Sleeper (Rise of the Fianna Book 1)

by Amy Brock McNew

  Her body went on high alert, but not in fight mode as it usually did. Every sense she owned focused on the voice with the subtle, almost Irish lilt coming from behind her. That voice spoke to her soul like nothing ever had.

  Breath stroked her neck with the gentlest of fingers. A rushing wave of heat blanketed her like a warm waterfall, starting at her head and splashing to her feet, taking her stomach with it and leaving tingles in its wake.

  She turned, almost afraid what she would find would break the spell that voice had cast over her entire being, but knowing she couldn’t stop herself.

  “Holy shit.” The words slipped out of her head and over her lips. She didn't have the brain power to care. What stood before her was the living embodiment of every dark fantasy she'd ever had.

  A choking noise squeaked from her throat as one of his dark eyebrows quirked up. Humor tugged at his lips while, unless she was very much mistaken, the same desire searing her veins crackled in those black eyes. She'd never seen anyone else with eyes like hers, so dark as to be midnight.

  Yet here she was staring into a pair that pulled her in like a gravitational force on a planet.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she surveyed the rest of him. At six-foot, it wasn't often she had to look up at anyone. She'd also never found a guy that'd been able to match her strength or even remotely handle her. It was impossible to find someone to match you when you were an Amazon woman with weird abilities.

  And she'd been through enough men to know.

  But the man standing in front of her? Well now. He was at least six foot six of pure, raw, barely-contained power. It rattled her bones and called to that fire deep inside, stoking it higher.

  Long dark hair fell in waves on either side of his face, just grazing broad shoulders. Packed hard and covered in Celtic tattoos, his skin screamed for the touch her fingers itched to give. Faded, torn jeans hung loosely on his narrow hips, encasing legs like tree trunks. Too bad she couldn't see what she was sure would be a mighty fine ass.

  Makenna ran her gaze back up his body, stopping at the jagged scar on his left jawline. She balled her hands into fists to keep from tracing it. Then she met his eyes again and reality slammed into her fuzzy brain. Sound roared back so loud she almost clapped her hands over her ears. She just about lost the basket that had steadily slipped down her arm.

  Here was a man that had the potential to give her what she'd never been able to find. Match or exceed her on every level. One who could make her feel like a real woman and not a freak of nature. And judging by the intense magnetic pull on her gut, could be the one who plunged her heart into a quivering state of insanity.

  That thought shattered her heated observation.

  He grinned and she could've sworn her uterus flipped. “Have you looked your fill?”

  “Have you?”

  Makenna hadn't missed the way those amazing eyes of his had taken her in from head to toe as well. Something in her felt the need to challenge him. Test him. See if he was worthy. Of what, she didn't know.

  Instinct ruled, and she was powerless to stop it.

  “Not even close.” He reached out to touch her face but pulled his hand back.

  A shiver wound down her spine, swirled with disappointment and a touch of anger.

  Emotion flashed through his eyes so fast she couldn't catch it. Wasn't sure she wanted to.

  “This really is a good wine.” He rested the bottle in her basket.

  The basket finally slid loose from the crook of her elbow. With lightning-fast reflexes, her hand caught it without disturbing its contents. Her head shot up. Shit. That wasn't natural. Now he'd get the same look on his face all the other guys had. The one that said she was a freak.

  Then he'd run away like his fine ass was on fire.

  His devastating smile greeted her instead, along with a flare of recognition in those ebony depths. Something else she didn't understand but didn't have the presence of mind to figure out right then.

  Makenna favored him with her best “come and get me” smile. “Thanks. We'll see if it'll do.” Then she raised an eyebrow of her own, letting the imp come out to play.

  He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “I should've known you'd be trouble.”

  What the hell did that mean? This time he did touch her cheek. One long, calloused finger traced her jaw.

  Years later, when she looked back at this moment, she'd remember it as the second changed everything. It was another one of her “knowings”. That one simple touch stoked the blaze in her gut to an uncontrollable inferno. He may as well have branded her, because that's what it felt like. As if he’d claimed her and had every right to. As if she belonged to him. She closed her eyes, leaning into his hand, wanting to remember that touch for as long as she lived.

