My Faire Lord: A Renaissance Flair - Book 1

by C. A. Storm

  Bertie flushed as both Clara and Gen tried to muffle their laughter at Sam's demand. Rolling his eyes, he chuckled and pulled up the right sleeve of his plain black shirt. His huge forearm was hairy and heavily scarred as he held it for her to inspect.

  Tilting her glasses down, Sam's lips parted in an 'O' of surprised delight. There, in exquisite detail, was a massive claymore, the blade battered and partially buried in the ground, tip-first. Yet, growing up from the ground were rose vines, the roses the same flame-kissed hue of her hair, and as they wrapped up around the blade, they gave the impression they were supporting the sword, holding the broken blade together. The tattoo began at his wrist, with the hilt touching his elbow. What was truly the coolest thing ever, though, was that as Sam looked at the tattoo, the vines seemed to sway in a phantom breeze and the roses flickered like little torches. The mark was a living, breathing thing of true beauty and it left Sam a little teary-eyed.

  Gently, Bertie said, "I am your blade, m'lady Samantha, whenever you may need one."

  Sam ignored the gasps from either side of her as she took Bertie's large hand in both of her own and looked up at him, meeting the gargoyle's storm-gray eyes steadily as she said, "Only if you'll let me be your thorns, because I'll stab a bitch that thinks you aren't the best beastie bestie ever! Besides, you give me cheesecake!" She blinked, suddenly seeing a faint flicker of...something...in Bertie's aura. She tried to trace it, getting the sense it was somehow important, that she had to tell Bertie about it, when Gen's hand landed on Sam's shoulder.

  "Okay, girls and boy, if we're going to go grab something to eat before we drink, we should probably head out now," Gen said with a grin. "You two can paint each other's nails and talk about boys once we actually start drinking. Let's get this party started, because mama needs some tequila!"

  With her black hair cut in a stylish bob and her large, dark eyes, Gen didn't have the same coloring as either of her siblings, although she did have the same tallness that left Sam feeling like the short, pudgy one more than once. Whereas Clara seemed to embrace being glamorous—pun totally intended—wearing a flowy, frothy concoction of white silk and lace, Gen was far earthier, with a black Stetson, cowgirl shirt, black jeans, and heavily fringed black suede cowgirl boots.

  Taking charge as she was wont to do, and which had earned her the nickname of Her Imperial Majesty, Gen wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder and one around Bertie's waist as she directed them toward the car.

  "Bertie's agreed to be our designated driver tonight, make sure we all get home safe and sound," Gen said brightly, the sound of her spurs jangling with every purposeful stride she made. Yes, actual spurs. Silver and studded with rhinestones, Sam noted. Girl had a definite fetish!

  Tucking each of them into the car like recalcitrant children, Gen got everyone sorted, much to Clara's giggling amusement and Bertie's good-natured grumbling. With a whoop that echoed through the garage, Gen slapped the car door closed, "Get along, lil'doggies! Yeehaw!" She jogged around to the shotgun seat, because of course.

  "Are we sure we should let her have tequila?" Sam stage-whispered to Clara, who had settled in the back next to her.

  "Oh yes," Clara said with a laugh and an energetic nod. "Trust me, you definitely don't want to get between Gen and her tequila."

  Bertie pulled the Estates' black Land Rover out of the garage, pulling past what looked to be Rik's red one, as they took off. Sam caught the brief glimpse of Rik's profile as they drove by, and someone else in the seat next to him. Must be her competition. With a shrug, Sam settled back to enjoy the drive. Tonight was going to be a blast!

  Chapter 14

  The drive back to the Estates was excruciating. Not that Rik did anything to alleviate the tension. Nope, he played it for all it was worth. Travis was the epitome of an Alpha werewolf. Pointed, direct stares. Muscles flexing at key moments. Lots of clenching and unclenching of hands. It was always like this with Alphas, regardless of species or race, the whole jockeying to determine who the top dog in the relationship was.

  Quite on purpose, Rik avoided initiating or accepting any of the dominance challenges. At least, not yet anyways. A Range Rover driving along I-70 during afternoon traffic was neither the time nor place for it. Instead, Rik kept the conversation to a minimum, and any time a topic veered toward unsafe territory, such as Seahawks versus Broncos, Rik adroitly steered it away.

