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Tarrien
Neither of the creatures sharing a passionate kiss appear to have sensed my presence. Lady Renna bade me be discreet and no one, not even an armored winter warrior like myself, wants to end up on the wrong side of an enraged banshee’s temper. Especially Lady Renna’s.
My brief is to watch for danger, protect if needed, and above all else, don’t let the hybrid know of my presence.
The vampire is more problematic. If Aleah were full-blood fae, she would sense my proximity in a heartbeat. Vampires, as a species, are generally far less skilled than fae in terms of their ability to detect the ancient magics, but this one in particular has a keener sense than most. I worry he may detect me at some point.
I roll my eyes as their kiss progresses to fondling. This is not a warrior’s task, to stand and watch others making love. And yet here I am, stuck until my brief changes and I am handed a new—and hopefully more suitable—task.
I touch the moonstone that sits in the silver filigree ring on my right thumb. The gem is a vehicle for communication, and it doesn’t take long before the air shimmers and Renna appears by my side.
“What is it, Tarrien? Can you not manage without me for more than a few minutes?”
My lip curls up in annoyance. Oh, how I dislike this woman.
“Depends on your point of view.” I wave my hand, indicating the couple on the porch stairs now in the throes of tearing off each other’s clothing, and Renna takes a tiny step back.
“Oh!” she says. Then her face clears and interest overtakes the shock. “Well. She seems to be doing all right for herself, doesn’t she? Truly, the vampire is not bad-looking at all. Hmm...his rear end is particularly shapely, now that he is free of his clothing.”
She leans forward. Not okay, woman. She’s your daughter. I drag at her arm, eventually managing to turn her attention back to me.
“Do you seriously expect me to stay here and watch over this, Renna?” I try to keep the attitude from my voice, but it’s difficult.
She is quiet for a moment, closing her eyes and sniffing the air. “Can’t sense anything odd in these parts, any longer. Maybe they will be fine, after all. Maybe...” She taps her lips thoughtfully, and then nods in a decisive manner. “Yes. I’ve decided. I want to relieve you of your duty here, Tarrien.”
Well, thank the winter gods for that. About time. I turn, readying to leave for home, when she stops me in my tracks with her next words. “Instead, I need you to visit Melbourne and check on Indigo’s welfare. I’ve been getting bad vibes about some of my other children. Should have had you check on Indie a while back, but to be honest—” She laughs lightly. “After my visit when she was seven, I forgot she existed.”
I should be surprised by this admission, but I’m not. “How old is she now?”
Renna counts mentally. “Hmm. Must be thirty? Perhaps thirty-one. She came prior to Aleah.”
Distaste once again curves my mouth. This woman is seriously hideous, but thanks to my father’s infatuation with the winter queen and his subsequent betrayal of our family and the whole Winter Court, my family now owes Lady Renna a blood debt. She unexpectedly spoke up for us when no one else would, and it is now incumbent upon me, the first-born, to fulfil that debt. If I do not, innocent members of my family will be killed, and we will lose our place at Court. That last fact alone would probably kill my mother.
“If I do this for you, my family debt will be paid, Renna. I have given you years in return for your action on our behalf. Years.”
“Of course. Now off with you, Tarrien, and report back via the usual channels.” She points at my moonstone and touches the matching gem at her neck, and then is gone before I can answer.
Fucking banshee witch.
I cast one last look at the couple making love on the porch. They seem well-matched and Aleah’s silver-white aura has extended to encompass the vamp. A sure sign that she has begun to find true happiness with her mate.
I’m glad for her. There was a moment there, in Faerie, when her kindness touched me more than I expected. She seems nothing like her mother, thankfully. Instead, she seems like the kind of creature I wouldn’t mind getting to know.
I wonder if I will ever find someone who provides such happiness for me? As a winter warrior, my heart is, of necessity, cased in ice. We are protectors, not lovers, and it is our duty to ignore the call of the flesh as much as it is within our power to do so.
My father’s weakness in giving in to his passions—despite being a winter warrior himself—is what destroyed our family’s reputation in the first place.
Indigo. Indie. The name sends skitters of energy across my skin. Interesting. Will the hybrid prove to be more like her mother, or her half-sister? Or will she be nothing like either?
I turn my thoughts toward Melbourne and a human-fae hybrid named Indigo.
The End
I hope you enjoyed this first instalment in THE BLOOD FAE CHRONICLES. Read Indie and Tarrien’s story in BANSHEE SONG, and then Maewen and Prince Rhodri’s story in BANSHEE POWER.
Here’s a small taste of Book 2...
Indigo
The last note dies away and silence fills the theater. The quality of that silence is sharp and expectant, as if everyone in the audience is holding their breath and waiting for more.
There is no more. Not for these humans. If I truly gave them everything I have, there’d be no silence. Only terrified screams, and the rush of bodies toward the exit. Away from the horror. Away from me.
Slowly the applause begins, escalating as the audience rises to their feet. A standing ovation. I must have excelled, tonight. I lift my chin and gaze out past the stage lights to acknowledge the accolades directed my way.