  Again, that voice in her head told her it was only the beginning.

  Fate, destiny, whatever she chose to call it, clicked into place with a sound so loud she jumped, rattling the contents of her basket and nearly knocking over the wine rack behind her. She not only had the feeling he’d somehow claimed her, but that she should do the same. That they belonged together.

  That he was the one man who could give her everything she needed and had ever wanted.

  Too much. It was all too much. She didn't even know his name. Her knowing was wrong. Had to be.

  Makenna's eyes popped open and she stepped back, out of reach. Her fight instinct kicked in full force, her inner warrior raising her head, smelling a challenge. Smelling blood. She wanted Makenna to make him work for it. Fight for her.

  Now there was a thought that had her questioning her sanity for real.

  A low rumble rattled her chest. Whatever that was, she had no idea where it came from. Dammit, he'd heard it too. Heat crept up her neck. His eyes narrowed, and he raised his nose, as if he were sniffing the air. What was that all about?

  It was time for her to exit stage left.

  Especially when the smile now creeping across his face was all animal, all teeth.

  Makenna shoved down her inner beast that apparently wanted to chomp down on the gorgeous piece of meat in front of her. Bitch needed to learn who was in control.

  And there was the crazy again. She was talking to her own instincts. Great.

  Makenna slid to the side, eased around him, and headed for the checkout. “So, yeah. Thanks for the wine.” She edged farther away as he turned to follow her. “I'll uh, yeah. I'll see ya 'round.”

  His voice halted her retreat. “Oh, you'll definitely be seeing me.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” She settled the shaken contents of her basket to avoid looking in those eyes and flicked a glance over her shoulder to see if he followed.

  He did. He stalked toward her, slowly and deliberately.

  Makenna ran. Literally ran to the front of the store and slammed her basket on the belt. The poor cashier's eyes flew wide, and she dropped her magazine. Makenna smiled and gestured to the basket with a shaky hand. She brushed the stray hairs out of her face and grabbed a magazine from the rack to fan herself.

  She really needed to get out of there.

  The flustered cashier’s quick movements had Makenna’s groceries bagged and hanging from her arm in record time. Thankfully. She took off running to the truck. She glanced behind her. The tattooed wine aficionado was nowhere to be seen now, but she felt him. That same warmth and melody from earlier rode the breeze again.

  Makenna shoved her bags into the passenger seat and peeled out of the parking lot.

  A whirlwind of emotions ripped through her like an F4 tornado. Yet strangely enough, she couldn't find fear among them. At least, not fear of the man. She knew to her bones he had the potential to destroy her in every way, knew anything they could potentially have would burn them both alive, and knew it was absolute craziness to have these thoughts and feelings about a total stranger. But she couldn't help it. Couldn't stop it.

  He called to her on a primal level, a level she hadn't known existed except when she was
in the ring, drawing blood.

  The beast inside Makenna was wide awake now, howling for the man she'd just run away from. Whether to love him or fight him, she wasn't sure.

  Probably both.

  Makenna cranked up the stereo, letting the sounds of Dorothy wash over her. Great. A song about loving somebody to death. She punched the knob, plunging the cab into silence.

  She drove along the river, window down, letting the soothing sounds and smells of the city into her soul. The mustiness of the water, the cacophony of music that floated on the breeze, the smell of food cooking, all washed over her. Then she had yet another knowing.

  With one touch, one look, and a few innocuous words, he'd claimed her.

  She would never be the same.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mad World

  Rhys O'Conaill watched Makenna haul ass out of the parking lot of the market like the hounds of Ifrinn were on her tail.

  He’d be surprised if he wasn’t panting like a dog as he slid behind a tree so she wouldn’t see him. That woman had him all kinds of twisted up inside. Unfamiliar feelings and desired swirled in his gut, making him dizzy.

  He hadn't meant to spook her.