  Travis was young for a shifter Alpha, although he was obviously not the leader of a pack, otherwise he would not have been sent to Colorado. Although shifters didn't have the life expectancy of the Fae or Vampires, their innate physical characteristics allowed them to live for quite a number of centuries. Although his presence was powerful, Travis had barely passed half-a-century in age. Besides that, however, no one played power games like the Fae. No one.

  As Rik pulled between the pillars marking the edge of the Estates, he noted Travis's slight sneer at the lions, but chose not to comment. He did note that the sneer quickly turned to an expression of intense interest as the wolf took in the environment around him. "You'll get used to the lions," Rik said, a note of amusement in his voice. You're going to have to, if you're planning on sticking around here and want the Landsmaster position.

  Slumping back in his seat, Travis tried to adopt an air of unconcern, but as he shrugged and opened his mouth to make what would no doubt be some dismissive comment, the SUV pulled through the trees and into the clearing, giving the wolf his first view of the Château. "Holy shit," Travis muttered in awe, leaning forward and damn near pressing his nose to the windshield as he gawked up at the castle on the cliff. "I was expecting some kind of fancy hotel or ski resort, not..."

  When Travis turned a smile at him that contained all the wonder and joy of a young boy, his mask of Alpha Male Wolf slipped, getting Rik his first true impression of the man. Shit.

  Rik just nodded, offering a conciliatory laugh as he said, "Yeah, when my family settled here, they weren't quite ready to give up on what they had left behind. You know us Sidhe, we like our castles."

  Travis just nodded with a laugh, turning his attention once more to studying the castle as they drove up the approach, taking the side road that led to the underground parking garage. Rik narrowed his eyes slightly as he noted the black Land Rover pulling out, with Bertie driving and Gen wearing her beloved fancy-wear Stetson. His sister was half-turned in her seat, chatting to someone behind Bertie. Considering he caught a glimpse of Clara's blonde hair behind Gen, he'd be willing to bet that Sam was the fourth person in the vehicle.

  "Hunh, they must be heading out to the saloon," Rik muttered to himself, drumming his fingers as he tried not to stare a hole pointlessly through the reflective tinted windows to try and catch Sam's eye. Locking his jaw, he stared fixedly ahead as he pulled past the other car and into his spot in the lot.

  "Saloon?" Travis asked as he hopped out of the passenger's side once the car came to a halt.

  Rik got out, coming around to help Travis with his bags, when he caught sight of the young wolf standing perfectly still. Blue eyes gone wide, glinting with a distinct amber radiance, Travis's chest swelled as he took in a slow, deep breath. When a slow, nearly feral grin crossed the man's face, Rik had to actually resist the urge to take a step back.

  Travis cocked his head to one side, letting his eyes fall shut as he continued to breathe deep. Finally, he seemed to shake himself out of it, turning to give Rik a wide grin. "So, you said something about a saloon? I could go for a drink or two."

  I've got a bad feeling about this, Rik thought to himself as he squinted at the young pup. Letting his personal glamour slip just a bit, enough to add some weight to his words, Rik replied with an easy grin, "Sure. Let's get you settled in first. I got a friend coming up tonight, too, so let me give him a call and have him meet us there."

  "Sounds good, man," Travis replied easily, once more trying to force a dominance stare-down. Rik met those glinting eyes fully, his easy grin never faltering as he noted the younge
r man wince slightly. Grudgingly, Rik had to admit he was impressed by the boy's strength of will, the stare didn't waver in the slightest, not until it was broken by Rik flicking the button on his key fob and popping open the trunk. When the trunk briefly broke the stare, both men relaxed and Rik reached in to grab the largest bag, hefting it with ease.

  Jerking his head, Rik said, "Follow me, I'll show you to your room." He left the younger man trailing in his wake, struggling beneath the bulk of his remaining luggage. I think Misty deserves a night off, Rik thought to himself with a smug smile as he heard the muttered cursing and shuffling of feet behind him. Pup wants to be a Big Bad Wolf, he's going to have to learn to play with the real Big Bads.

  Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have taken the long way to get to the boy's room, but damned if it didn't make Rik feel better about his shitty week. One had to learn to enjoy the little pleasures in life, he decided as he handed over the keys.

