Sometimes Fae love stories aren’t what you expect.
The Marfach—devourer of magick, long-imprisoned mortal enemy of the Fae race—is free of its Antarctic prison.
The Demesne of Purgatory—Fae, humans, a Fade-hound puppy, a Gille Dubh, and a darag—is all that stands between the monster and the power it needs to destroy both the Fae Realm and the human world.
The only clue they have as to how to kill the unkillable is a cryptic note from the Loremasters:
“Osclór, Nartú; Tobar, Soladán; Nidantór, Breathea; Glanadorh, Coromór, Farthor; Scian-omprór, Nachangalte; Crangaol, Síofra; Gastiór, Laoc, Caomhnór; Fánadh, Ngarradh.”
Opener, Strength; Wellspring, Channel; Unmaker, Judge; Cleanser, Equalizer, Sentry; Blade-bearer, Unbound; Tree-kin, Changeling; Binder, Warrior, Guardian; Wanderer, Sundered.
As they rebuild Purgatory from the rubble the Marfach left behind, they have to stand together, using everything they know—everything they are to their partners, lovers, husbands. Everything SoulSharing has made them.
And not everyone who enters the final battle will leave it.
Follow this merry band of Fae, humans, a tree spirit, and a flatulent Fade-hound puppy that make up the Demesne of Purgatory as they seek magick and love. Celtic lore (with a twist), hot guys, terrible danger, and heart-wrenching love stories will drag you body and soul into SoulShares.
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Bryce nodded; leaning back into the circle of Lasair’s arms, he closed his eyes. “I could tell when the Marfach got here—or maybe it just woke up, I’m not sure. The three of us Faded into the dancers’ lounge—”
A quick slice of Bryce’s hand cut off the ensuing round of exclamations. Kevin wasn’t part of the chorus; he was too busy trying to forget what his own accidental Fade had felt like. And, frankly, feeling sympathy for Bryce.
“Do you all mind? I’d like to get this over with.” Bryce grimaced. “We found the fucker poking around behind the bar, looking for the way downstairs. I sent Lasair and Setanta to collect the rest of you, while I tried to figure out a way to get the Marfach downstairs—”
“So it could feed directly off the nexus?” Conall looked ready to chew nails and shit tacks, as Kevin’s Marine sergeant father was fond of saying.
“So what plans you all managed to come up with in between peacock-posturing the other night could stand a chance of being carried out.” Bryce opened his eyes long enough to shoot the mage a narrow-eyed glare. “Do you mind?”
“Sorry.”
Kevin was pretty sure Conall wasn’t.
Bryce sighed. “The Marfach found me right after they left…”
* * *
The pain, Jesus God the pain. The Marfach had used a piece of one of the broken bottles behind the bar to slash the shit out of the soles of Bryce’s feet.
And the red of his blood was mixed with brown.
“Now you can take us to this new entrance. And we’ll follow right in your footsteps.”
At least the nausea at the thought of what he was about to do kept his mind off the pain as he led the cackling naked male out of the service entrance, through the new hidden door, and down the stairs. Or maybe it was the pain keeping his mind off the nausea. Whatever.
He felt the ward snap and shatter when his blood, mingled with the Marfach’s pollution, touched it. The way was left standing open; there was no going back now, even assuming he could catch the leering lecher behind him off guard and run off on his lacerated feet.
Unless, of course, he was willing to admit he didn’t stand a fucking chance against the monster alone…
“What the fuck did you do to the nexus?” the male roared.
Bryce hadn’t seen the nexus for a couple of weeks, and he didn’t see magick well at the best of times, but even so, he was appalled by the sight at the bottom of the tight spiral stairs.
The air over the wellspring looked as if it was thick with tiny razor blades—blades that went invisible when edge-on, and could barely be seen the rest of the time. He wasn’t sure what those blades would do to the skin of someone who couldn’t channel, and he sure as hell had no desire to find out.
The nexus itself… all Bryce could think of was a hurricane. Or the ghost of one, anyway. Complete with hell’s own lightning.
And if it looked this bad to him—
Bryce turned. The Marfach’s arm was thrown up to shield his eyes. Its eyes. What the fuck ever.
No time to plan, no time even to think.
Bryce slipped past the creature, ignoring the wrenching in his gut and the screaming of his feet.
It was much easier to apply a choke-hold from behind, after all.
“What in the—”
Bryce grabbed his right wrist with his left hand and used all the strength of both arms to tighten his hold on the Marfach’s throat. He really ought to be lifting it off its feet, too, but it was a hell of a lot heavier than anything its size had any business being, and it didn’t budge. Other than to thrash around and try to throw him off, anyway.
Time for phase two.
Gritting his teeth against the bile he knew was about to rise in his throat, Bryce opened up the sinkhole inside him and started to drain the Marfach’s clotted evil energy.
Even choked screams from the Marfach were enough to make Bryce’s ears bleed. Grimly he clung to the monster, doing his damnedest to shut out everything except the task at hand.
With any luck at all, he’d live long enough for the Fae he loved to be the one to kill him.
She graduated Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, sent off her first short story to an anthology being assembled by an author she idolized, received one of those rejection letters that puts therapists’ kids through college (Ivy League), and found other things to do, such as going to law school, ballet dancing (at more or less the same time), nightclub singing, and volunteering as a lawyer with Gay Men’s Health Crisis, for the next thirty years or so, until her stories started whispering to her.
Now she’s a lawyer, a legal journalist (and thus a card-carrying Enemy of the State and darn proud of it), an Associate member of the Order of Julian of Norwich, a proud mother, studying for her certification as a spiritual advisor, and engaged to the love of her life, and is busily wedding her love of myth and legend to her passion for m/m romance.
Author Website: www.rorynicoileain.com
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