Siren's Call

by Katherine McIntyre

  He leaned down, his lips smothering mine, intensifying the orgasm as I hung limp in his arms. Hotness flooded through me as he spilled inside. He trembled against me while lowering us to the ground.

  I straddled him as we sat half-naked on the concrete in the back lot of the Raven, moonlight and shadows spilling over us like a second skin.

  We both panted, staring at each other with our mouths open but unable to form coherent words. His sharp chin, a couple of his pointed teeth, and the greenish hue of his skin were exaggerated by the moonlight.

  He was a fascinating, gorgeous creature.

  He studied me back with those curious eyes but neither of us spoke a word, caught in a muggy haze of sex, sweat, and the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

  With one finger, he plucked my red-and-black striped panties from the ground and offered them up. “You seem to have misplaced these.”

  I got off him and snatched my underwear from his hands. One of those huge, goofy grins threatened to break free. I tugged my pants on, feeling utterly sated. Turned out my hellish day had a pretty wonderful ending.

  When I turned around, he’d already finished dressing and lit up a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall. The scrapes along my back sent a fluttering excitement through me, evoking the thrill I felt as he’d entered me. I jammed my hands in my pockets and stared up at the star-studded sky. The cool wind swept by, drying and chilling the beads of sweat along my neck and arms.

  “So can I buy you a drink?” he asked after letting loose a stream of smoke. A smirk played on his lips.

  “I think you’ve got that backward.” I grabbed the cigarette from his hands and took a drag. The nicotine flooded through me. “It’s okay, though, I know you strange folks don’t get humans all too well.”

  “Hence the drink. I’d like to discuss a job opportunity with you.” He snagged his cigarette back.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. The universe had a fucking funny sense of humor. Annoyance boiled inside me. Was that what this had been? The exact thing I’d refused to do that cost me my last job? “Sorry, bucko, I don’t accept handouts.”

  He raised an eyebrow and glanced at me, to the wall, and then the ground. The light bulb clicked on in his eyes. “Not like that. I’m talking about the discussion before our lovely detour. You’ve got a unique ability and we could use a booking manager—one who knows the exact places with the least amount of our kind. One who can handle the day-to-day with humans without leaving them heartsick and hazed-over. Or worse, draining them dry.”

  He glared at the building. I supposed one of them got a little trigger-happy at times. My bet would be on the sultry-voiced fae.

  I stared at him in silent disbelief. After spending most of my life around people who either believed I was crazy or who I had to lie to, the idea of joining the supernaturals never occurred to me. It wasn’t like I’d had the opportunity.

  The adage about one door closing and another opening couldn’t get truer, could it? Yes, the fan orgy was a bit much, but he wasn’t asking me to be a groupie or attend the shows. He was asking me to deal with fae, who had no effect on me, making them as harmful as any other human. I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing.

  “You know, when someone offers you a job, laughter isn’t the most reassuring response,” he said, still calm and cool as ever. He ground out his cigarette under his boot and shrugged. “Any thoughts? The boys would be happy. We’ve been looking for a solution since our last booking manager kept stealing humans and getting us banned from cities. You’d be the perfect fit.”

  I rifled a hand through my hair, trying to smooth the sweaty, tangled strands. Disbelief coursed through me. In terms of weirdness, this day topped the charts. Lost a job, got blue-balled at a concert, broke my dry spell, and got a new job offer.

  I was used to hopping towns and nothing tied me to Jefferson City. He watched me, still waiting for my answer. The glint in his eyes made my heart jump, not in any hearts-and-flowers sense, but that giddy leap of excitement when adventure promises to be at every turn.

  “I’m down for discussion,” I said, offering the first genuine smile I’d had in a while.

  No lies, no secrets—it might be nice. “So why don’t we go get that drink you offered?”

  He returned my grin and extended his arm like a gentleman. We walked arm in arm back inside the Raven to discuss an interesting future.

