Nora and Quinn were locked in an embrace near the flower bed, and Claire was sitting in front of her easel, painting in the bright winter sunlight.
Claire was spending a lot more time at Maggie’s place these days, and Maggie knew that part of the reason for that was the easy acceptance of the world of magic she found there. The secret she’d kept had been gnawing at her for years, and now that it was out, Claire’s smiles came a lot more easily.
Although, Maggie thought, some of those smiles probably had something to do with the Fae warrior McCulloch, who just happened to pop in whenever Claire was around. More romance coming? She chuckled. “Pretty soon there’ll be little hearts and birdies circling over the old Donovan house.”
Still smiling, she took a sip of her coffee, letting the hot black brew slide through her system. The jolt of caffeine was good, but her smile lasted only until she heard Bezel’s crabby voice raised in complaint.
“Would you want a house made up of crappy wood? I don’t think so!”
The pixie was in the oak tree, ordering everyone around while he built himself a more permanent home. It seemed that his wife, Fontana, had tossed his ugly ass out for spending too much time with humans. So until she could find a way to get rid of him, Maggie was stuck with the little troll.
“Hey!” Bezel shouted, hanging from a tree branch to glare down at Culhane. “I’m using magic here. Do I look like I need a troll-spitting hammer tossed at me?”
Culhane laughed, and the sound of that rich, deep voice sent a swirl of something hot and wicked pumping through Maggie.
“Then get it done, you miserable little hobbit!”
“Hobbit!” Bezel snarled at Culhane, and the two old friends dropped into an insult contest that Bezel would no doubt win.
Maggie muffled a chuckle and watched her own personal Fenian warrior as he harassed his tiny friend. She and Culhane still hadn’t made it to bed, but Faery kisses were wearing her down fast. Still, there were other considerations, as well.
The civil war Finn had predicted was fast brewing in Otherworld. Culhane had tried to convince her to move to the palace permanently, but Maggie wasn’t ready to give up her life just yet. She’d be queen—on her terms. Which meant she lived here and stepped through a portal a couple of times a week.
Culhane had vowed to help her all he could, and she was going to count on that. He knew way more about Otherworld than she ever would.
She sighed, leaned against the doorjamb and watched as Culhane spotted her. When he came toward her, smiling that breathtaking, hormone-enhancing smile, she kept her gaze fixed on him. That long black hair, the pale green eyes, the lithe, muscled body. He was quite the package. Just looking at him had her heart jittering in her chest and her palms itching to touch him.
He’d stayed with her for two days as she recovered from her fight with Mab. He’d taken care of her, held her while she slept and awakened her with kisses that urged her to heal faster. He’d been there. Every time she looked for him, there he was.
She wanted to turn to him. Wanted to revel in him. But she couldn’t help remembering what Mab had whispered just before she fell through the window in Sanctuary. . . .
“What is it?” He came up beside her, dropped a kiss on her forehead and smiled down into her eyes. “You look worried.”
“No,” she lied, because she wanted it to be the truth. “Just thinking.”
“Ah, well, then. Since your thoughts don’t seem to be making you happy, why not come out and help me torture Bezel instead?”
He was right. No point standing here torturing herself.
“Now, that sounds like fun.” Maggie smiled up at him. He dropped one arm around her shoulders, pulled her in close to his side and kissed the top of her head.
Maggie felt the solid, hard warmth of him and tried to shut out that last, lingering memory of Mab. Tried to close her mind and her heart to the sound of the defeated queen’s voice.
But she couldn’t. She heard that voice nightly in her dreams, and now, as Culhane walked beside her into the sunlight, Mab’s vicious little muttering came again.
You think you’ve won . . . but just so you know, when Culhane whispers to you in the night . . . he lies.
After Maggie Donovan defeats the former queen
of the Otherworld and assumes the throne,
she’d give almost anything to return to the
familiarity of her old life. But a certain sexy
Fae warrior has much more exciting things
planned for Maggie.
