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My mother always thrived on chaos. One of my earliest memories from when I was a young child, is sitting beside my parents at a Winter Solstice celebration. I remember the tiny smile on Mother’s lips as she studied the happy revelries of our subjects in the fields and forests around us.
“Watch this, Rho, and remember the lesson.” She reached out with her magic—silver strands that I could see even then were laced with darkness—and the happy crowd in front of us suddenly started to bicker amongst themselves. When actual physical fights broke out, I remember my father releasing a pained sigh and leaning over to frown at her.
“Leave them be, Rhiannon. It is Yule. Solstice is supposed to be a time of joy.”
My mother pouted.
“Divide and conquer, Tryppton,” she said. “You don’t do enough of that, dear husband. Not nearly enough.”
But she did relinquish her hold on the Winter Court revelers, and then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “When you are grown, I will teach you how to rule properly, Rho. Create chaos, cause division, and then whatever power you desire will be yours for the taking.”
I blink hard as the memory stabs at my brain. If only I had known then what I know now...
I stare at Maewen who is frowning at me, no doubt because of what she perceives as my wandering attention.
“Chaos. That’s what she wants,” I say in a flat tone.
Beside me, Tarrien nods. He remembers my mother well enough, too.
“If the Accord is ripped away, there will be no rules in place to guide how we all live together,” I say. “Peace and harmony will disappear, and chaos will reign. She wants to use that chaos to slide in and rebuild her power. I am certain of it.”
“She sounds...well...” Maewen clears her throat and doesn’t finish.
She sounds like a monster. Those are the words I know she held back. Those, or something similar. I don’t blame Maewen for her almost-insult. My mother is a monster. She’s the only fae I know personally, who has let the darkness that is in all magic to rise up and take control. I never knew, as a child, that those dark strands at her core are not meant to be visible at all.
There is darkness in all fae, but we must never give in to it. We cannot.
“The important thing is,” Maewen says after a pause, “how do we find her and Targon, now?”
My turn to face her. “I have a few suggestions about that. We should—”
Maewen’s phone rings loudly, cutting me off, and she releases a swear word I have never heard before.
“Not now.” She rubs her eyes briefly before picking up the device and answering the call in a gruff tone.
She really does seem overly tired. Does she not have anyone in her life to keep an eye on her and make sure she looks after her own health? Rests when she needs it?
“Another?” Maewen barks into the phone. “Where?”
She jumps up and moves away from us, over to the kitchen area. It is such a small space—and, of course, using my fae senses—I can still hear both sides of the conversation. Judging by the intent expression on Tarrien’s face, he is listening in as keenly as me.
There has been another vicious attack, and it sounds like an abomination might have been involved.
“Three humans dead this time, boss,” says a male voice on the other end of the line. “Do you want us to proceed in the usual way, or wait till you get here?”
“You know what to do, Durand. You might be new to my team but you’ve been with SUDAP long enough to know the drill. Cordon it off and get forensics in as soon as you can. The supe forensics team, not the standard. I’ll be there shortly, but don’t wait on my arrival.”
“No problem.”
She pokes at the phone screen, ending the call, and shoots us an apologetic look. “Sorry, Rhodri, Tarrien. We’ll have to finish this tomorrow. Well, later today, I guess, given its now after two am. I need to be somewhere.”
“An abomination attack. We heard,” I say, and ignore her instant frown. “We will come with you.”
“No,” she says, speaking slowly as if Tarrien and I are children. “You will use your magic rings and head home to...well, wherever home is for you both, and leave this investigation to me. I suggest you return to my office at, say, midday, and we can take up our discussion then.”
I open my mouth to dismiss her suggestion and scold her for her disrespectful attitude, but Tarrien gives a tiny shake of his head and touches his ring. I hear his voice then, in my mind. All winter warriors can communicate telepathically with the royal family, when it is required. The ring helps facilitate that communication.
Let her go, Rhodri. We can follow without her being aware of it. She’s a stubborn one, he says. As are all Renna’s children.
Yes, she is. This one...particularly so.
Maewen rushes around gathering a jacket and re-fastening the gun belt she had removed before we ate.
No point arguing, I tell Tarrien. We can work around her.
Clearly, Maewen is used to being in charge. So am I. Technically, given that banshees herald from the Winter Court, I am her monarch’s heir, and that trumps her status as a police officer, no matter what realm she resides in.
She won’t like it when we turn up unannounced, but perhaps she won’t find out. And if she does?
A grin lifts my lips at the thought of that scenario. I can imagine those large hazel eyes flashing in annoyance as I announce that I can do what I wish. Whether Maewen likes it, or not.
