Paranormal Romance Books

The Children of the Sidhe Novellas
The Sidhe dwindle. Slow to breed and quick to war, the ages have worn away their numbers. An old enemy threatens Otherworld, fearsome in numbers and in newfound magic. The Sidhe’s unloved part-human children strewn about the mortal world are suddenly their greatest source of hope.

This series is intended for an adult audience.

Tribute
Hazel Fintan is the reluctant daughter of the Irish love god, Aengus. She tries to blend in the human world, but her effect on human men makes normal relationships impossible. She’s never cared for her father’s world, especially its infuriating men. Being drawn into a conflict with a legendary race over an impossible tribute doesn’t improve her perception of the Sidhe. But meeting Ian could make the whole adventure worth it.



The tribute may be what brought them together, but Ian MacIlroy knows destiny when it stares him in the face with stunning green eyes and a gorgeous smile. Now he has a new mission. Hazel will be his, at any cost. And the cost could be high when Otherworld’s enemies are denied what they seek.

Excerpt:


Getting her oil changed wasn’t exactly Hazel’s idea of a fun chore for Friday afternoon, but the sixteen-year-old drooling over her made it nearly unbearable this time. Literally, drooling.
She shot him a short-tempered look as she put on her sunglasses, the Portland sun requiring it for once, though a deep gray line of clouds already clustered along the western horizon. “Can you just finish with the car already?”
He gulped. “Hey, when I’m done do you want to go to dinner or something?”
Hazel sighed and cast him a sweet smile. “You don’t want anything to do with the likes of me, kid.”
He just smiled at her and nodded, his brain obviously addled.
“So that’s a no. No dinner. Just finish my car. Thanks.”
Confused and deflated, he shook his shaggy hair into his face so she couldn’t see his profile as he worked. He called out to his pit crew, his tone wistful and sad.
Gods. Wouldn’t it be great to be normal?
Crushing men wasn’t Hazel’s idea of a good time. It was just that many of them had no control over themselves when she was around. The drooling was not attractive. But they didn’t know that. They didn’t even realize how silly they looked. It was part of her draw; men tended to be totally focused on her, unable to string together more than a sentence, much less keep her entertained for a date. They were compelled to look, to touch if she’d let them, hovering over her the entire time.
She’d heard she was lucky. Some Sidhe drew humans to madness, despair – even violence. They just wanted to love her.
Still, it was annoying.
A buzzing from her purse cast a wave of relief over her. Blessed distraction. She looked up and caught the boy staring again, and frowned at him as she reached into her purse.
Checking the number that had just flashed on her cell phone, Hazel sighed. The age-old question: to answer, or not to answer? Swallowing, she hit send.
“Hello?”
“Hazel. Glad I caught you. Got a little problem I could use your help with.”
“Thankfully, your problems don’t have anything to do with me anymore.”
“They do when they’re not mine specifically, but more, you know, ours.”
“Great,” Hazel said. If he meant what she thought he did, her hope of getting out of whatever this was had just faded fast.
“There’s a human over here who needs to get in touch with the Fomorii. Has to pay a tribute of some kind, but hasn’t been able to get through. Think you could take him?”
“Can I take him?” Like she didn’t have enough to do. “Drake, this is your job. You know I was never into this stuff.”
“You’re missing the point. He needs to go. I can’t take him, so I thought of you.”
“Why can’t you take him?” Drake was the obvious choice. After all, he worked for the Sidhe Authority, taking care of the Otherworld government’s business in the human world. Hazel had as little to do with Otherworld affairs as possible.
 “Let’s call it a little interpersonal issue between me and the Fomorii contact. I’m waiting another decade at least before I meet up with that guy again, for everyone’s sake. I’m supposed to be smoothing relations, remember?”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. When we were together, I dealt with your interpersonal issues. Now that we’re not, I don’t see what this has to do with me.”
“You’re Sidhe, so you’re in. Our problems are your problems, and this falls into that category. Just think, what would Aunt Brigit say?”
“Damn,” she growled. He had to bring her aunt into it. Of course she knew what Brigit would say. You get the benefits; a certain amount of dirty work comes with it. Help your people. “Tell me what I’m supposed to do again?”

