Banshee Song (A Steamy Paranormal Fantasy Romance) Page 3
“I apologize, Indigo.”
I blink. “For what? Saving my life?”
He makes a tsking sound and his brows wrinkle. “Of course not. I apologize for going straight for the kill rather than wounding the creature. I forgot the impact that its death would have on one such as yourself.”
I manage a light chuckle. “Never hesitate to go for the kill, Tarrien. Not with a monster like that. I’d rather bear the consequence of the banshee cry than actually die.”
My chuckle disappears into nothing as remembered terror fills me.
The sudden tension in my body must be evident because he briefly tightens his hold. “You’re safe. I am here to protect you, like I said, and I fully intend to fulfil my duty. Even if you don’t want to accept it.”
“Well.” This time a different kind of tension rushes through me, one that starts up right about where my left butt cheek is pressed against his groin. It spreads through my system and ends somewhere deep down inside my belly. My heart does that weird flip-flop thing.
“I also apologize for calling you stupid earlier, and making fun of your half-cleaned face. It was rude, considering I barged into your dressing room without warning.”
“I...err...don’t worry about it. I think saving my life makes us pretty even.” I try to use a teasing tone but Tarrien merely nods without smiling.
“That is good. Fae do not enjoy being indebted for longer than they need to.”
He doesn’t seem to recognize humor or teasing. I grin awkwardly, and then slide out of his embrace and off his lap, though I don’t quite have the energy yet to stand.
Tarrien stretches out his legs and leans back against the wall. His sword and dagger have disappeared, as has his impressive dark armor. He’s wearing street clothes now—a black tee-shirt and a pair of jeans that are tight enough to showcase the impressive package I inadvertently rubbed against earlier. It’s several seconds before I realize I’m staring, and I quickly shift my gaze back up to his.
Laughter lights his silver-gray eyes and a tiny grin lifts the corner of his lips. Oh. Seems I was wrong about that. Faerie man does know how to smile. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat, and look away before the heat in my cheeks has a chance to spread.
The sight of the bloody hallway drains away any semblance of warmth. How could I forget, even for a second?
“Who or what the hell was that, Tarrien? I mean, I know it was a—well, I think it was a—werewolf?” At his nod, I continue. “But there was something off about it. I mean, more than the misshapen body and the stink. I’ve met werewolves before, in their human form, at least. Even worked with one once, back in my chorus days—a really charming guy, and a great dancer.”
I swallow, remembering tonight’s murderous purple rage.
“That creature...” I gesture toward the body without looking at it again. “It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. It was warped. Wrong. And why did it only kill that poor person in 602? Why did it not kill me, too? You called it...an abomination?”
The serious warrior-face returns. “I do not know the answer as to why it did not kill you, Indigo. But I can confirm that it was, at heart, a supernatural creature turned loup. Crazy. Though it was different to a normal loup, which basically goes mad and kills without reason or discrimination until someone puts it out of its misery.”
“A loup?”
“An abomination,” he corrects. “A loup that somehow has retained a modicum of reason. Very concerning. There have been a series of deaths, violent and concentrated in one area—Hatton Grove—in recent months. Plus, other scattered attacks all over the human world, the past several years. Turns out someone is creating these abominations—rogue supernaturals that can reason, and in some cases even work together. Which is almost unheard of. Somehow, someone has learnt how to control these loups, and it appears they are being sent after humans. Some preternaturals—non-humans—are being hurt in the ensuing mess, but primarily, it appears that the target of the violence remains human.”
“Hatton Grove? Where’s that?”
“It’s a small town in a regional area of the state, north-east of this city. Your sister, Aleah, lives there.”
“Oh!” I tap my chin, wondering if there’s a connection between the attacks. If another of Renna’s hybrid children has been at the epicenter of a series of violent occurrences, then maybe the abominations are after banshee hybrids. Maybe the humans being hurt are simply collateral damage.
But why?
From what the monster said after it killed the person in 602, it was deliberately trying to lure me upstairs. And yet, it was going to take me, not kill me. Did it murder the other woman because it still needed to fulfil its homicidal instinct?
The random attack that killed my best friend Sienna a few months ago and left me afraid of being alone for a while, suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.
Oh, God. Was Sienna’s death not random? At the time, the police said it was just an unfortunate tragedy where my friend happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I always blamed myself because I forgot my purse, and in running back to the theater to get it, I left her alone, providing an opportunity for the attacker to strike. I never considered that it might be more than a random opportunistic attack. Was her death directly because of her association with me? My heart speeds up so fast I feel a little dizzy.
“This is a lot to take in.” I close my eyes for a couple of seconds, massaging my temples. “A few hours ago, my life was the same as it always is. I was up on stage, performing...”
Performing the song of death, to dilute the effect when the real thing comes to call. I don’t say that last part out loud, but his eyes narrow as if he’s aware I cut short my sentence.
“You will need to come back to Faerie with me, Indigo. I can protect you far better there than here. My powers are strongest at home, and as one of Renna’s hybrids, it is not safe for you to remain in this realm any longer.”