I enjoy the idea of making her eyes shine bright with emotion—in annoyance...or in the throes of passion. Either would be pleasing to me.
She bends to fasten her boots and I can’t help noticing the perfect roundness of her arse and the shapely length of her thighs in those skin-tight black trousers.
What would Maewen do if I stepped forward right this minute and pressed my burgeoning organ into her shapely rear, cradling my hard flesh in the soft valley of her folds? Clothing is nothing, to a fae. I could remove it all, in an instant. What would she do if I took her from behind, thrusting deep inside her channel and filling her with my manly need?
What would she sound like, if I were to run my hands up the long line of her back and around her ribs to cup the fullness of her breasts? Would she moan, if I squeezed her nipples tight? Or would her breath escape in a gentle mewl? Would her eyes remain hazel, or would they shift to a deep emerald green, telegraphing her need when I withdrew from her body and turned her so I could kiss her sexy mouth as deeply as I wish?
I accidently release a throaty growl at the thought of Maewen in the throes of passion. Maewen, kissing me, climbing into my arms and wrapping those sexy legs around my hips as I take her again, filling her with my hot and urgent seed.
She halts her frenetic movement and turns to stare at me, her gaze dipping briefly to the erection I cannot hide. Heat rushes into my cheeks as her mouth drops open. We remain there in a weird, frozen tableau. Tarrien clears his throat in an awkward fashion and grabs my arm. He opens a portal and drags me backward into the faerie path with him. Just before the light claims me, I note that Maewen’s eyes have, indeed, become green.
It is only afterward, when we have travelled to the address we overheard during the phone call, that I realize Maewen did not volunteer any information during our discussion. She encouraged us to talk, and yet she shared little. A skill no doubt born of police training, and one that both annoys and intrigues me.
Inspector Maewen Jones is complex and fascinating, and when this disastrous situation with my mother is resolved, I intend to find out more about the banshee-hybrid police officer who refuses to supplicate herself to royalty.
I resolve to make it my mission to stare into her beautiful hazel-green eyes as she orgasms around my cock.
***
Maewen
The investigation is orderly and well-underway when I arrive at the crime scene at a local warehouse. I have to tuck away that moment in my apartment, when I met Prince Rhodri’s sensual gaze and read the intense sexual desire in his eyes. Now isn’t the time to dwell on such things.
The shock of knowing a royal fae desires me—and a damn sexy royal fae, at that—reverberates right through my body, coalescing between my legs in an ache I haven’t felt in far too long. God, as if I have time for a dalliance at the present time. Even one with someone who embodies my idea of the perfect male, at least in a physical sense.
I remind myself that he probably has sex all the time, and that such a look likely means nothing, coming from him. Fae are known for their casual approach to sexual relations, and I’m sure he was simply testing the waters to see if I would respond. I probably annoyed him, not genuflecting the way he expected, and he thinks he can control me with sex.
He certainly couldn’t really want me. Not with that level of intensity.
I take a deep breath and huff it out slowly, trying to re-focus on the task at hand. Crime scene. Dead victims. People who can no longer speak for themselves and who need me and my team to help catch the violent perpetrators who did this awful thing to them.
My mind back on the job, I stride forward, pleased to see most of my team are already here. They are good at their work, and I trust them. Sergeant Durand has only recently joined my team from another divisional office, so I am not familiar with him personally but his positive reputation precedes him.
And apparently, he’s dating my sister.
Well, one of my half-sisters, to be precise. My mother seems to have been quite prolific in the half-human, half-banshee child-making department, or so I understand. Up until recently, I had never met another human-banshee hybrid—even though I knew there were quite a few half-siblings out there. I was quite happy for things to stay that way.
I’ve never wanted the reminder of my banshee heritage. I like feeling human. I hate my fae side so much, I pay a fortune to keep my banshee magic contained.
I twirl the ring on my right pinkie finger as I do at every crime scene. It isn’t superstition that causes me to clutch at the opal ring. I simply need the constant reassurance that the talisman remains in place and in working order.
Who would ever choose to be a banshee? Especially when my dream was to become a police officer and solve crimes, and in order to do so, I have had to steep myself in death at every turn.
The freedom from my banshee magic that the charm provides allows me to be human, and it allows me to pursue the dream I’ve had since I was ten years old and my two best friends at school—my only friends—were ripped to shreds outside the library by some kind of ravening monster that was never caught.
I was in the library at the time, taking a peek inside the thick copy of Lord of the Rings that the librarian said was way too advanced for my childish eyes. I wanted to prove her wrong, but I never got the chance.
One moment I was avidly reading a passage about evil riders, and the next, I was writhing on the floor, wailing and crying as horrifying waves of death and dying washed over me.