Purchase Tribute on Amazon Kindle.

Vessel
Eddie Drake, notorious agent of the Sidhe Authority, has always been a womanizer. So he’s loath to admit when he can’t get a certain black-haired witch out of his mind. But can Drake, the fae enforcer, protect Alise when she gets mixed up in plots being incited among the Sidhe?



When Alise Rodgers wakes up in Otherworld, a mysterious connection to the place haunts her. And then there’s a more immediate concern – she would never have expected to find Drake sitting vigil for her. While she’s grateful, she’s not at all interested in his bedroom eyes. But they must work together after Alise discovers a rebellious plot brewing among the Sidhe, and puts her life on the line in the bargain.

Excerpt:

The Middleworld forest whipped by as Eddie Drake hit his stride. He could feel tension from the past days flowing out of his burning muscles. Plants blurred along the trail at his feet as he concentrated on making the miles fly by.
Most Sidhe didn’t exercise for exercise sake – so maybe it was that small human part of him that enjoyed it. He felt his best after a long run, his mind as clear as his body was fatigued.
His head down, he hit a cloud of pixie dust and heard the offended pixie shout, “Hey! Watch yourself!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure there’s more where that came from,” he shouted back without even looking. Pixies were a dime a dozen. You could hardly shake a leg without, well, running straight into a cloud of pixie dust. He sneezed.
Too soon, he saw home ahead. A little escape, that’s what he’d needed. For a few minutes, the burning of his muscles had distracted him from the oddities his life had taken on of late.
Eddie Drake was no nursemaid. He’d never been the patient, caring type.
He was a playboy, and it used to be pure and simple. He liked the ladies, and they liked him. Maybe he overindulged, that he could cop to. Maybe he’d been with too many ladies, too many times. That sort of behavior certainly couldn’t be seen as a precursor to this. No, his current predicament was more likely a punishment for prior bad behavior. Of course, it was a punishment he was choosing, which made it all the more odd.
To satisfy whatever part of him was so worried, he ducked through the back door and sauntered into the third bedroom, the one that had recently been Alise’s room.
Her condition unchanged, Alise rested, still as stone, under a white and cream quilt that had been his mother’s.
Drake frowned. He’d stopped counting the days; there had been many. Maybe two weeks had passed as Alise lay unmoving. Okay, she wasn’t still all the time. A few nights she’d thrashed and moaned.
He’d been so concerned the first time that happened that he’d stayed with her, holding her on the narrow bed until she calmed and seemed to rest. Relieved, he’d drifted off holding her, and been embarrassed to be found in that compromising position when Aunt Nectar came in to check on Alise.
Cuddling.
Cuddling with the unconscious.
Not a good sign.
If only he hadn’t gotten her into this mess. That’s what had him all tied up in doubt and fear. She wouldn’t be in that bed, unaware of her surroundings but drowning in the music and magic of Tir Nan Og, if it weren’t for him. He’d made the choice to ask for her help when her best friend had been in trouble. She’d gladly given her help, not realizing it would cost her.
So he owed her. At the very least, he owed her a trip back beyond the veil to where she came from, where her family and her world waited. He’d tried to give her that, but she thrashed as they approached the portal and wouldn’t calm until he retreated. He couldn’t figure that out. In her condition, how did she know when he threatened to take her home? Regardless, his attempts hadn’t worked, and neither had anything the local healer tried. Alise didn’t get worse, but she hadn’t come back to herself either. That’s what kept his stomach tied in knots, he told himself as he stood in the doorway, watching the raven-haired beauty sleep.
Footsteps on the path outside brought Drake out of his thoughts. Maybe Aunt Nectar was home early. That would be good, because he had to go to the human world for at least a while tonight. His job waited for him, and some things he couldn’t let go for an undetermined period while Alise lay in that bed.
It wasn’t Aunt Nectar darkening the path.
Bertran stood, apparently evaluating his next step, outside the cottage, surrounded by the bright sights and sounds of a Middleworld day. The weather was perfect, but that didn’t help the storm clouds covering the countenance of this particular thorn in Drake’s side.
“May I come in?” his old enemy asked.
“Not in this lifetime.”