I hold up a hand. “Firstly, please call me Indie. As far as I can remember, the only person who ever called me Indigo was my mother. She also gave me another, ridiculously long name, and told me never to reveal it as it held great power and could be used for evil if it fell into the wrong hands. So. Indie will do.”
“Indie.” He says it slowly, as if savoring the flavor. “I like it.”
“Hmm. Well, lucky for me, I do, too. Seeing as it’s my name. The second thing is...” How do I put this nicely? “There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave here and go to Faerie with you, Tarrien. I’ve heard stories about how time works there. It morphs into weird-as-fuck computations that rarely match what is happening here in the real—I mean, the human—world. Who knows how long I could be stuck there? I could hang out with you for a day, and arrive back here to find half a lifetime has passed. I have a life, there are people I care about, a cat—”
“You could bring your cat. I think.”
“You think? Yeah, sorry, it’s not going to—”
The door to the stairwell flings fully open at the same time as the elevator pings and opens. A swarm of masked and uniformed figures pile into the hallway from every direction.
Chapter Three
Police. Not ordinary cops, either, by the look of the logo on their protective gear and weaponry. These cops are from the supernatural division of the Australian Federal Police. SUDAP.
The ones who came up the stairs trip over the body of the werewolf, and all hell breaks loose around Tarrien and I with yelling, flailing arms and legs, and an altogether chaotic scene.
After a moment in which I wait for them to point their guns in our faces, I realize they haven’t noticed us. How is that possible? Are they blind?
A pair of suited-up cops rushes past us to the door of apartment 602, without even glancing our way. I start to clamber to my feet but Tarrien grabs my upper arm.
“Don’t move, banshee. I’ve thrown a protective bubble around us, but it’ll burst if you move too quickly.”
The concept is exciting when read about in books or seen in movies, but the reality is kind of strange. They are so close I could reach out and touch them. I would probably give them the fright of their lives if I did so.
One of the cops pauses in front of us. It’s a female and, surprisingly, she looks familiar. She frowns and squats in front of me, running one hand over the carpet as if searching for a clue, before lifting her head and staring straight at me. The long fingers of her left hand twitch on the gun in her grip.
I try for normal. “Um...hi?”
She doesn’t answer.
Instead, Tarrien says quietly, “She can’t hear you, Indie. But I think she can sense the bubble. I don’t know how. There’s something about her...she’s fae, or part at least...” His face shows sudden strain, as if he’s finding it difficult to hold the magic in place under the strength of her regard. “You look a little like twins.”
My heart jumps. Is she...banshee?
The woman reaches out, her fingers almost grazing my hair as they explore the air between us, and I stare deep into her caramel-flecked green eyes wondering how it is possible that we can be this close without her seeing me. The eyes are familiar. My eyes? They are more hazel than my green ones, and her long dark hair is drawn back into a plait rather than hanging loose like mine. And yet, it really does feel like I’m staring into a mirror.
Those features are harder than mine, though. Hard, and cynical and uncompromising. Despite my surface bravado, I suspect I don’t have half the inner toughness of this woman squatting in front of me.
What the actual heck? Who is she? Are we related?
A voice down the hallway calls out and snags the woman’s attention. “Maewen. Over here. Another one of those medallion things.”
The moment of almost-connection is lost as she jumps to her feet and rushes away. Tarrien visibly slumps at her departure, before straightening his shoulders. “Another minute and she’d have breached the bubble. Don’t suppose you have a sister named Maewen, do you?”
Another of Renna’s banshee hybrids? Those eyes... I glance down the hallway, knowing in my heart that I’ve just stared into the face of one of my half-sisters, but the woman has disappeared into the blood-and-gore-filled apartment. If she’s part-banshee, how can she bear to do a job like that? Even a cop with a desk job would be exposed to death on occasion, and this woman looks like the last person who would suffer the boredom of a desk job.
If she is a human-fae hybrid, and one of Renna’s children, how the hell can she tolerate working as a cop? How does she deal with that level of horror every day? Violence and death smell, and they hurt, and they almost tear a banshee’s insides to shreds. If she’s a cop it must be part of her job, I guess, but if her job involves death, how does she function with any semblance of normality?
Sudden exhaustion fills me. “No idea. Can we please leave, Tarrien? I want to get away from the stench of death.”
The thought of the mess down the hallway is making me sick to the stomach, even though I’ve been studiously avoiding looking at it.
Was that really my sister, or at least, one of my half-sisters? I know I have several, out there somewhere, though I’ve never tried to seek out any of them. Nor has anyone sought for me—at least to my knowledge.
I’m lost in thought about the female cop when Tarrien touches my forearm. A spark of energy sizzles through me and he removes his fingers.
What is this physical connection between us?
“When I say now, I want you to stand very slowly, Indie, keeping pace with me, and then take hold of my hand. I will maintain the bubble around us as long as I can, but I’ll have to drop it right before I transport us out of here.”
“Can we go home, please?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll take you to Faer—”
Not this again. I almost growl in frustration. “My home. One level down in this building. Please.”
His eyes narrow but then he nods. “All right.”
Together we rise slowly, as if perfectly synchronized, and then he reaches out. I slip my hand into his, entwining our fingers, and that previously felt energy spark flares once again between us. Before I can react to the zing, he has already laid his other hand over mine.