  The End

  www.katherine-mcintyre.com

  Other Books by Katherine McIntyre:

  www.evernightpublishing.com/katherine-mcintyre

  If you enjoyed this book, you may also like:

  True Love’s Kiss by Rose Wulf

  Gentle Hands by C. Tyler

  Nothing Else Matters by Peri Elizabeth Scott

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  BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER

  CAPTIVATING MELODY

  Discord’s Desire, 1

  Katherine McIntyre

  Copyright © 2018

  Sample Chapter

  The stench of sweat, sex, and Chanel Number Five were never going to come out of Liz O’Brien’s jeans. She frowned as her Keds gummed to the floor backstage for the five thousandth time. That was the last gig they’d ever do at Peekaboos.

  She peered past the stage out to the main floor of the strip club where a plethora of half- empty TicTac white tables populated the place. The remaining folks embarked on the bump and grind journey that at one tender age might’ve shocked and appalled her, but by now, she rolled her eyes and shut out the moans. Liz winced every time her shoe stuck to the black-and-white tiled floor as she crossed the room. Pink lighting skated throughout the place, even post-show, adding to the seedy ambiance.

  She raked a hand through her long chestnut locks, a couple pieces drying to her face from the heat they pumped through this place. Guess since their strippers were shedding clothes, the staff had to keep ‘em comfortable.

  Jett stood by the far door, giving her the ‘I’m bored look,’ which she’d come to realize happened about every two point five seconds when he wasn’t onstage or getting laid. After playing the bass for their earlier show, he’d tied back his dark strands, and his light blue eyes had a familiar twinkle in them. Average girls would see a ladykiller who screamed sex from his pores.

  Liz noticed the prettier-than-average looks, but she also saw the greenish tint to Jett’s pale skin and the delicate gills along his neck. Since she’d never met her parents, Liz didn’t know the ‘why’ of her ability, but she’d always seen past the fae glamour shielding normal humans from the weird.

  Jett lifted his sculpted brow in a cynical arch he’d perfected, jabbing at his watch as if she dragged along at a snail’s pace.

  “The bar’s not going to disappear if you’re a couple minutes late,” Liz called out, quickening her pace to close the distance between them.

  “Lies. I know for certain there’s an expiration date on the JD with my name on it. Six months on the road with us and you’d think you would catch on.” Jett slung his arm around her shoulder, the familiar weight one she’d never expected from her former one-night stand.

  “It’s a miracle I’ve been able to put up with you lot for this long.”

  Even though the first time she met Jett they’d fumbled in a back alley together, Liz much preferred him as her tether of sanity and staunch friend on the road. After all, traveling with rockstars was bad enough. The satyr, siren, banshee, and incubus were the real deal when it came to sex gods, with powers that worked on every human except her. She navigated the regular folks to book their gigs, while they made sure she wasn’t fae-bait to any supernatural who noticed her unique skill set.

  Together she and Jett stepped out of the steamy room, which had begun to smell a little rank, and made their way down the narrow corridor leading to the front door. Neon pink lit the hallway, nauseatingly similar to the spotlights gleaming onto an opening act Liz would need bleach to remove fro
m her memory banks.

  “Good riddance,” Liz muttered as they strode through the doors onto the concrete landing.

  “You only have yourself to blame,” Jett reminded her as he tugged out a cigarette, lighting it in one fluid motion. “You’re the one who does the booking.” Smoke trailed from him in a thick cloud floating up to greet the night sky, which filled with just as much smog. He sucked down the thing like his life depended on it, deep drags he hadn’t been able to snag while they’d been playing.

  Liz heaved a sigh, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her brown leather jacket as the strength of the breeze increased. “Thought you guys could use a pick-me-up. We’ve been on the road for awhile.” After a week of rolling through bland and blander in the Midwest, she had an entire buffet of gigs lined up for the guys in San Francisco. “Not my fault the lot of you were getting crotchety.”

