Authors: Briana Michaels
Tags: #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance
Sins of the Sidhe
By Briana Michaels
All names, characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual places, events, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission, in writing, of the author.
Copyright © 2014
This one is for S, I love you. Good things, baby, good things.
And for you, thanks for giving me a chance.
“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”
He looked down on her as she slept -his most precious creature. Hair long and splayed across her pillow, she was a vision of dark pleasures sleeping under cold sheets. With shades drawn and night surrounding her, she was a temptation too good to walk away from just yet. Bending over to get a closer look, he could almost taste her scent – oh how delicious she will be. Absolutely intoxicating, the woman was full of fire, desire, and wickedness. Lorcan, the Lord of Shadows, has plans for this beauty. She will be the perfect queen. Shadows and smaller demons slithered up the bedroom walls and crept across the floor to get a better look at her. They buzzed and hissed like cicadas sensing their master’s delight. One quick snap of a glance from him and they ceased their merriment and cowered.
“Best not wake her, I am not finished.”
Waving a hand over her body he watches while she writhes under her sheets. He loved making her squirm, hearing her pant and watching her grind. He knew just how to please her, a trick he took great pleasure in whenever possible. A small mewing sound escaped her soft, full lips had him growling low like an animal about to devour his meal.
He just has to wait a little while longer, he reminded himself, until he can sink his teeth into this dessert.
Rowan Hayes woke with the first of the birds chirping, heart racing and stomach fluttering. She had another one of “those” dreams. You know, the kind that leave you feeling slightly giddy, and oh so relaxed all at once. She doesn’t get them often, but loves it when she does. Without lingering in the thought of
oh man I should try to close my eyes and get back to that dream
, she rolled out of bed and headed straight for the coffee maker. Dark Sins, her favorite brew, was calling her name. While sipping on the strong stuff Rowan checked her emails, jumped in the shower and put on her favorite jeans and boots. It was going to be a great day. Today will be packed with pirates, wenches, and kilts at the Renaissance Faire, a favorite event for Rowan since it’s a day spent laughing, drinking, and hanging out with her two friends Christine and Brinley. Friends since childhood, they were her most treasured gifts in Rowan’s life. It’s hard to find a true friend, it’s double hard to find two.
It wasn’t long before an obnoxious horn beeping outside signals Rowan to down the last dregs of coffee and be out the door. Putting on her tank top that read “
Work Like a Captain, Play Like a Pirate
” she grabbed her keys, purse, and was out the door. Brinley, Rowan’s oldest and dearest friend, was waiting out front at exactly 11 o’clock – the girl was never even a minute late.
“Come on, Ro!” she yelled over the music pumping through her speakers – Nine Inch Nails is a hell of a mood setter.
“Hey! I am so excited to finally hang out. I’ve been working my ass off so much lately I need a good fun break for a day.” Brinley tugs her skull and crossbones bandana a little further down her forehead and tucks some loose hairs behind her ear. Smiling a big cheesy grin, Ro gets in the car, slams the creaky door shut, and buckles up. The music was blasting so loud it was hard to hear what Brinley was saying. Leaning over to turn the radio down a little, Ro asks for a repeat, “What?”
“I said I hope Christine is dressed up this year, but I doubt it. Geesh, what did you do to your arm?”
“Oh,” Ro looked down at her latest burn mark, “got a little too close to the fire again when making a new piece at the shop.”
She rubbed it absent mindedly. The two-inch scorch mark was still red and angry looking on her forearm. Being an artist was great, but it’s not without a price. For Ro, that meant when she was deep in “creative mode” her mind and body didn’t always sync and something inevitably gets burned in the fire. Such is the life of a glass blower. But it was okay. A little aloe and some ice did the trick most times. Half a dozen burn scars on her arms and one on her leg were fine with her. It didn’t really matter how the scars looked. In Rowan’s opinion, the art that she created was more beautiful than she’d ever be- no one paid much attention to her arms anyways, much less any other part of her lately.
Rowan was the type of pretty that turns heads, but doesn’t notice them turning. Brown hair, green eyes, and five feet tall, she walks like she’s got the world by the balls and handles them with care. She doesn’t shy away from interested men, but hasn’t found one that interests her enough to go down relationship lane. Not much more to say on the matter.
Plus, battle scars make good stories.
Pushing vain thoughts out of her head, she looked out the window at the sun shining and was beaming a smile up at the sky. Rowan liked to live in the moment, and today was a day for swashbuckling debauchery; it was an annual tradition for the girls. She and Brinley blasted Aerosmith and Pearl Jam on the radio as they headed up the road to the Faire. Being with her lifelong bestie, it took all of two seconds before they were laughing and squealing like they were kids again. That’s the magic of friendship.
After pulling into the massive packed parking lot, they bought their tickets and swaggered their way through the main entrance. There, waiting up against the fountain of a mermaid spitting blue water, was Christine - not at all dressed up in this weekend’s Renn Faire theme. Brinley had called that one.
“Aw, you’re no fun!” the two women teased.
“I am not dressing as a pirate. I’m too old for that crap,” Christine lifts her big Coach sunglasses up so she could look at her two friends all decked out like they were going trick or treating.