“Bravo, brava, huzzah...”
The shouts vary from person to person, but all convey essentially the same message. I delivered what this audience wanted, and then some.
“Encore, encore...”
I incline my head, blinking hard to force back the threatening tears. Do they know I sing of death? Do they know I sing of loss and all things that might be and never eventuate? Do they know how much it costs me, every time I stand up here on this stage, to croon the song of every human passing?
The power of a banshee is beyond any mortal understanding.
The power of a banshee’s voice is beyond the understanding of all of them, mortal and immortal alike.
Of course, I’m only a half-banshee. But even so, I have to rein in my voice to deliver as much as they can take, and not a single note more.
The threat of tears eases and this time when I raise my head, confidence fills me. It will be okay. Tonight, will be okay. There is no one nearby who needs the call of the banshee this evening.
As I take one more bow and turn to leave the stage, a spark of silver from someone in the front row catches and holds my attention. A set of steel-gray eyes meet mine, and for the briefest moment my heart does a strange flip-flop in my chest. A tall man—taller than those around him by at least a head—continues to slow clap in what seems like a parody of the adulation around him.
His hair is dark and long, pulled back in an elegant ponytail. Like everyone else I can see in the limited reach of the stage lights, he’s sporting evening wear, but this man gives off the impression that he is only here under sufferance.
A sparkle emanates from a ring on one of his fingers. Another flash from the piece of jewelry holds my gaze. Who is he? And why is he looking at me that way, as if he knows me and doesn’t like what he sees?
The sardonic twist of his lips sends a different message altogether to the continued and almost offensive slow clap.
I’m certain, even in the glance I give him before leaving the stage, that he’s not human.
Elf? Fae? The slightly pointed ears, aristocratic nose, and high cheekbones could be either, but elves are usually light-haired, not dark, and fae can be either. Which means this guy is likely pure fae.
Awesome. If there’s anything I hate more than a cynical man, it’s a cynical man with fae blood running through his veins.
I nod graciously and give him a twisted smile of my own. See, faerie man? I can do sarcastic, too.
This time the flash centers in those hard, silver-gray eyes. He received my message, all right. The impact of that glare and the resultant heat in my veins follows me all the way back to my dressing room.
For once I’m grateful for the empty room. In the past, back when I was part of the chorus and had to fight nineteen other women for space in front of the mirror, I dreamed of being a star and having my own dressing area where people would have to leave me in peace unless I chose to invite them in to my little sanctuary.
Be careful what you wish for. Now that I have exactly what I always dreamed of, I can’t bear to be alone for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Not since Sienna... No. Don’t think of that. It’s fine. You have a voice far stronger than most and one call will bring them all running. You’re not alone. Not really.
I take a seat and stare at my reflection in the dresser mirror. Haunted green eyes stare back, and I blink a few times and force deep breaths, aiming for calm.
There. That’s better. Under control once again. Push the pain back where it belongs, deep down inside where it can’t get out and hurt you. Or anyone else.
My blonde hair is loose and flowing in waves over my shoulders and partway down my back. The red dress is as low-cut as it can get without spilling my naked breasts out for all to see. The audience calls for seductive in this industry, and seductive is what I deliver. The blonde is merely a wig, hiding my natural dark color, but in this business, blonde is considered far sexier than any other color and I need all the advantages I can get. I haven’t been brunette on stage for at least ten years. Probably more.
I slide off the wig, followed by the underlying wig cap and pins, and run my fingers through my real hair, shaking it loose. The freedom feels good. Whenever I leave the theater, dark-haired and make-up free, I am thankfully unrecognizable from the siren they all see on stage.
I take a wipe from the container on the dresser, and have only just begun to swipe the heavy stage makeup from my eyes and lips when a decisive knock at the door stays my hand. I stifle a sigh. While I normally encourage visitors after a show to keep the shadows at bay, tonight, I specifically asked my assistant not to let anyone through. There’s a lethargy, deep in my bones, that I can’t explain. It’s not the banshee call. It feels different to the stretched, agonizing build-up of pain that denotes a song of death.
Maybe I’m coming down with flu? Tonight, whatever the issue is, I just need to go home and sleep.
And now, I have one eye still fully made up and the other smeared with half-removed eyeliner. God knows what my red lipstick looks like. Probably smeared all the way across, a la Joker. Awesome. Whoever it is will have to suck it up because I’m too tired to care right now. Most likely it’s Dreya, my assistant. “It’s open. Come on—oh!”
The door opens before I’ve even finished and the stranger from the audience strides into the room as if he owns the space. Instantly, my dressing room seems far too small, as if his very presence sucks out all the air. He towers above me and I quickly stand, trying to minimize the height difference between us. My stupid, traitorous heart once again begins to pound. What is it about this fae that causes my body to react in such an intense manner?
He stares around the room, peering into every corner with a suspicious air, before he turns that gaze back onto me. His almost-concealed recoil confirms that I must, indeed, look rather clown-like.
