My Faire Lord: A Renaissance Flair - Book 1

by C. A. Storm

  Gen smirked down at Sam. "Obviously, she's Alpha Bitch of one of the local wolfpacks. Her brother's the actual Alpha, and they own this swanky joint, as well as run the Black Irish Tavern in the Village."

  Blinking innocently at Sam's sudden giggle, Siobhan said, "What? I love a good Black & Tan. Seemed appropriate." Siobhan shrugged, "Besides, Irish Wagon Bomb seemed a bit too silly, even for us." She pointed over toward a man behind the bar who nearly rivaled Bertie in sheer mass and musculature, "That's my twin, Saxen. He's older by like two whole minutes, but he's never let me hear the end of it."

  Apparently hearing his name spoken, Saxen glanced up from the pretty blonde he had been flirting with, giving his sister a mock glare, who responded by kissing her hand and blowing a kiss, accompanied by a middle finger. Saxen's handsome face brightened as he grinned and shook his head, turning his attention back toward the pouting little blonde cowgirl who beamed once she had regained his attention. Wearing a tight green t-shirt with the bar's logo on it, Saxen's muscles flexed rather impressively as he mixed a drink, never ceasing in his flirting with the girl.

  "That's why we call the bar ASS, in case you were wondering," Siobhan said in a mournful stage whisper. "I only felt it appropriate to warn the female population, but somehow, they just don't clue in."

  "It's the muscles," Clara said.

  "His smile, definitely his smile," Gen contradicted.

  "He's extremely good-looking," Bertie shrugged, a faint flush dusting his cheeks as he looked away from the bar and sat down.

  "He's hung like a horse," added a soft, lilting voice. This came from a deceptively innocent-looking woman who blinked as she was suddenly the center of attention. Blushing furiously, the tiny, petite little woman waved her hands rapidly in front of her face. "That's what I heard! Really! Totally rumors!"

  Obviously seeking to change the subject, the young woman hopped up and held out her hand to Sam. "I'm Athena. Totally not a goddess, or an Amazon, or anything cool like that, just a common, garden variety pixie."

  Athena's hair was not in a pixie cut, and Sam felt oddly disappointed by that. Instead, the young girl's hair hung in loose waves down her back, and was a shimmering veil of pastel colors, ranging from the palest blue to a vivid pink, with light violet and leaf green highlights, that should have all clashed, but somehow all worked together for her. Her face was young, unblemished and had that peaches-and-cream complexion magazines raved about, but no one in real life seemed to have without lots of makeup. She wore a deep turquoise, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, but over that, she wore a black leather bustier, laced up the front with baby blue laces that brought out the powder blue of her eyes. She also wore a pair of Jordache vintage jeans and Converse sneakers in a sparkly light blue.

  "Okay, I have to ask," Sam grinned. "A pixie? Really?"

  With a huff and crossed eyes, Athena plopped back down in her chair and crossed her arms as she jutted her chin at a mutinous angle. "Yeah, a pixie. We're small but mighty!" She uncurled her arms and flexed, making as mean a face as she possibly could. Too damned adorable for words, Sam resisted the urge to reach out and cuddle her all up. Like a puppy!

  In an aside, Clara said, "Just as an F-Y-I, Little Miss Mighty there can literally bench press a bus. Despite the reputation they've gained over the last century or so, both pixies and sprites are known for three things: dancing like no one's watching, fighting like they are trying out for the Fight or Flight Club, and drinking booze like they are afraid Prohibition is making a comeback. They're mean."

  "We are not!" Athena giggled, "That's the sprites." She batted her big blue eyes at Sam, "Sprites are the mean ones. Pixies rock! Hell, we even had a punk band named after us!"

  Sam didn't have the heart to tell the adorable little pixie what her favorite soda was. She just made a mental note to never order one around Athena!

  "And don't even get her started on Tink," Raven laughed, "Or we'll be here all night listening to how that little blonde bitch betrayed her own kind!"

  "Tink's a scut!" Athena said, reaching for her drink. The pixie stopped and blinked around the table, however, when the entire group, sans Sam, chorused her curse. "Well, she is!"

  Oh yeah, Sam was going to fit in just fine with this crowd.