  “I needed space from Renn’s snoring. Last couple of nights the idea of smothering him with a pillow has grown real tempting,” Jett said as they ambled along the sidewalk. The neon greens backlit a sign for Shooters, the nearest bar to the strip club, and from the sportsball-related specials on the chalkboard outside, Liz made a wild leap at the clientele.

  “Let’s hope Kieran hasn’t already gotten kicked out.” She placed her hand on the bronze doorknob and turned.

  Jett stepped behind her, flicking his half-smoked cigarette onto the asphalt.

  The second Liz opened the door to the bar, her expectations faltered. A wrong tension threaded through the air, the sort she’d come to associate with fae. Jett straightened his stance, crowding closer to her in the protective way she’d come to appreciate. His body buzzed with the same nerves that flooded her.

  The maroon carpeting crunched underfoot, and dim lighting cast the wood paneling lining the entryway in a buttery gold. A normal thrum of chatter flowed in when they opened the second door, but she expected that. Humans saw what the fae wanted them to. This time of night, not too many crowded around the oaken bar, and more than a couple empty glasses spanned the length with foam clinging to the sides. As Liz walked inside, she noted the groups clustered in the pleather booths along the back of the bar. Ensconced in shadows, those made the perfect meeting place for seedier sorts.

  Not like her boys would be skulking around there. The bandmates of Discord’s Desire were pretty boys who needed their egos fluffed on a constant basis. Thankfully, they hadn’t hired her for that role.

  In the corner, wedged into one of the back booths, Liz identified the source of the tension. A threesome of knobby-kneed skeletal fae who gave the rest a bad rap sat watching the bar. If average humans saw them, this place would be evacuated in screams, spilled drinks, and knocked-over chairs. However, glamour kept their pretty little eyes shielded. Not Liz. She’d spent years crying wolf in her foster homes, running inside because a shadow watched her from the street, or a brimstone creature approached in the woods. For Liz O’Brien, the monster under the bed was always real.

  The malevolence in their stares as she locked eyes with them was the exact reason she’d hopped cities in the past, before her days of booking for Discord’s Desire. Unaware humans made for easy targets, but the nightmares crawling through the streets found her interesting, and their scrutiny was worse.

  “Come here often, beautiful?” a smooth, sexy voice drawled from behind her.

  Liz folded her arms over her chest before turning around and fixing Kieran with a look. The man, given the chance, would flirt with himself, so she didn’t ever take him seriously. His lips curved in a cocky smile made even more dangerous by the pointed fangs peeking out. He wore his stage clothes from the show—ripped jeans, a gray wifebeater, and a patched leather that had seen better days. Yet combined with the studs in ears, the streaked guyliner, and the labret piercing, the man oozed sex.

  “Cool it, rockstar.” She smirked, meeting his teasing eyes. “You’ve got a whole cavalcade of women who’d throw themselves at you in a heartbeat, already fallen under your spell. I’m immune to your hinky fae magic.”

  His fingers snuck up faster than she could follow to trail down the column of her throat. “Isn’t that what makes it all the more interesting?”

  Liz shivered under his silken touch, ignoring the hoarseness in his voice and the quickened pulse that followed in the wake. The incubus didn’t need any powers to lure women. His voice alone would send them flocking, and with the attractive package it came in—well, he proved damn near irresistible.

  Even though Liz had taken a tango with Jett the first night she met them, after that she’d drawn a line in the sand. She joined on as their booking manager, and while the guys might find her ability to resist their charms alluring, she wouldn’t get tangled into their webs. Even still, she couldn’t quite stamp out the surge of adrenaline coursing through her every time he entered a room.

  “Down, boy. You’ve got adoring masses to sate those needs,” she sassed. Her attention returned to the table when those fae shifted in their seats. They focused on them with those filmy eyes, but whether their interest was territorial or curiosity, she couldn’t tell. Kieran glanced to where she stared.

  “They were already here when we arrived and haven’t made a move, so they may be having a pint like us. More’s the pity. All this post-event energy and I could use a good fight,” he murmured, returning his attention to the three shots of bourbon he had lined up on the counter of the bar.