Purchase Vessel on Amazon Kindle.


Flight
Nathan Jeffries doesn’t entirely understand his affinity for hawks, until he finds he can shift into one. Fae blood is to blame for his good looks and luck with the ladies – but now that luck has turned. Nathan is on an Otherworld assassin’s hit list, and the only person stepping forward to help him just may be playing for the other side in the Sidhe Blood Wars.

Tessa Anndrais isn’t sure where she stands. When Abarta – the assassin – threatens to reveal a family secret, she’s determined to protect her own. She’s never approved of thinning Sidhe blood by mixing with humans. Yet she finds herself watching Nathan, the half-human son of the Lord of the Skies, with enough approval to keep her warm all through the night.


Excerpt:
Nathan Jeffries was not a morning person. As he stirred his first cup of coffee in a window-side booth at the Red Hen Diner, his dark sunglasses were the only thing saving him from the harsh light of day. He took a sip of his heavily creamed and sugared brew, and sighed in relief. The. Best. Coffee. Ever.

Taking a break from work to write his thesis back home in Laurens, South Carolina, at his mother’s old house, had seemed like a good idea at the time. He hadn’t realized how much his schedule kept him on track when he was working. Without that anchor, he got lost in the minutia, and hours – hell, days – seemed to fly by in a rush as he avoided work on the very project that had drawn him back here.

His thesis on the differences in breeding habits between subspecies of hawks in North America had seemed like a good fit for his rural South Carolina roots. Growing up he’d seen many a hawk soaring over open land, and diving for their prey. They’d always struck him as noble. He loved the way they rode the air currents, with minimal movement. They just soared.

For some reason he had trouble finding his bearings since he returned. Maybe it was because the work that drew him to his hometown this time was so opposite of the reason he’d lived here last. His mother’s battle with colon cancer had pulled him back to town for almost a year before she died. He’d itched for campus the entire time, feeling constrained by the small town and the slow pace of life while caring for his ailing mother.