“What are you searching for? There are no hidden surprises or secret admirers stashed away behind a rack of costumes. I am actually alone in here, you know.” My voice comes out testier than I want, and I clear my throat and try again. “Okay. Can I help you?”
He lets out a tiny snort. “I doubt it. But perhaps I can help you, Indigo.”
My name shivers off his tongue and raises goose bumps along my skin. “Who are you?”
At first, he doesn’t answer. Instead, he hooks a foot around the leg of the chair I just vacated, and shifts it forward. “Take a seat, and we’ll talk.”
“No, I’m good right here, thanks.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, wishing like hell I hadn’t half swiped off my makeup and that, instead, I had first opted to change into more modest clothing. “I’ll ask again. Who are you, faerie man, and what do you want? You’re clearly not a fan, given your insulting behavior in the audience.”
“Faerie man?” The indignation in his tone is somewhat satisfying and I fight a sudden urge to grin. He matches my stance, crossing his own arms in front of an impressively wide chest. “I am Tarrien, Lord and Warrior of the Winter Court, and I am here at your mother’s behest to offer you protection.”
Wait. What? I wasn’t expecting that. I can’t help the laugh that escapes. So many questions rise up. “My mother sent you? Are you serious?”
He arches a winged brow. “Of course. I would not joke about such a thing.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. He looks like he doesn’t have a humorous bone in his body. “Protection from what? And, by the way, I haven’t seen my mother in, like, forever, and I’ve been taking care of myself since I left the foster care system at sixteen. I don’t need her help, or your protection. At all.”
“Foster care?”
“Yeah. It’s for kids who have no family and nowhere to live.”
His head tips to one side. “Hmm. Your mother has a lot to answer for, that is true.”
I release a sigh, the tiredness spreading through my body. “I don’t need protection, thank you,” I repeat. “You’ve had a wasted trip.”
I point toward the door, but he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he studies me intently. “You look much more attractive with dark hair. More like your mother. Only, you do not seem like her at all, except on the surface. That is a good thing.”
I ignore the first part of that sentence, which causes a strange flip-flop in my chest, and concentrate on the latter part. “Not like my dear old mum? The woman who ran out when I was only a month or so old, and came back when I was seven to tell me how important I am because I’m half-banshee. And then told me I have another name—something really long and unpronounceable—before telling me I can never reveal it? And then, turned around and disappeared once again, just like that?” I huff out a breath. “You mean, that woman? Damn right I’m nothing like her!”
My legs suddenly choose this moment to develop the shakes, and despite my earlier comment about wanting to stand, I drop into the chair. “You’re a fae warrior. From the Winter Court? And she sent you to protect me...from what?”
He squats down in front of me until we’re at eye level. Far from reducing his presence and size, the proximity serves to emphasize it. I look down, away from the intensity in his expression, and notice instead how muscled his thighs are, and how tight those trousers are around his groin. Gods above, I’m acting as if I haven’t had sex in years. Which, I guess, I haven’t. I quickly squelch that thought. It’s beside the point.
I lift my gaze straight back up and focus somewhere over his left shoulder.
“Danger has arrived in this world, Indigo. Danger to all humans, and most especially to those of the hybrid human-banshee variety, like yourself. The Lady Renna bade me protect you. It is what I do, after all. I am a Winter Warrior and I’m bound to my duty.” His lips tighten briefly. “Whether I wish to be, or not.”
“Oh...kay.” I’m not really sure how to respond. Clearly, this assignment is not to his liking. “What, specifically, is the danger you’re supposed to protect me from?”
His brows come together in a scowl. “I do not know, exactly. But one of Renna’s other daughters—your half-sister Aleah—almost died several days ago after an attack, and your mother has become concerned for your welfare.”
I almost laugh at the absurdity of that last statement, but the rest of it is too bizarre to allow for humor. I know I have half-siblings out there somewhere—lots of them from what my mother told me when she visited many years ago—but to finally hear the actual name of one of them makes things all the more real. “Aleah.” I try out the name, liking the sound of it. I wonder if she’s anything like me. “Is she okay?”
“Yes. When I left her, she was wrapped naked around a vampire police officer, about to have the best sex of her life, by the look of them.”
Good for her! I raise a brow. “Not in too much danger, then.”
“Aleah came as close to death as it is possible to do, without crossing over the line. She almost had your mother calling in her death. Without my healing power back in Faerie, your sister would not now be able to enjoy her cozy liaison with her vampire lover.”
“Healing power? I thought you were a warrior.”
“I am.” He appears offended. “Are you not familiar with the extent of a Court Warrior’s power? Our hearts may be encased in ice, but we fight to protect, and we fight to heal.”
What does he mean, his heart is encased in ice? Does that mean he cannot feel? Cannot love? There are times I would give anything not to feel. When the banshee call arrives, the extent of what I feel almost tears me in two. But never to love? Never to experience any true emotion?
I can’t imagine a worse fate.
Read Indie and Tarrien’s story in Banshee Song
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Then read Maewen and Prince Rhodri’s story in Banshee Power
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