  The air bristled with a fight on the breeze. Liz snagged one of the open stools, but she’d never been able to settle while fae watched her. Call it survival instinct, but without fail, no fae who noticed her spelled good news. The hiss of the naga who’d cornered her back in Tucson echoed in her peripheral sometimes, and the scars on her ankle from a boggart attack still throbbed on occasion.

  “Two glasses of JD,” Jett called to the bartender.

  The guy rolled his flannel sleeves to his elbow and flipped the bottle, dispensing the amber dew. Liz tapped her nails against the lacquered hardwood, the click-click-click reflecting her nerves. Casual laughs ripped through the bar from the folks perched at their barstools without the slightest inkling of the threat in their midst. She accepted the glass from Jett and inhaled the rich fumes of the Jack Daniels in front of her before taking a deep swig, hoping the smooth liquid would settle the buzzing in her head.

  Renn sat beside a big-haired blonde, his hand on her arm. The way the woman heavy-breathed, she was liable to bust out of her tight black tank top. His hair post-show tangled into a dark mess, but on the satyr it added to the wildness gleaming in his cocoa eyes. Though the blonde drooling over him couldn’t see the obsidian horns atop his head, Renn didn’t need glamour to lure a woman in. One flash of his blinding smile against his cinnamon skin and inhibitions flew out the window.

  Trevor, their resident banshee, watched with a smirk on his face as the ice of his gin and tonic clinked against the glass while he swirled it. With the man’s rich tawny skin and longer, silver strands, he had the type of unique looks to stop people in their tracks. However guarded he might be with his own secrets, his Southern drawl and the calm air about him tended to set people at ease.

  Liz tipped back a little more of the JD, hoping to erase the filthy film of Peekaboos.

  The sole of Kieran’s combat boots tapped a tempo against the barstool but not with nerves like Liz’s. She’d spent enough time with the boys to realize they didn’t share the same fears—after all, those fae were a part of their race. Knowing Kieran though, the boy chomped at the bit for a fight.

  Liz let out a sigh and ran a hand through her tangled dark tresses. She’d aimed for practicality in beat-up cargoes and a baby doll tee that had seen better days, yet Kieran scanned her up and down with a hunger reserved for the six-inch heel wearing broads they’d left behind at Peekaboos. She arched an eyebrow, and he laughed in return.

  “Have to say, the fan club’s intense tonight,” Jett muttered beside her as he cast a glance to those hulking fae in the
corner. He flipped one of his guitar picks between his fingers to hide his nerves.

  “You boys part of a band or something?” the bartender asked while he popped down a tap handle to fill a pint for another customer.

  “They just got done with their gig at Peekaboos,” Liz said before taking another sip of her amber ambrosia.

  “I heard. You’re the punk band that rolled into town?” the bartender continued to make conversation, a welcome distraction from the group of nasties giving them the stink eye.

  “You’re part of a band?” the non-literal harpy beside Renn shrieked. Liz wrinkled her nose, sticking her finger into her ear to clear out the residual ring. If she had a dollar for the amount of times she heard that on the road, she’d have more ones than a stripper on Saturday night.

  “Yeah, I’m the drummer,” Renn purred as the woman proceeded to dry hump him, crawling onto his lap.

  Liz grinned, shaking her head. After a few months touring with the lot of them, she ceased to be surprised at men and women alike flinging themselves at the foursome.

  “He’s talented at bursting our eardrums at four in the morning with his horrifying snoring,” Jett called over as he lifted his glass.

  “At least I don’t spend an hour primping in the RV’s one goddamn bathroom,” Renn shot back. “No one’s noticing each individual strand of hair while you’re on stage.” Renn’s flavor of the night let out a loud giggle.

  Liz patted Jett on the shoulder, trying and failing to hide her smile. “Don’t worry, babe. I notice.”

  Jett let out a mock sniff and tweaked his styled strands. “At least someone does.”