother of the current Secretary of Homeland Security. The DHS was one of the few agencies aware of the facility’s existence. The senator had been receiving death threats because of his highly controversial platform on race relations with the magical community. Most notably, his belief they should remain self-governing. The elder Graham brother had thrown his considerable weight behind the request and gotten the special protection approved for his sibling.

  “Gibson,” the senator called, already heading for the door.

  “Yes, sir?” Abby responded after a slight hesitation, still not entirely comfortable with the cover surname.

  “Bring the laptop. I want to dictate a few emails while we eat.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I’ll get it.” As Graham’s assistant and all-around gopher, Abby was expected to defer to Hodge and the other members of the safekeeping team. No one knew she was a magical creature sent for added defense. Not even the senator.

  “Bow chicka wow wow,” Sean sing-sang, waggling his eyebrows comically. “I love it when you say sir. It’s kinda kinky.”

  “For pity’s sake, Sean.” His father turned in the tight quarters of the customized coach, plainly exasperated with his son’s flirtatious antics.

  Abby hid her grin, grabbed the computer, and followed her primary. Two agents from the senator’s entourage waited at the bottom of the steps for them to disembark. Graham exited first. Hodge was next, and then Abby. Sean had stayed back a few steps with his personal guard plastered to his side.

  An SUV with darkened windows rolled in directly after their cavalcade. She watched it park near the entrance of the roadside diner. The tension gripping the group faded when an elderly man and woman stepped out and headed straight inside the restaurant.

  “I hope this place makes a decent sandwich. I’m sick of burgers,” Sean said as they crossed the mostly empty parking lot. Abby knew the senator’s youngest child was tired of being trapped on a bus all day. He’d been away from his friends the entire summer, forced to travel with his father from Podunk town to Podunk town collecting votes. He had enough of bad food, making nice with strangers, and sleeping in a different motel every night.

  “Cheer up,” Abby called over her shoulder. “School starts in less than two weeks. You’ll be eating cafeteria food in no time.”

  Sean stuck his hands in his jean pockets, shortening his coltish strides. “Did you know the word cafeteria comes from the Latin café which means to eat and teria which means to retch?”

  Catching the teen’s challenging grin, Abby rolled her eyes at the blatant truth-stretching but decided to play along. They’d started their game of obscure facts at the beginning of the road trip. The tricky part was trying to connect the subject matter.

  “Did you know in ancient Rome it was perfectly acceptable to vomit during banquets so they could continue to eat and drink all night?”

  Sean snorted. “Well, did you know Caesar salad—”

  “Gun!” Hodge’s shout sent everyone scrambling.

  Abby flinched, wasting precious seconds wrestling the natural inclination to crouch and get out of the line of fire. She had to enter the Rip upright or pay tenfold once inside. At the distinctive pop pop of weapon fire, she resolutely squared her shoulders, sucked in a lungful of air, and pulled on her magic.

  The sensation of razor blades cutting her flesh to ribbons greeted her as she hurtled through the barrier between realms. Tearing through the invisible breach, she entered the burning cold. The frigid atmosphere wrapped around her small frame, clamping down hard. The pressure threatened to break bone with its strength. The agony was paralyzing, but Abby did what she was trained to do: shove the pain to the furthest recesses of her mind and assess the situation.

  Hodge’s hand was on the senator’s shoulder, his heavily muscled body getting ready to launch at the politician. The guard’s intent to use his body as a living shield was abundantly clear. The two agents on the front line were cloaked in the shaded black and gray tones of the void, their pistols out to return fire.

  Clenching her teeth against the unavoidable escalation of pain, Abby raised her arm through the thickened air, reached for the stray bullet nearest her and laboriously redirected it.

  She methodically cleared the path of projectiles on her way to the senator. Hodge’s large frame blocked any further progress and Abby had to maneuver around the team leader, one unbearable, tormented step at a time. Her lungs were in crippling agony by the time she was in position to reroute the bullets that were frozen midair and on a collision course with John Graham’s exposed head and chest.

  Muscles on fire and slowly suffocating from lack of air, she took care of the four bullets that would have wounded, if not killed, the senator. Knowing she’d reached her limit of endurance, she surveyed the area, looking for any missed threats. Her gaze landed on Sean, and her stomach plummeted to her knees.

  The teenager’s shoulder dipped toward the ground; his right arm swung wide as if ready to tackle the person in front of him to the hard pavement. Someone who was no longer there—her.

  More than one bullet had gotten through the group in the time it took Abby to initiate her halfblood magic. The first was in Sean’s guard, the injured agent lying flat on his back, a darker gray shadow splashed across his neck indicating where he was shot and now bled. The second was held in suspended animation, six inches from Sean’s head.

  Abby didn’t think—she lunged, gaining no more than a foot as she battled the fierce resistance of the Rip. Refusing to give up, she drove her hand through the opposing force until her fingers came within inches of the deadly missile aimed at Sean.

  The muscles in her shoulder tore. Her eardrums burst.

  Black dots obscured her vision, and her mind screamed for her just to let go.