Read on for a sneak peek at
Maureen Child’s next
Queen of the Otherworld novel,
BEGUILED
Coming in August 2009 from Signet Eclipse
Being a queen wasn’t the thrill ride Maggie Donovan had expected.
Where were the jewels? The crown, for God’s sake? Where were the adoring crowds, simpering minions and life o’ luxury? Where was the fun? Shouldn’t she have a mall named after her at least?
So far her responsibilities as the newly crowned queen of the Fae had been a royal pain in the ass.
Sure, only a couple of weeks had passed since Maggie had tossed the former queen, Mab, out a window to another dimension. But come on. No way was Maggie going to spend every freaking day of—oh, let’s see—eternity listening to a bunch of whiny Faeries.
Which was why she was back in her own world doing something important.
“I need more snow, Maggie. It has to look really Christmassy, you know? And don’t forget the wrapped presents under the tree. Oh, and the rocking horse. Remember the rocking horse.”
“I know, Barb,” Maggie said, forcing a smile at the older woman who owned Barb’s House of Beauty.
Every year Barb paid Maggie to paint Christmas scenes on the front window of her beauty shop. And every year Barb wanted to outdo Sam’s Hardware. Which was no small feat.
Sam’s windows had been painted for two weeks already, so Barb had had plenty of time to study what Maggie had given him and think up ideas for one-upmanship. Always a good time in Castle Bay, California.
A tourist stop on Pacific Coast Highway, Maggie’s hometown was small, familiar and just the antidote she needed for the bizarreness that had become her life. The town was slow, except in the summer when tourists clogged the streets and made cash registers ring. During the winter it was no more than a rest stop on the road, as tourists hit the bigger towns farther north such as Monterey and Carmel. And that was fine with Maggie.
She liked Castle Bay just the way it was. Here, she was plain old Maggie Donovan, artist and glass painter. Here, Maggie was known as Nora’s sister and Eileen’s aunt. She was a tiny part of the community, not some mythic queen expected to ride herd on the weird inhabitants of Otherworld.
Barb went back inside. Maggie picked up a white paint-laden brush, leaned out from her ladder, touched the glass and shrieked like an idiot when Culhane, Fae warrior, would-be lover and current pain in her ass, popped into existence beside her.
“Damn it,” Maggie shouted, glancing through the window into the shop to make sure Barb hadn’t noticed the tall, dark, gorgeous hunk of hormone happiness appearing out of nowhere. Barb hadn’t.
Leaning against her ladder, Maggie looked down at him and instantly knew she shouldn’t have. Seriously, the man was perfect eye candy. Six feet five inches of completely amazing male. He had sharp features, a strong jaw and green eyes so pale that they looked like windows into another world. His shoulder-length black hair gave him the look of a pirate, and the white shirt, dark green pants and knee-high brown leather boots he wore completed the picture nicely. On any other guy that outfit would have reduced most women to giggles. On Culhane it made him look like a walking, breathing invitation to sex.
Also, he had a great mouth, a nasty disposition and the ability to drive Maggie crazy in a heartbeat.
“I cannot believe you have come back here to paint pictures on glass.” He set both fists at his hips, widened
his stance and gave her a look that said he was ready to do battle. “You are expected at the castle. Maggie, you must return to Otherworld,” he said, as if issuing a damn command.
That’s what being the head Fae warrior for two hundred years will do to you. Make you an immortal, arrogant bastard.
Culhane had been ordering her around since he pushed his way into her life nearly a month ago. Claiming that Maggie’s destiny was to defeat Mab and rule Otherworld in her place, he’d pretty much orchestrated everything to make sure his prophecy came true.
Plus, the whole time, he’d made Maggie crazed with lip-sizzling kisses, and the promise of a Fae-driven orgasm that had her strung so tight, the wrong word might snap her in two. He was probably doing it on purpose, she thought. Keeping her all stirred up and achy with need just so she’d go along with whatever the hell he wanted her to do. So far it had been working. If this was her eternity, there was just no way she was going to make it.