  Chapter 16

  "Do I need to check in with any of the local Alphas?" Travis asked as Rik drove them from the Estates and down the mountain toward the saloon.

  "Probably not a bad idea," Rik said, giving the other man a slight nod. "Saxen O'Connell is one of the local Alphas, and he's probably at the saloon tonight, since he owns it and with it being the Friday before first weekend for the Village, it will probably be hopping.

  "Sax's jurisdiction covers most of the area around here, since his pack is the largest and most established in the Rockies. Denver's got their own pack hierarchy, and so does Colorado Springs, but otherwise you should be good. You'll end up meeting most of them during one of the gatherings held at the Estates, I'm sure."

  Drumming his fingers on his knee, Travis nodded, although his attention was on the landscape passing by. He seemed to be constantly studying his surroundings, ducking his head, his eyes glinting in oncoming traffic lights as his shifter vision adapted to the darkening evening. "I'll be sure to be on my best behavior," he said dryly as he gave Rik a sidelong glance.

  Serious, Rik said, "That's always a good idea around here. Kidding and pissing matches aside, a lot of Uncannies pass through this area. The Rockies have retained a number of places of power. Both the Estates and the Saloon are known Sanctuaries, open to all races, and we've worked hard to maintain that peace. Everyone needs a place they can just relax and be themselves, or as much as they want to."

  Travis turned in his seat, more fully facing Rik as he considered the other man through thoughtfully narrowed eyes. "So basically, don't piss off an ancient deity or anyone who could potentially level the Rockies if they had a bad hair day."

  Rik's answering grin didn't offer any comfort to the young man. "You got it in one." Shrugging, Rik turned right, following the road along Shadow Lake. "Look, I know you wolves really like your dominance games, and that's cool and all that, and I try not to get involved in any of that pack bullshit, as long as it stays out of the Village and off the Estates."

  The bitter laugh from the wolf gave Rik pause. When he glanced back over, Rik saw the expression of disgust and bitterness on Travis's face, the glow of his beast a lambent gold burning in his eyes. "Trust me," Travis gritted through tightly-clenched, fanged teeth. "I'm all too aware of pack politics. It's one of the reasons I approached Audrick, and got the hell out of..."

  He cut himself off and turned to glare out the window, but Rik could still see the glow of Travis's golden eyes in the reflection off the window. "I lost everything because of pack politics, Mr. Leon. It's why I've chosen to go Lone Wolf, and why Audrick suggested Cœur de Lyon as a possible place for me."

  Reluctantly, Rik felt himself continue to thaw toward the arrogant young wolf. Family was important to the Sidhe and the Fae, but even they couldn't hold a candle to the Shifter breeds, especially the wolves, whose packs were family. Silence fell over the cab of the vehicle until they pulled up outside of the saloon. Travis hopped out of the car quickly, before Rik had even put it in Neutral, and he stood there with his head thrown back as he took slow, deep breaths.

  Watching the wolf with bemusement, Rik shrugged and slid out of the Rover, clicking it locked as he headed up toward the entrance. Evening had given way to twilight, the lights from inside illuminating the stained glass of the doors, while lights illuminated a parking lot nearly filled to capacity. More than a dozen motorcycles, most of them Harleys, dominated one corner of the lot, while next to the Leon Estates Rover was a custom Lancer Evolution FE, in Midnight Indigo with black racing stripes.

  As Rik and Travis approached, the door to the Lancer popped open, and Clay unfolded his tall, athletic body from the vehicle. An inch or so taller than Rik, with powerful shoulders
and a broad chest, Clay had almost obscenely narrow hips, giving him a sharply defined V-torso that led down to powerful, thick thighs. He wore a long-sleeved white dress shirt, complete with cuff links and a cravat, with a black leather vest that emphasized his wide chest and flat stomach. Black slacks and polished black combat boots completed the look, making him seem simultaneously dangerous and elegant.

  At first glance, Clay radiated menace, his half-Japanese heritage giving him coal black hair he had pulled back into a neat ponytail that reached the middle of his back, and carefully tended mutton chops that emphasized his broad jawline. Glittering dark eyes gazed steadily between Travis and Rik, making the younger wolf subtly growl at the directness of the other man’s gaze.