  "If you want to head out to the saloon, meet me back at the garage in about 30," Rik said, eyeing Travis's expensive suit with a small grin. The wolf looked a little rumpled after the flight from Portland, and the car ride from Denver. "If that's enough time for you to get cleaned up?"

  With a determined set of his jaw, Travis gave an abrupt nod, "Yeah, not a problem. See you in 30."

  Snickering to himself, Rik jogged back to his own room, fishing out his Bluetooth earpiece and making a quick call. Clay's phone rang through to voicemail, which meant he was probably already on his way. Quickly, Rik thumbed him a text.

  Guess what? New guy=pup. Wants 2G2 ASS! CU @ ASS?

  Rik quickly changed out of his Polo and slacks, tugging on a pair of button-fly jeans as he heard the pingback text. Checking it as he burrowed through his bags for an appropriate shirt to wear, he grinned at Clay's response.

  I do love me some Fresh Meat @ ASS! CU THERE! With, of course, the smiley cat face.

  Tucking his phone into his pocket, Rik eyed the large traveling chest in the corner of his room, but shook his head. Tomorrow. Instead, he shrugged into a silk cowboy-cut, long sleeved shirt, complete with mother-of-pearl buttons, and with a grin grabbed his own white Stetson, glad that he had thought to pack it. Tucking the shirt into his dark, pressed jeans, he fastened his belt, the large silver and gold buckle showing a knight riding a bucking stallion. Finally, he pulled on a pair of ivory and cream cowboy boots, complete with spurs. The spurs were old, with the yoke and shank in solid gold, resembling twisting rose vines, thorns and all, while the rowels were silver roses, with the leaves acting as the pricks.

  Pocketing his keys, Rik pocket slapped. Yep, wallet in back pocket, keys, cell phone, and just to be on the safe side, a condom. Okay, three condoms. He was nothing if not always prepared. Better safe than sorry, after all. Although the thought of Sam swollen with his child, and the fun times involved in making said child, had his cock twitching against the buttons of his jeans. He glanced down, glaring at his cock.

  "Down boy. Soon enough, I promise," Rik assured his appendage.

  Once he was satisfied his dick was suitably chastised, Rik headed down to the garage. When he spotted Travis, dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms crossed over his chest, and work boots, Rik had to grudgingly give the smirking young wolf a nod of respect. Beeping open the doors, Rik said, "Let's go."

  As Travis hopped into the SUV, Rik felt a sudden chill settle between his shoulders. Why do I have a bad feeling about this?

  Chapter 15

  Aurora’s Shadow Saloon was located on the far side of Grand Lake from the Estates, at the edge of the area known as Shadow Lake. The roads were narrow, but surprisingly clear and easy to navigate, as they curved around Shadow Lake at the base of the overlooking mountain that gave the lake its name. When Bertie pulled up into the parking lot, Sam noted the parking lot was barely a quarter filled, with a predominance of trucks, SUVs, and a cluster of what looked to be all Harley Davidsons all parked off in one corner of the lot.

  The saloon, which the locals all called ‘The ASS,’ for obvious reasons, was in a converted warehouse, the old bricks weathered with age, but in excellent repair. The two-story structure had been renovated, the entire ground level covered with horizontal wooden logs, giving it a more rustic look, while the windows had all been replaced with mirrored glass, reflecting the view of Shadow Lake and the Rockies, illuminated by crimson and gold as the sun set behind them. The entrance had once been a loading dock, with a pair of massive carved wooden doors at the top of a concrete stairway.

  Both doors had been beautifully crafted, and as Sam joined the others in getting out of the Range Rover, she couldn't help but study the intricate craftsmanship. The door on the left was a single wolf, standing sentry, gazing out toward the Rockies—and visitors—with a noble sense of protectiveness in its stance. Behind the wolf, the forest and trees mimicked the Rockies all around, while the sky had been done in a beautiful stained glass of a night sky and the Aurora Borealis, illuminated from within by the lights inside the saloon. On the right were wolves in the distance, with a single wolf high on a cliff overlooking an obsidian lake, howling in silhouette against an ivory glass moon.

  Above the doors hung a sign, the saloon's name burned into a hewn log along with the saloon's logo, a cattle brand depicting the letters A-S-S. Sam snorted, muffling a giggle as she closed the car door and joined the girls, and Bertie, as they headed up the stairs, into the saloon.