Right after her death he put everything but the furniture in storage and signed over management of the property to a local company. He moved out, and re-enrolled in graduate school. He thought he would mourn better on his own terms, but he still wouldn’t say he was over her death.
Since returning, he’d been going through his mother’s things and setting them straight after his two-year break from the reality of her death. She was never coming back, and now he had to decide what to do with all of her things, not to mention the house itself. The housekeeping didn’t help either. Apartments definitely didn’t take this much work. And despite the fact he’d had a property management company checking up on the place and renting it out when they could, the long-term vacancy had left a lot of repairs waiting for him. It was peaceful to pick up his tools and set to work on something tangible, something that showed him results at the end of a hard day and left his muscles aching from effort instead of tedious deskwork.
Nathan hated deskwork. He was a wildlife biologist because he loved the wild. He was drawn to the outdoors, to doing, to feeling with his own two hands and knowing the world with his own senses. So on the thesis end of things, he’d already wasted nearly a month of his six-month break.
Nathan took another swallow of his coffee, and thought of his desk at home, covered with books all run through with sticky notes and highlighters. Then he looked down at the worn satchel he carried with him. He was drafting his thesis in longhand, because he hated being stuck at the computer. This way he could carry his work with him and jot down the next line or a new train of thought as they occurred to him. This morning he just didn’t feel up to it. He itched for activity, and the woodland trail he’d often hiked as a kid sprang to mind. Maybe observation of the subject of his thesis would turn his mood around.
Nathan bought a sandwich before he left the coffee shop, and walked back home. He grabbed just a few more things. His camera and extra batteries, a water bottle, and a Gerber knife multi-tool. He drove the ten minutes to Laurens County Park and walked a quarter-mile over the grassy fields before he chose a spot close to a copse of oaks and beeches.
He sank to the ground and pulled his notebook out, hoping inspiration would strike. The early December day was partly cloudy and almost sixty degrees, much warmer than he’d grown used to for this time of year. He’d left the house in a dark gray Henley, worn jeans and his favorite hiking boots. No jacket necessary.
The nearly naked trees made it easy to spot his hawks. He could see three from where he sat, at opposite ends of the field, scouring the grass for their next meals. As he watched, the hawk at the north took off from his perch at the top of a beech tree and rose until he was a speck, before diving back into a soar above the field. He dropped again, fast, this time to snatch some small creature from the grass with his talons. The bird retreated to the woodland to enjoy his snack.
Another of the birds had disappeared while he watched the successful hunter. The third watched him from the east. No one else was around, and the day had taken on an uncharacteristic stillness. Suddenly, the hawk leaped from its branch and descended, but where a hawk should have landed, a man appeared instead.
Nathan jumped back, wondering if short sleep and a house haunted by memories of his mother had driven him to hallucinations. Maybe the man had been there all along, and he was just now noticing him. There was something about his eyes, though. Something wild, and all too akin to the hawk who had just been watching him from his oak-top perch.
“Nathan,” the man spoke. “I need to speak with you.”
“Did that really just happen?”
The wild-eyed man took him in, silent. He chose not to respond to the question, and instead said, “You have a special affinity for birds, do you not?”
Nathan nodded, bewildered.
“It is your nature to take to the skies, to the branch. You must join me.”
“What are you talking about? Who are you?”
“I am Nemglan, Lord of the Skies. Your father.”
Nathan took another step back. Nemglan was tall and lean, much like Nathan, with dark blond hair and deep brown eyes – it was like looking in a mirror. “What do you mean, my father? My father died when I was a baby.”
“That’s what your mother told you. The truth is – well, honestly, the truth is complicated and we don’t have time to get into it right now. Follow me.”
“I’m not going to just follow you.” Was he crazy?
“Nathan,” the man burst out in frustration, “Do not argue! You must run! You must join me. Now!”
“I don’t know what you mean. What do you mean join you?”
“You know what you saw. Do I have to speak it?” Nemglan looked over his shoulder, his features stretching in fear.
Nathan felt something break in the air; it felt charged like the silent minutes before a big storm, despite the clear weather.
“RUN!” Nemglan seemed to hover a few inches above the ground, and where he’d been there was suddenly a hawk, the transition too rapid for Nathan to catch, despite the fact he was looking straight at the man (or hawk) who claimed to be his father. And suddenly the hawk Nemglan swooped toward him, nipping his upper arm savagely. Nathan felt something change at the bite, at his resulting fear. He snapped, and suddenly he knew.
Darkness had filled the woods beneath the canopy, as if the branches restrained it from taking over the afternoon. It stretched toward them, and an inky blackness began to seep into the field at its eastern edge.
Nathan cried out. He convulsed and felt his body – change. Then he was flying, everything happening too fast, the hawk chasing at his tail, forcing him on insistently.
They dove into the cover of the woodland at the other end of the field, where the darkness had not yet filled the space between trunks. Nathan’s stomach dropped as they soared between the interwoven limbs of two oaks. He hit the ground and rolled, wing over wing, colliding with the trunk of a tree and coming to rest.
Nemglan appeared in front of him.
Nathan couldn’t speak. He could only thrash his wings, confused that he had wings to begin with. He knew himself still for a man, yet this bird form didn’t feel wrong. He opened his beak slightly in threat. He didn’t trust this man who claimed to be his father, even though the last few minutes told him Nemglan’s claim was probably accurate.
“Don’t worry. You’re through the portal. We lost him. The threat is over, for now.” Nemglan spoke softly, obviously attempting to calm him. His shoulder was dripping blood in a lazy stream; it smelled shockingly appetizing to Nathan, his senses changed and new.
Nathan wasn’t sure what to think. He flapped some more and let out a “caw” that didn’t feel proper at all. When would he change back? Would he change back? He strutted, fretfully, keeping an eye on Nemglan, who stood several paces away, clutching Nathan’s bag.
“I know what you need.” Nemglan’s eyes glittered in the twilit forest. “You need to feel safe. Well, we’re a long way from home, but I do know one place we could go.”

Purchase Flight on Amazon Kindle.