And damned if she’d be done in by her own horniness. So she was going to cling with both hands to however much normal she could get. An ocean breeze slid past her, ruffling her short auburn hair and carrying the scent of the sea, just two blocks away. At the skate park across the street, kids were riding the cement slopes on their boards and shoppers were juggling for parking spaces.
All blissfully normal. All quiet. All ordinary. Except for the fact that she had a damn Faery practically snarling at her.
“I can’t go to Otherworld right now,” she told him. “Busy here. See? Actual work.”
He snorted. “You are a queen, Maggie. You do not have to work.”
“Hah!” She turned to the window and laid a brush-load of white paint down into the first of several snow-drifts. “Seriously? Being queen is a boatload of work. Listening to all of you guys whine about what needs changing and what shouldn’t be changed and how I should do it and how I’d better not do it. How’m I supposed to know who to listen to?”
She paused for breath, added more snow to the window and then kept talking. “I’ve been queen for like two weeks, okay? I don’t know anything about Otherworld—”
“I can teach you.”
“—and I don’t want to know,” she added, giving him a quick glare over her shoulder. “I didn’t ask to be queen, you know. You guys came to me.”
“You were the one who killed the demon and claimed the Fae power.”
“That demon was eating my ex-boyfriend, remember? And then tried to chow down on me. And I didn’t mean to kill her, anyway, and believe me, if I knew then what I know now . . .”
“What?” He laughed shortly. “You would do something different? You would allow the demon to kill you instead?”
Well, he had her there. Damn it.
“Okay, no. I still would have done what I did, but then I would have given the power to Mab. She was such a bitch that she deserved to have to be queen.” Remembering how she’d tossed Mab out the window, Maggie sort of regretted it now. Of course if Mab were still alive, then she’d be trying to kill Maggie, which would just be a whole different sort of problem. Guess it was better to be queen than dead.
But that didn’t mean she didn’t have to paint windows, pay bills, buy groceries and, you know . . . be a person.
Culhane blew out a frustrated breath. This, Maggie was used to. She got it a lot from Culhane and the nasty-ass pixie Bezel, who was still living in the oak tree in her backyard.
How did her life turn into a paranormal soap opera?
“It is your destiny.”
“Right. Well, destiny can get in line,” Maggie snapped, stepping off the ladder and walking to the array of paints she had lined up neatly against the building. Culhane was always pulling out the destiny card. “I’ve got sixteen more windows to do before Christmas, and in case you didn’t know, Thanksgiving is next week and I’m gonna have to do that, too, because Nora’s got some kind of weird flu, which I think your stupid Fae warrior Quinn gave her.”
“The Fae do not get sick.”
“They’re just carriers?” Maggie frowned, picked up another brush, swirled it into the blue paint and stood up again, still frowning as blue tempera paint slid off the brush and onto her hand.
Her sister Nora had been sick for days and refused to go to a doctor—which was probably just as well because she was having so much Faery sex lately that Quinn’s powers were sort of overtaking her, and Nora kept floating at odd moments. How would they explain that to the doctor? So, with Nora sick, her daughter Eileen had been spending more time with Maggie because if Nora had some weird Faery plague, they didn’t want Eileen getting it. Which meant that Maggie was getting to listen to play-by-play descriptions of life in middle school and which boy was the cutest and which girl had it in for Eileen.
Not to mention she had a crabby-ass pixie eating all of her damn chocolate.
God, even thinking about everything going on in her life made her tired. “I sooo don’t have time to be queen.”
“Time or not, you are the queen, Maggie, and nothing can change that. You must come with me.”
Culhane grabbed her arm. The minute his hand touched her, Maggie felt a blast of heat that shot straight through her system and down to her hoo-hah. Energized with expectation, her hormones did the little clog dance of happiness and started to make her ache with a need that she knew wasn’t going to get answered any time soon.
Fabulous. Because what she really needed to make this day complete was feeling so horny it hurt.
“God, Culhane, go bug somebody else, will ya? I’m busy here.”