  As they approached the door, Sam shivered as she felt the distinctive prick of glamour washing over her skin. Tilting her head down a little so she could glance around over her glasses, she muffled a gasp. The doors were alive, the wolves milling about in the background, with the wolf on the left actually moving its eyes as they approached. The glass scintillated with a living borealis, and she swore she could faintly hear the baying of wolves.

  Feeling a massive mitt land gently on her shoulder, Sam looked up to find Bertie giving her a small, knowing grin. "The saloon is Uncanny Friendly, run by one of the local wolf packs." He nodded at the doors. "Mortals are welcome, but the glamour keeps unfriendlies out and keeps us safe while we're here. It's a Sanctuary, like the Estates are." And once more, Sam heard the initial cap of the word Sanctuary. She'd have to ask about that later, though, as Clara and Gen pushed open the doors and led the way in. Sam was just glad they hadn't grabbed her arms like they usually did.

  With the sisters up front and Bertie bringing up the rear, the much shorter Sam felt like a hobbit. Okay, so the sisters were Sidhe, not Elves—totally different, apparently—and Bertie was a Gargoyle, and she was human, but she did have to admit privately to herself that Second Breakfast was the best invention ever. After cheesecake. And coffee. Okay, so it was up there, but when a Second Breakfast was cheesecake and coffee, then it was truly the best invention ever.

  Caught up in her mental Tolkien debate, Sam paid little attention as they went through the saloon's lobby. She only half-paid attention to the décor, an eclectic mix of rustic and modern that seemed popular throughout the area, but she was already swinging her hips in time to the low country music that filled the air.

  Sam was by no means a Country & Western girl, but good music was good music, and it was Miss Patsy Cline and "Walking After Midnight." You had to be soulless to not adore Patsy! Sam hummed along as she followed the girls.

  By the time they reached a table in the wide, open bar, Sam finally started to take note of their surroundings, particularly since there was already a small group of people waiting for their arrival. Shrieks and hugs suddenly surrounded a bewildered Sam, who took a cautious step away from the chaos of flying arms, kissy faces, and laughter. Even Bertie seemed caught in the pandemonium.

  A sudden arm around her shoulder drug Sam right into the midst of the mess. "Okay, my lovelies, may I introduce Ms. Samantha Kelly, but please call her Sam," Gen declared theatrically. "Yes, she's Mortal, but she's in the know, so no need to keep anything on the down-low, especially sinc
e she's going to be around the Estates for some time to come, so make her feel welcome!"

  Was it just Sam's imagination, or was there an unsaid 'or else' tagged on the end of that?

  Sam made a slight curtsey, flashing the curious faces a grin as she said, "A pleasure, I'm sure! And yeah, please, call me Sam."

  With a finger, Gen introduced the others. "Right, from the left, we have Raven Rowan, the sassiest sorceress of sauces and goddess of the barbeque pits throughout the region," a grinning, mischievous face winked at Sam. Raven looked barely old enough to drive, and obviously had some Asian heritage, with gorgeous dark eyes and long, flowing black hair. She was average height, busty and curvy, and wearing a gorgeous print in a delicate maxi tea dress, off the shoulder and in a pale pink that highlighted the woman's flawless complexion. Bitch. Around her neck, she wore a black choker with a silver bear paw inlaid with rose quartz. Like Sam, she also wore glasses, though hers were as pink and pretty as her dress.

  "She's also a total witch, but we try not to hold that against her," Gen said in an aside, earning a laugh from Raven.

  "Hey, Sam, welcome to the party, sister," Raven said, her accent this strange combination of rounded vowels and clipped consonants, a weird mingling of Bostonian and Kiwi.

  "Next," Gen said, her finger sweeping clockwise to a tall, buxom woman with deep, rich brown skin. She wore a killer jade-green sheath dress, her riotous curls pulled back from a sharply-featured face, with high cheekbones to make Grace Jones proud and brilliant emerald green eyes. "We have Siobhan O'Connell..."

  The woman playfully snapped gleaming ivory fangs at Gen's still pointing finger, amusement glinting amber in the woman's green eyes. "Stay!" Gen snapped, which had the table roaring with laughter when the woman obediently sat back and gave a little bark.