  “Rik,” Clay drawled in a lazy voice, giving a brief nod at the Sidhe before he turned a blindingly white smile that showed way too many teeth at the growly wolf, “Awww, who’s a cute little puppy dog? Did Rik adopt you from the local shelter?” He slanted Rik a droll look as he clutched his chest, “I always thought you were more a cat person. You’re breaking my heart here.”

  Even as Travis’s growl deepened, Clay perked up, “Oh, wait? Is he your anam cara? When’s the wedding? May want to get married quick, while it’s still legal and all that!”

  Before Travis could fly fang-and-claws first at the larger man, Rik’s hand landed on the wolf’s shoulder and gave a firm, commanding squeeze. “Don’t bother, it’s just my friend Clay. If you learn to ignore just about everything he says, you’ll be fine. He’s a fucking feline, after all, so he loves to play but forgets he’s got claws.”

  Inhaling deeply, Travis suddenly relaxed and gave a low groan. “He’s a lion. Figures, they’re all a little fucked in the head.”

  Drawing himself up arrogantly, Clay looked down his nose as he sniffed, “Ain’t nothing little about me, boy, besides…” Clay’s face suddenly became predatory as a leer twisted his narrow lips, “I have a soft spot for training mouthy pups.”

  Shocking both Rik and Clay, Travis gave a short, sharp laugh. Shaking his head, tucking his hands into his pockets, Travis said, “Nah, but thanks. I’m already house broken, and I have a feeling you’re into all sorts of kinky shit that’s just not my scene.” Canting his head to the side, Travis gave the lion a sympathetic look, “It’s okay, though, kitty, I’m sure somewhere out there is a pup willing to put up with you. I do hate to break your heart, but I’m just not that wolf.”

  Clay exploded. Lunging forward, brawny arms flew around both Travis and Rik’s shoulders as the laughing lion spun them around and marched toward the saloon doors.

  “Ooh, I like this one, Rik. We might have to keep him!” Clay looked down at the wolf on his left, “So, you any good with a sword?”

  “Besides the two-hander I was blessed with?” Travis retorted with a smirk then shook his head, “Nah, always been more a hands-on kind of guy.”

  “We’ll have to see about that,” Clay said with a grin and a wink as they entered the saloon.

  Rik just shook his head, grinning with amusement as he pulled away from the feline and lupine to push open the double doors. Immediately, they were assaulted with the smell of fried foods, copious amounts of beer and booze, and loud, lively music underscored with the steady hum of laughter and conversation.

  On Friday nights, the ASS played country music. Clichéd, perhaps, but it brought in the customers who liked to dance—mostly women—and in turn, brought in the men looking for a partner. To dance with, of course. Clever men knew that the way to a woman’s heart was a slow two-step. Too bad most men hadn’t gotten that memo, but it was a lesson Rik had learned long ago.

  The bottom floor of the saloon was divided into two sections. One was the restaurant, which was a grill and barbeque, serving simple but good food. The other half was the bar and dance floor, which was sectioned off from the tables and seating areas by a wooden fence. A stage overlooked the dance floor, with a DJ up on stage playing music and laughingly calling out what line dances were coming up.

  “Oh, I see a fox I haven’t seen in a while,” Clay practically purred, his eyes narrowing in on one of the line dancers. “Think I’ve found my prey for the night!” Without another word, he stalked purposefully toward the dance floor.

  Rik laughed, shaking his head at his best friend’s rather predictable predilection for twinks, regardless of species. Turning to say something to Travis, he paused as he caught sight of the other man frozen in the doorway. His face was pale, his fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes were wild, glowing with his beast’s emotions. Taking a slow step back, Travis shook his head, muttering, “Look, I’m…I need to go for a run. Been cooped up inside too long. I’m going to run back to the Estates. Sorry, man, tell Alpha Saxen I’ll meet with him later. I’ve got to run. Got to run…”

  As the last words were said in a low, almost mournful, whine, Travis took off.

  “Hunh,” Rik said to himself, suddenly alone. Well, that was odd. He almost took off to follow after the wolf, when he suddenly heard the ring of familiar laughter that jerked his attention back to the dance floor. There she is…holy fucking Fates!