Descent

When Rosa Elizar thinks of her ex, they aren’t kind thoughts. Mikhail left her, pregnant and alone, four years ago. She can take care of herself; she’s the Guardian of Dubhros and quite skilled at doing so. But Mikhail’s sudden reappearance comes with ill tidings of an Otherworld war – one Rosa is, by birthright, right smack in the middle of. After all this time, can Rosa trust Mikhail with her precious daughter…and her heart?

Mikhail Anndrais has carried his regrets like another sort of armor, every single day since he left Rosa beyond the veil, to raise their child alone. At a time of great danger for his people, the Sidhe, Mikhail must convince Rosa to bring their daughter to Otherworld. Only there, together, will they be able to keep her safe. 


Excerpt:
Rosa Elizar halted uncertainly on a trail she’d known all her life. What her eyes told her just couldn’t be. She was only half a mile from the Tree of Dubhros, her ward as Guardian of Dubhros, and she knew every inch of the surrounding forest. This world’s bland gray shades couldn’t hide the richness of the forest life from her eye. That was her duty.
Rosa flicked a blade from its scabbard, just in case. The knife she’d chosen was only four inches long, suitable for close-up contact. It was one of a dozen blades she had on her person today. A Guardian had to be prepared. You never knew what you’d come across in Echtge – this shadowy forest dimension that Rosa tried to protect along with her ward.
Case in point…Rosa examined her alarming find for the day.
The creature before her hadn’t been seen since times of legend. She moved cautiously, unsure what to expect from the being that used to be a pixie. Now it was llaiadian, the dark pixie. She’d never seen one – not even a picture, as she hadn’t learned the lore from books – but she knew what it was.
It stared at her, dark eyes unblinking, skin rippling with shadow. Creepy. Losing patience, she flung her short blade without warning. The creature skittered off, and Rosa lost sight of it. She retrieved her knife and slipped it into its accustomed place.
Rosa watched for signs of more of them as she hiked closer to her ward, but she didn’t see any. As she neared the spot where the Tree of Dubhros stood, her heart thumped in her chest, faster and faster as anxiety gripped her–
The Tree of Dubhros stood unmolested at the edge of the clearing.
Rosa allowed herself a single breath of relief, of wonder that this being should depend so wholly on her, faulty and half-human as she was.
“Are you alright, child?” The Tree of Dubhros spoke, a creaking sound like a loud whisper that seemed to fill the clearing.
Rosa smiled. “As always, I am happy to see you, my friend.”
“And I, you, Rosa.” Du’s limbs shuddered, as though he were stretching after waking from a doze.
She nodded. “All is well here?”
A deep rumble she knew for his chuckle sounded around her. “Little changes here. Yes. All is well.”
“Some things do change.”
“What do you mean?” Now his tone was curious. She worried she’d hear fear there next.
“I saw a llaiadian.”
A hush fell all around. Rosa hadn’t realized how much chatter was going on in the underbrush among the small creatures of Echtge. After all, the Tree of Dubhros only had one home. A tree can’t travel portals. It has deep roots.
That was something Rosa knew about. Her mother had fostered deep roots. She’d been human, with a half-Fomorii daughter, and the future Guardian of Dubhros at that. She prayed for Rosa every day, clutching her rosary beads in the local cathedral. She lavished her only daughter with love, games and laughter. Rosa had it good as a kid, despite her differences from others. She’d never had a real human friend as a child. As a kid she was strong. Very strong. And quicker than she should have been. Enough that it alarmed other kids, not to mention their parents. Her friends had been trees. It was probably for the best.
“What is it?” she finally asked, breaking the eerie silence.
“Where did you see this creature? And are you sure it is llaiadian?”
“It is exactly as you have described to me. Small body, wingless, mottled and bluish-gray. It looked as though a storm cloud crept under its skin – like a pixie, yet not at all like a pixie. It is llaiadian. And it was close. About a half-mile from here.”
The hush deepened, if that was possible, and then the creepy silence was broken as chatter erupted in the forest.
“Yes. The creatures of Echtge confirm it. The llaiadian has stepped from legend into reality.” A sadness deep as his ancient roots filled the tree’s voice.
“What does it mean?” Rosa knew if Du was this upset, it was not good.
A time of darkness is coming. The dark pixies are a sign…that all is not right between the worlds."

Purchase Descent on Amazon Kindle.