“Well you’re only one year older than me!” Ro points out defiantly.
“Yup, so what does that say to you?” Christine tisks the two pouty women, gives them each a big hug, and points to her right, “The closest bar is that way ye wenches.”
Arm in arm, they headed to the makeshift pub where a cheap costumed bar wench wiped down the makeshift table with a wet towel. Smiling at the theatrics, Ro was expecting to see Christine’s husband already sitting back with a pint watching the show of people dressed in their “other attire” for the weekend.
“He dropped me off and will be back later to get me. He’s still packing.” This fun day was a last hurrah for Christine, she and her family were moving out of state for her husband’s job in a couple of weeks. Christine orders three glasses of wine in this year’s commemorative glass – refills were cheaper that way. As she passed around the plastic goblets filled with this weekend’s specialty wine, Ro smiled at her non-piratey friend.
Rowan and Christine have been friends since high school, but they rarely saw each other anymore and tried to make the most of every visit. Ro envied Christine. The woman had her life wrapped up in a pretty little box. After marrying her high school sweetheart, she had a child cute as a button, and was happily living in one of those little towns in the country where Main Street has little shops and coffee houses, cheery colorful homes lined up with perfectly manicured lawns, and kids ride their bikes to school. Seriously. You can’t make that shit up. Christine and her adorable family were moving soon, but Ro has no doubt that if Christine has any say in it, their new neighborhood will be just as amazing as where they live now. Christine was a lucky woman and Rowan was going to miss her.
Her oldest friend Brinley was doing great herself. Dates if she feels like it, has her own acupuncture practice in three locations she bounces around to, and is a successful healer of all ailments with her ancient pokey needle magic. Brinley and Rowan were still together as much as possible, you know, single ladies and all that.
Rowan was truly happy for both of them. They each had a great thing going in their lives. But Rowan was different. Always was. Always will be. She was easy to hang with and loved to laugh, eat and have fun, but there was a darker side to her. A side that only these two women knew about and had ultimately accepted. Ro’s fate was to always be the person on the other side of the window looking at all the happy-go-lucky couples that passed by her shop holding hands, giggling and kissing. Those folks didn’t see the other things walking the streets behind them, lurking in the shadows of the alleys, or sitting in the backseat of their little Jettas with the family stickers on the back windows.
But Rowan did.
The women walked around for a couple hours, admiring the craftsmanship of different artists and taking in some of the local flavor. You get all kinds of people at a faire like this and it’s always worth the price of admission. Coming around the bend they walked by a hair braiding booth, a henna tattoo hut, and some other attractions that looked fun. Brinley tapped Ro on the shoulder and points to a sign that read
Tarot Card and Palm Readings
“Let’s do it!” Brin chirps, and starts walking straight towards the little fabric tent.
Incense burned from a holder sitting on a small rock outside the tent and the scent of sandalwood and sage flowed in the thin white enticing trail leading the way inside. An inviting aroma no doubt, but Christine shakes her head, “No way. You know I don’t go for that stuff.” She opted to wait outside instead.
“What about you Ro? Someone needs to bear witness when I’m told all about my dream man and how rich and successful I’m going to be as a world-renowned acupuncturist.”
Agreeing to be the aforementioned witness to such majestic and divine projections of the future, Ro follows Brinley up to the tent. A rickety little table covered with a burgundy embroidered tapestry and two little chairs was positioned in the middle of the tiny space. Rowan stood to the side while Brinley sat down and placed her money on the table. They waited in silence while the gypsy tarot card reader gathered three decks of cards and placed them on the table in front of Brinley.
The reader herself was tall, thin, and gorgeous. “Pick a deck, love,” waving her delicate hand over three very different looking decks for Brinley to choose from. Hair pulled back in a low loose bun, it was the color of pure fire and her eyes were as blue as the sea. The gypsy woman was a knockout. Admiring her hair color, Ro started thinking she should really buy a box and dye her own hair red. She always wished she had red hair. Hell, with her complexion and quick temper, she might be able to pull it off as natural.
As the reader spouted out the meaning of the cards from the mystic deck that Brinley picked, Ro’s mind wandered off. Boy, the incense smelled wonderful and it triggered fond memories of Rowan’s first job. It was in a new age shop right on Main Street called “The Crystal Garden.” Ro loved it there, always felt alive and happy working behind the glass counters displaying crystals, herbs and other majestic mumbo jumbo. Best first job ever.
“You have a great deal of healing power in you,” the reader crooned, flipping cards in a line on the table. “But you also have a great decision to make and much traveling to do.”
“Yeah, I think I’m going to bump down to one office to practice in. I do too much driving during the week and I hate being stuck in traffic.”
Brinley looks up at Ro and sees she’s not paying any attention to the prophecies about to spill forth. A quick bump in the leg and a look that says
hey, focus on the hocus pocus here
had Rowan leaning down to examine her friend’s predestined outlook on life. She pressed her hands on the table, leaning forward pretending to look more interested in the pretty cards all fanned out, when she saw the reader’s face go pale. Ro watched the gypsy’s eyes widen as they flickered from sea blue to violet for just a second, but Ro saw it.