“Ready. Now.” I’m blinded by a flash of silver light.
A shout from the hallway indicates we’ve finally been seen, but then we’re away, and it matters not. The light swallows us up and I can’t see a thing. I feel all stretched and kind of hollow, like someone is pushing me through a tight space, and then the squeezing pressure eases and the light recedes and I find myself standing with Tarrien next to my bed.
My bed? Really? That’s a very specific destination.
He drops my hand and turns to survey the room before a slow smile transforms his face from severe to handsome. My heart skips a beat. Wow. He really should smile more often.
“I tapped into your thoughts to guide us,” he says. “Interesting that it led...here.”
Oh. Heat infuses my cheeks. So, I can’t exactly blame his magic for leading us to my bed.
I clear my throat. “What now, Tarrien? I need more information about all of this, to understand what’s going on and how we might be able to stop it happening again.”
But first, I need a shower. I don’t say those words aloud but I don’t need to. Both of us are covered in blood and there’s a dreadful smell that has followed us here, even though we’re now on a different floor of the building than the carnage remaining on level six.
“Take a shower, Indie, and then I will follow suit if you allow. I don’t wish to stain your home with anything tainted by violence.”
“Of course, you can shower after me.” Given the fact that I’ve only just met the guy tonight, I should be afraid to step into the bathroom and get naked with him hanging out in the next room, but part of me is comforted by his presence.
There’s no denying that I was in a world of trouble before Tarrien arrived. Even though that monstrous creature clearly wanted to take me somewhere rather than kill me on the spot, I doubt I would have survived being dragged on my back down several flights of stairs. At the very least, it would have resulted in some broken bones. Maybe even a broken neck.
With Tarrien keeping an eye out, I will be able to scrub myself clean for as long as I wish, and not worry about what other monster might be creeping in to the apartment while I’m under the stream of cleansing water.
“You saved my life tonight,” I remind him. “The very least I can offer you is a hot shower.”
“I’ll stand here until you finish. That way I won’t get any of this mess on your furniture.”
“Um, probably best if you stand out there, if you don’t mind.” I point toward the lounge room. Safer for my own piece of mind to have him away from my bed, especially if I’m about to get naked.
I duck my head as I scurry into the bathroom, so he can’t read anything more into my words. Images of a wet and very bare fae warrior soaping up his body begin to fill my head. Oh, God. I really hope he doesn’t have mind-reading power.
I remove my ruined pajamas and throw them into the plastic bag-lined trash can, before scrubbing off the remaining gore and horror from my hair and body in the hottest shower I can stand.
How will Tarrien fit in my tiny little shower cubicle? I have a one-bedroom city-style apartment here in East Melbourne, and space is at a premium. The small bathroom suits me just fine, but a large man like Tarrien will struggle to fit. Once again, the thought of his tall, muscled and very naked body arouses feelings I can’t afford to experience.
Why do I keep thinking about Tarrien in a sexual way? Too much has happened tonight to even entertain the idea of sex with a very handsome stranger, let alone act on those thoughts. Tonight’s events, layered on top of what happened to my friend a few months ago, should have me running as far and as fast as I can away from
anyone connected to the supernatural world.
Instead, I can’t stop imagining what it would be like to sink myself onto the sexy hard flesh of the fae warrior in the next room, and ride him until my body and my senses are finally sated.
When I’m finished with my shower, the citrus flavor of my body wash mixes with the musky scent from my shampoo, filling the room with a familiar and pleasant perfume. I dress in an old tee-shirt and fleecy trackpants—as far from sexy as I can find in my cupboard—and head out to the lounge area to hand my fae guest a clean towel and let him have his turn.
True to his word, he is still standing where I directed him, in the middle of the room. Lola is back in her usual spot on the couch, which surprises me. Normally when strangers visit, she hides in the tiniest spot she can find, all curled up in a tight ball in my bedroom cupboard as if that will reduce the chance of someone actually discovering her.
Instead, she’s stretched out on the end seat on her back, with her stomach exposed, as if without a care in the world. She doesn’t even shift from that position when Tarrien heads off to the bathroom.
I busy myself tidying up a little, washing the dishes from my earlier supper and hoping for distraction from my thoughts. Eventually I reach a state of calm...until Tarrien re-emerges, wrapped in nothing but the towel I handed him earlier. A towel that is clearly way too small for such a large and impressively muscled man as this fae.
His barely covered package is so prominent it practically hits me in the face. Well, not really, but for some reason—yet again—I can’t seem to take my eyes off of it. What is wrong with me?
Unlike Lola, who settles further into lethargy with a rasping purr, my body shifts into overdrive. Heat rushes through me as thoughts of running my hands over every inch of his body fill my head. His chest is hairless and firm, the stomach wash-board flat and rippling with the best set of abs I’ve ever laid eyes on. His skin is pale, unlike the usual tan that denotes fashion here in Australia, but the smooth creaminess of that expanse of chest decorated by two perfectly rounded dark nipples, calls to my body with an intensity no man has ever managed to create within me, before this moment.