  His natural intensity often had that effect, or so he'd been told.

  He was about to be king of the Fianna, and he currently lead their warriors. Well, half of them. His kingdom was broken, bound together by fraying threads at the moment. Intimidation, intensity, strength, they were all in his blood. He was unshakable. A pillar of power for his people. Nothing could move him, nothing could break him.

  Except for one woman.

  Makenna O’Neill, or rather, Callahan.

  The woman had taken control of his faculties as soon as he'd laid eyes on her outside her place of employment. The noose had tightened when he'd finally spoken to her, touched her.

  After all these years of searching, he'd found his queen.

  Rhys took off on foot, heading west out of the city, trying his best to look normal to any observers until he left the populated areas. That’s when he turned himself loose. For his kind, cars weren't a necessity due to their natural speed and abilities. He had a motorcycle, though. A Ducati. One of the few vestiges left of the wealth his family had once held before the war.

  Before Kylian had torn his people in two and scattered them across the realm, first chasing the beasts he'd let loose, then warring against each other.

  They were the protectors of this realm, living among the humans, keeping their kind and others a secret. Cleaning up any messes from magic spilling into places it shouldn’t. They kept humans safe from the monsters that came from other realms, and guarded those mystical doorways that contained them.

  Normally, there wasn’t much to worry about. The doorways had been sealed by powerful magic. Most of his kind didn’t even know where they were anymore.

  But when Kylian had claimed power, he’d opened those doors for a time and had Rhys and his clans running in circles, containing the chaos while he implemented his plans. Spread his evil like a virus.

  That was exactly why Rhys had been hunting Makenna. It was his destiny to assume the throne, to reunite the realm, and do away with Kylian.

  With Makenna by his side.

  An alert sounded through his ear piece, notifying him of an incoming call. He slowed to a stop in the middle of the woods to answer.

  “Rhys.”

  “It's Talon. The memorial for Ciarra is in half an hour. Where are you?” The normally charming, laughing male was too serious, his voice low and pained.

  Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. Ciarra was the first warrior they'd lost in a while and had been a good friend. And also, his cousin. “I'm ten minutes out. I'll be there.”

  “Hurry. Trystan is losing it.”

  He sighed. His Beta, Trystan, second in command, had been dating the woman. They weren't especially serious but had been headed that direction. They'd been friends since childhood. Trystan was taking her death especially hard. Rhys would have to be sure Amanda spent some extra time with him. Their relationship was a whole other kettle of fish, though.

  His thoughts darkened. Kylian would pay for every warrior he had murdered in dishonor, away from the battlefield.

  Rhys glanced around at the trees, ever watchful. “I know. I'll be there as soon as I can.” With that, he ended the call.

  Needing all the speed he could get, he called on his inner beast. He closed his eyes, letting the magic of his people flow through him. Bones cracked, tissues morphed, and that beautiful, familiar pain spread through his body.

  In a matter of seconds, a large black wolf with silver ears and a silver tipped tail stood where the man once had.

  He took off for the swamp where they'd resided the past ten years. A wish for his raven form and the speed it would bring flickered through his mind as he ran. That form would only be available to him once his mating to Makenna had been completed. Unease swept through him at the thought.

  He'd never really wanted to take a mate.

  Theirs was a world of war. It was all their people had ever known. But their enemy had changed. No longer did they simply protect mortals from the things that wandered the night. The last decades had been filled with battling their own kind while the beasts that remained free made meals of the mortals.

  A mate was a weakness. One he couldn't afford. The price was divided attention. As proved by Makenna's effect on him tonight. His world had narrowed to her. Every sense, every thought. When she'd run away, he'd had to reorient himself to his surroundings. Anyone could've sneaked up on them. Destroyed them. All because he'd let himself be consumed by the ferocious need to have her.

  The war could've ended in a single moment.

  Makenna could've been ripped away from him, and with her his kingdom.

  Yet, another part of him wanted her for her. Not for the power she could bring, not for the ability to save his people. Beyond the magic and bloodlines that declared their destiny.