  Sam was there, with Athena on one side of her and Raven on the other, the three women laughing as they stumbled through a line dance, all three of them apparently a little drunk and having a grand old time as they tried to figure out the Tush Push. As Sam wriggled her ass, her skirt flowing around her legs and hugging that heart-shaped, glorious tush, Rik found himself heading directly to the dance floor. Time to start pouring on the charm! By hook or by crook, that woman was going to be in his arms!

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Travis grunted as he tore off his clothes, shredding them easily with his claws as he tore out of the parking lot and into the woods surrounding the saloon. He had caught scent of her as soon as he had arrived at the Estates, and he thought he would be ready to march in there and reclaim what he had been forced to give up by his father. He had never, in all his seventy-five years of life, hated anything or anyone more than he had then, when his Alpha, his father, had forced his will upon him.

  The burn swept over his flesh, muscles straining as they reshaped, bones cracking in sharp, ecstatic pain as Travis released the beast from within him. In moments, a timber wolf nearly twice the size of a normal wolf was racing through the thick pine trees, back toward the Estates, running as if his very soul was in danger of being torn from him by a spectre.

  Travis was so completely caught in the grips of banked rage and grief, he hadn’t fully registered a distinctive scent in the cacophony of odors he had inhaled when he had stepped into the bar, a rich, deep scent that had tried to wrap itself protectively around his wounded heart. Nor did he notice the strange, tingling sensation that had begun to lightly trace over his left pectoral, but someone else had noticed someone new had been near enough for the bond to begin forming.

  Chapter 17

  Sam was having the time of her life. The girls had welcomed her into their little group and the evening had been filled with great food, good beer, and awesome conversation on topics ranging from reality television addictions—come on, Face Off was way better than Project Runway nowadays—through gossip about nearly every one of the regulars at the bar. Yeah, enough juicy gossip that Sam was thankful she didn’t have to see most of these people every day, because wow!

  Never a big fan of country music, Sam had spent most of the evening at the table, just relaxing and enjoying being social for once. The last week, minus the incident at Cœur de Lyon Enterprises, had been a much-needed change of pace from the past few months. Between spending time with Gen, going over various ideas on expanding on the sewage and water reclamation program and how to successfully implement additional solar power grids, to exploring the Village with Clara. She had even pulled out her sketchbook and begun making some tentative designs for some of the additions Clara had discussed.

  Privately, she was a little worried that neither woman seemed to want to actually discuss the position in detai
l, what it would entail or any of the nitty gritty details such as benefits, vacation time, or even salary. Instead, they both either quickly changed the subject or suggested she speak with Rik. Since the second option was not one she wanted to pursue, since he was supposed to be the one pursuing, Sam had let them change the subject. Tonight, she was determined to not worry about any of it, and tomorrow, go confront the Rik-Beast in his lair. She was tired of waiting for him. Hell, he hadn’t even apologized for any of it! Mr. Unnatural Disaster indeed! I’ll show him a disaster when I light his short-and-curlies on fire and show him what it’s like to be a fire crotch!

  The group had split when a number of rather large, burly men had come over to ask the ladies to dance. Clara had sashayed off with a long-haired Viking biker of a man, whose black t-shirt had inquired, Want to Hold my Mighty Mjolnir? Subtle, right? Gen had been claimed by a rather dashing Latino, who oozed machismo from every pore, but whose sweet smile held a boyish charm. A grinning Siobhan had ended up challenging a couple of the guys to a game of pool, and looked to be sharking her way through the bunch of them, leaving pouting bikers in her wake. Any time any of the men approached Sam, however, Bertie had rather clearly chased them off with a cold glare and a low growl of, “She’s not interested.”

  After the sixth such incident, Sam had finally been rescued by a giggling Athena and an eye-rolling Raven, who had drug her out to the dance floor when the DJ started calling out line dances. Bertie had graciously allowed it, but had gotten up to stand threateningly near the wooden beams that fenced off the dance floor. With his huge arms crossed over his massive chest, with that scowling visage, Sam could oh-so-easily see his true Gargoyle nature. It was cute, in a grizzly cub armed with a flamethrower sort of way, and privately, Sam appreciated Bertie’s protectiveness. She wasn’t quite ready to deal with strange men, particularly since her body—and those heifers, the Fates—had already decided on one certain recalcitrant Frenchman.