  She stretched.

  The tissues in her lungs ruptured, and her mouth opened, instinctively seeking life-giving oxygen where there was none. The condensed slush of the Rip invaded her throat and nose.

  Abby reached.

  Fear pushed her beyond the devastating pain, beyond any thoughts but one—save Sean. The tips of her nails grazed the killing shot as her vision narrowed.

  God, please help me.

  She strained for all she was worth. The bullet started to turn.

  Her lungs collapsed.

  “No!” Abby screamed as the noonday sun hit her chilled skin. Liquid splattered across her face and chest, the scorching heat on her aching skin had her crying out in renewed agony. She collapsed, landing on her belly, limbs too weak to break the fall. She grunted at the jarring impact, then gasped as air whooshed into her lungs, expanding them and setting them aflame. She tasted copper on her tongue and gagged. Bile burned her throat. Fat droplets fell from her face and hair, quickly forming a small pool beneath her cheek. Abby lifted her chin, dreading what she’d find.

  Sean’s blue eyes were wide open, staring blankly at nothing while blood and gore clung obscenely to his overlong lashes. The top of his beautiful blond head was gone.

  Abby convulsed, vomiting onto the concrete. With the last of her energy, she rolled to her back and bargained with God.

  Please, take me! Take me instead.

  She wept and prayed for Him to change what couldn’t be changed.

  Take me!

  Grief invaded her soul, breaking her spirit into a million pieces. The gunfire ceased, and the only sound was the tormented cries of a parent who had lost their child.

  Faraday’s voice wrenched Abby back to the present.
The ambassador was still talking.

  “Where is your loyalty to your country?” he asked, shaking his head sadly.

  “I’m Fae Touched, not human.” She made a fist and placed it over her stomach, pressing in to curtail the sickness bubbling at the fresh reminder of Sean’s death. “I never meant to use my magic, but felt I had no choice. The queen could have died.”

  “The world doesn’t know about your kind. And trust me, Lady Rose won’t announce it. You can come back.” Faraday closed in on her.

  “What? No. I don’t think…” Abby took a deep breath. “The queen won’t let me go.”

  “She’ll have no choice,” he stated, emotionless. “It would have been easier if you’d met me off-island as I’d requested. Numerous times. We could have gotten you away before anyone knew what happened. They wouldn’t have found you again.”

  “I haven’t been allowed to leave the island.” And she’d made a promise to Samuel to stay until Lady Rose was safe.

  “That’s unfortunate.” Faraday rocked on his heels, his hands clasped behind him. “You’re putting Conlan in a precarious position,” he said, voice smooth as snake oil. “His work is dangerous under the best circumstances. We don’t want him to worry about his sister’s well-being while his mind should be on business. Especially if his assignment unexpectedly changes and the situation becomes even more perilous. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes.” Saliva pooled in her mouth at the ambassador’s implicit threat. “Of course.”

  “Good girl, I’ll be in touch,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “Until we can get you out, keep your eyes and ears open. Never know what you might hear that could be of interest to us.”

  “You want me to spy on the queen? I won’t do it.” The swift denial flew from her mouth without thinking, but she didn’t regret saying it.

  “I suggest you reconsider,” he said without turning around. A wave of cold sweat washed over Abby’s skin. “I hear Iran is pleasant this time of year.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she bent over and threw up into the empty trashcan.

  Chapter 18

  “Don’t confuse the salt with the sugar.”

  Bridget MacCarthy

  “Are you feeling ill? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine, milady.” Abby bent to tidy the hem of Lady Rose’s dress.

  After disposing of the soiled wastebasket, she ran into the nearest restroom to rinse out her mouth, reapply her lipstick, and pop two pieces of mint flavored gum. Her late arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the last-minute adjustments to the queen’s attire were made with Samuel’s stare drilling into her back.

  “Everything is going to work out, Abigail.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Doubtful.

  “Abigail?”

  “All set.” She straightened and feigned a bright smile. “You look perfect.”

  “Thank you,” the queen said. Then surprised Abby by gently cupping her uninjured cheek. “I misspoke earlier when I said you belonged to the region.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her birthplace dictated which Fae Touched region claimed her magic. Abby was born in Mississippi which was part of the ESC; therefore, she owed allegiance to whoever ruled it.

  “I should have added that we will protect you from the facility and anyone else who may try to harm you because you are one of mine. I did not mean to imply your only value is in your Na’fhuil heritage. I consider you a friend, Abigail. And I hope one day you will become a part of our community because you choose to be. Not because you have no other choice.”

  “Lady Rose—”

  “I have changed my mind, which is a monarch’s prerogative.” She released Abby with a wink. “I have decided it would be better if you watched the broadcast from my office.”

  “I’m supposed to remain by your side.”

  “I will be surrounded by my heir, the region’s commander, the Anwyll grandmaster, and the state’s magister. And trust me, Magister Hollowell may look old and frail, but Emma is a witch you do not want to mess with.”

  Abby knew magisters were second only to the grandmaster in power and were politically comparable to a human governor.