  She fascinated him. A curious mix of strength and vulnerability. Beauty and lethal ability he knew lingered under the surface. Her tall, lean, muscular form was something he longed to hold onto, have beneath him. He’d dream of having her luscious black tresses wrapped around his hand as he took her hard. The woman had the face of an angel with a hint of the warrior inside shining in her midnight eyes.

  That one encounter, one touch, would give him enough to fill his dreams for eons.

  He was drawn to her. The man, the animal, in him was drawn to the woman and the animal within her. His wolf had leapt at the first scent of her, raking at his flesh, wanting out to finally be near his mate.

  Climbing over downed brush in the marsh and crossing fallen logs, he made it to the interior of the bayou and the parcel of land they'd claimed. As he set foot on solid ground, he shifted forms in seconds.

  Through his link with the pack as Alpha, their grief and fear slammed into him before he’d breached the outer circle of the camp.

  Approaching the circle of his people around the pyre, he was once again grateful their clothes survived the shift. Magic certainly made their lives easier. But when his eyes fell on Ciarra's body wrapped for her send off to Néamh, he realized it might also destroy everything they loved.

  That same magic had brought their kingdom to its knees, thanks to Kylian and his daughter Brianna, a powerful mage. She was even more ruthless than him, and in time, if her power was allowed to grow, she could end them all.

  The crowd parted for their Rhys as he drew closer. Talon and Amanda drew up on each side of him as he moved toward the center. Talon, who helped lead their army, standing tall and sure, his black hair tied back as if ready for battle, and his face etched with lines of sorrow. Amanda, one of Rhys’ advisor’s, was a lithe beauty with raven tresses of her own. She nodded to Rhys as she flanked him opposite her brother. Her solemn face showed the remnants of tears. Together the three moved toward their friend and fellow warrior swaddled in pristine, white cloth.<
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  Trystan was already there, kneeling before the pyre. Dressed in battle gear, black from head to toe, he was fully armed. Rhys sensed his need for vengeance on the wind. The male’s broad back shook with his grief, despite his readiness to avenge his female. Their kind didn’t typically hide emotion, and Trystan wasn’t holding back. When he turned to Rhys, tears coursed down his cheeks.

  Rhys laid a hand on Trystan's shoulder. “Brother, it is time.”

  Trystan rose and wiped at his eyes, his shoulders pulling back as Amanda moved over to allow him to stand at Rhys's side. “Let's get this over with, then slaughter the bastard and that deranged female.” He turned to Rhys. “Their heads are mine.”

  Rhys nodded. Now wasn't the time to discuss the fact that as king, it would be his responsibility and honor to take Kylian's head and display it on a spike in the center of camp. The mystery assassin, though, Rhys would gladly allow Trystan to dispose of. He turned to face the crowd with his three top warriors.

  “Today we send a brave warrior to Néamh for the rest and pleasure a fighter deserves after a life of loyal service. Ciarra Dempsey fought with honor to her last breath. She's saved many of us on the battlefield, including myself. She's battled untold beasts and taken many heads. She was loved by many and will be missed by all.” Rhys turned, grabbing the lit torch staked into the ground. He faced the pyre, then raised his eyes to the twinkling stars above. “We call upon Fionn and the ancients to welcome this brave soldier to her new home. May she dwell in safety and rest until she rises again with the Fionn on the day the Dord Fiann, the great horn, is blown.” He lowered his eyes to Ciarra. “My sister, may the gods grant you safe passage. May you find peace until you one day fight by our side again.”

  With a heavy heart slowing his movements, Rhys nodded to Talon, who stepped forward with a deep sigh and carefully laid Ciarra's intricately carved spear beside her. His hands shook, betraying the pain he tried to shutter behind determination. The beautiful weapon gleamed, its silver tip and polished wood staff reflecting the moonlight. Rhys remembered her working for months on that spear, honing it to perfection. He remembered the first day she used it in battle, so proud of the creation of her own hand. A fine spear, it was.