He ignored that. Big surprise.
“The Banshee contingents are insisting on speaking with you.”
“Banshees have contingents? I thought they just went around screaming when people died.”
He smiled and damn, that quick grin had a way of making her knees wobble. “They do. They want a wider territory. They’ve been in Ireland for millennia. They want to move to the New World.”
“The New World? Who’re you, Columbus? It’s not the New World, Culhane.”
“It is to us.”
“Fine,” she said, pulling free of his grip, though she hated to disappoint her hormones, who were now wearing party hats. “Let ’em leave Ireland. What do I care?”
“Maggie, you must learn. The Banshee cannot leave Ireland for here. If they do, it will create a war with the Cree-An.”
“The who?”
Grumbling under his breath, Culhane shook his hair back from his face and said, “The Cree-An have been haunting on this ground for centuries. If the Banshee invade, the war will spill into the world of human dreams and the nightmares they cause will follow them into the waking.”
“Freaking nightmare faeries now?” Maggie groaned and looked up and down the suddenly deserted street as if searching for an escape. She didn’t find one. Though it made her wonder where in the hell everyone had gone. She didn’t even hear the low rumble of skateboard wheels on cement anymore. Weird.
Shaking her head, she demanded, “What the hell am I supposed to do about all of that?”
“You must listen,” he said for what had to be the twelve millionth time in the last couple of weeks. “Make compromises. Give the Banshee England. The Cree-An do not like the British. They think them unimaginative and old-world.”
“Fabulous. Faery prejudice.”
“I know this is a lot,” Culhane said, moving in close to her, crowding Maggie enough that every breath she took, she drew in the scent of him.
Damn, he smelled good.
“But you will learn, Maggie. You will be the queen that destiny has named you.”
“What if I don’t wanna be?” she countered, held her breath and risked looking directly into his eyes. Oh God, he really was way too gorgeous. “What if all I want is to be me, Maggie Donovan, failed artist and glass painter extraordinaire?”
His hands moved to cup her face, and Maggie felt that touch right down to the soles of her feet. Oh, that probably wasn’t a go
od sign, she thought. Why did it have to be Culhane who could turn her into a puddle of needy goo? Why couldn’t she have fallen for a nice plumber? Why did it have to be a Fae warrior who made her want to toss her panties into the air?
“You are so much more than just Maggie Donovan. It is in your blood, your heart, your very soul.” He bent his head, and his breath brushed her cheek. “You are the one, Maggie. The only one—”
“You are not gonna believe this, Mags.”
Maggie looked past Culhane to see her sister, Nora, leaning up against her Fae lover. Great. More people popping in and out. Pushing away from Culhane, Maggie walked to her sister. “Nora? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” She looked up and down the street again and demanded, “And where the hell did everybody else go?”
“They did not go anywhere,” Culhane grumbled, glaring at the other Fae. “Quinn has enchanted the street, blocking us from being seen and from seeing anyone else. Which he should not have done. Using magic in this world is always dangerous.”
“Enchantments. Great. Fabulous. What next?” Maggie asked.
“Better than having people watch me float,” Nora muttered, and swallowed hard, lifting one hand to her mouth. “Oh God, my chakras are sooo out of alignment.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Maggie looked from Nora to Culhane to Quinn. “If I’m the damn queen, somebody talk to me.”
“Get off my back, your freaking majesty,” Nora snapped. “I’m feeling puky and pregnant right now, so back off.”
“Pregnant?” Maggie shook her head and blinked at her sister. “You’re pregnant?”
“I am proud,” Quinn announced.
“I’m sick,” Nora moaned.
“I’m speechless,” Culhane added.
“Well, I’m not,” Maggie yelled, turning on him. “If Fae sperm is that fast-acting, you can just keep your sexy Fae body far, far away from me!”
About the Author
Maureen Child is the award-winning author of more than one hundred romance novels and often says she has the best job in the world. A six-time RITA nominee, Maureen lives with her family in Southern California.
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