  “But—”

  “Several members of my illustrious Guard, the Memphis chief of police.” She continued to tick off each name. “The beta of Clan Walker and…Carter Jenkins. I could not be any safer if I addressed the press from an armored tank.”

  As if hearing his name, Jenkins interrupted the conversation, informing them it was time to begin.

  “It is settled. I will see you after the news conference. Wish me luck?”

  “Good luck, milady,” Abby said gratefully. “And thank you.”

  Lady Rose proceeded to the Harbor Complex’s extensive landing where a podium sprouted clusters of network microphones. The journalists representing the multitude of displayed logos were waiting outside in a clump at the bottom of the steps, their satellite-equipped vans jamming Island Drive.

  Samuel, Tucker, and Lord Myles exited the building a few paces behind the queen, followed closely by Chief Pennington, Ambassador Faraday, Jenkins, and the elder magister. The grandmaster trailed the procession.

  Wyatt Lake appeared to be in his early forties and was striking enough to have been a movie star from the same era. He wore a pinstriped suit and vest over a rugby player’s frame. The only thing the grandmaster lacked to complete the old Hollywood image was a fedora…and maybe a Tommy gun.

  Representing a united front, the group formed into a semicircle behind the queen. Abby quickly lost sight of her. Taking that as her cue, she hurried to Lady Rose’s office. She didn’t want to miss the speech.

  The anteroom was empty, Zee somewhere in the crowd along with her family. The flat screen on the wall was tuned to a national news outlet. Abby didn’t bother sitting as the queen was already speaking.

  The shouted questions began the second Lady Rose finished her prepared comments. The media wanted to know why the vampires went crazy. What guarantees could the Nine give that it wouldn’t happen again? Were any vampires arrested? What monetary compensation would be forthcoming for the injured humans? What was the Guard doing to capture those responsible? Were the rumors true that some witches used offensive magic during the attack?

  The queen didn’t address any of the inflammatory remarks. Instead, she deftly handed the spotlight to the police chief.

  The seasoned officer was a portly black man in his mid-fifties. He wore his dress uniform for the televised event and used his time in the nation’s public eye to forcefully underline how everyone should remain calm. He warned any retaliatory violence against the Fae Touched in his city would be dealt with swiftly and the perpetrators prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

  Faraday spoke next, infuriating Abby with his audacity as he said, “The tragedy at Chess was a cowardly act committed by the few—not the many. The communities of the Touched and Untouched have to put aside their anger at this heinous assault for the good of the country. We need to rebuild the trust between longtime neighbors for the sake of peace and harmony.”

  His duplicity tempted her to interrupt the broadcast and expose him. But she couldn’t take the chance the director’s people would get to Conlan before she could warn him of the danger.

  Abby was going to have to confess everything to her brother in their next scheduled phone call—or agree to return to the facility to keep him safe. She shuddered. The thought of being under the director’s power again made her physically ill.

  Chewing on the pad of her thumb, she searched for another solution—any other solution—to present itself. None did.

  Engrossed in her inner turmoil, she listened with half an ear as the queen retook the platform and calmly replied to the incendiary remarks.

  She never heard the door open.

  “Don’t scream,” a male ordered as she was grabbed from behind.

  Abby gasped and then fought like mad to break out of his hold, stomp
ing her spiked heel on the toe of his shoe. He didn’t even grunt. She jabbed an elbow into his gut and hit solid muscle.

  “Stop fighting. I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, sounding oddly sincere. “A sniper will open fire into the crowd if you don’t come with me quietly. He can hear every word we say. Understand?”

  Samuel had implemented the strictest security measures for gaining access to the press conference. Only pre-approved correspondents and their crews were allowed on-site. Abby knew every vehicle was thoroughly searched for weapons. What she didn’t know was how long they’d been waiting to get her alone. Could they have somehow snuck onto the island days ago?

  The Guard was good at their job, but no one was perfect. She couldn’t dismiss the possibility he was telling the truth and risk innocent lives. Most of the residents had come to hear the queen speak, bringing their families. There were children in the crowd. Zee’s children. And little Thomas Jr.

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  “Smart female.” He gripped her waist securely. “We’re going to walk out of the office at a normal pace. Don’t rush. Don’t draw attention.”

  Abby’s mind raced with ways her magic might help her escape. Could she stay in the Rip long enough to find whatever listening device he carried and destroy it before his accomplice realized anything was wrong? And then what? She’d be semi-unconscious at best after Walking, too breathless to yell for help, and too weak to run. No idea seemed feasible, and until sure there’d be no repercussions from the attempt, she couldn’t try.

  The corridor was empty. Everyone not guarding the queen was watching the telecast. His fingers dug into her sore ribs, and Abby bit off a groan. He loosened his hold, but kept her close as they made their way to the rear of the complex.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he reminded her as they passed the closed door of the Guard’s lounge. His stride lengthened, pulling Abby alongside him. They turned left and exited the building. The courtyard was deserted. He suddenly picked up speed, and she stumbled.