Beyond the Faerie Rath Book 1
by
Calla left her life behind, haunted by a curse she cannot control. She seeks refuge in the land of a thousand hellos, Ireland, for a fresh start—a place where no one knows who or what she is.
Colm fled from Clonmara seven long years ago, but now it’s his father’s birthday, and the clan has gathered to celebrate the ould one. Each day brings back the memories that ruined him.
Saoirse dwells in the shadows of a lost love, unwilling to move on and unable to forget. The crystals say one thing, but the cold, hard truth tells another.
Ciarán walked away from the woman he loved for the fun, for the craic. He didn’t realize that one rash decision would impact the lives of so many, least of all his own.
Four broken hearts, brought together by the thread of love.
Without a doubt, she was out of my league. How often had I turned the television to channel 549, hoping to glimpse Calla Sweet’s newscast, and then clicked the remote, selecting a high-definition channel where I could appreciate her every nuance? The shimmer in her eyes. The curve of her lips.
How long had I been obsessed with her? I dismissed that thought. Obsession was for the crazed. I settled on star-struck, a more apt description of my infatuation.
Admiring her from behind the television screen was one thing, but meeting the captivating woman face-to-face proved another story. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, dousing the flames of desire with hard denial.
I snuck a sideways glance.
READ MOREWillowy, tall for a woman. Her skin glowed, almost ethereal. She sat straight-backed, a shining black mane flowing over her shoulders. Even bathed in mud, she was more than beautiful. My heart coiled in my chest, yearning for her smile, for her gaze to reach mine. Beneath those wild locks lay a woman teeming with intelligence, a formidable adversary, more than a prize worth winning.
The car’s front end dipped, hitting a pothole. She didn’t notice.
I ran through the scenarios and found none worth considering. The sooner I rid myself of this pretty package, the better. Beautiful women spelled trouble. Nothing but trouble.
“Not much anymore. There’s a big match every festival day. Ardara versus Glenties. It’s a big event for Ardara.” I tried to deny her hold on my heart and failed.
“Festival day?” She lifted her eyelashes, gazing through those famous dove-grey eyes.
“Aye, the Irish Calendar: quarter days, cross-quarter days. Bealtaine is the next one.” I considered the days remaining and my flight schedule.
“Hmm, maybe.” She stared me down but didn’t commit. There was a definite reluctance in her gaze. Reading people was a way of life, but trusting my instincts kept me alive.
“What brings you across the pond? To Ireland?” I shifted gears and glanced her way. She looked down whenever she smiled. If someone caused the rare beauty pain, we should string them up and flay their skin from their bones. Rage ate away at my gut, every bone in my body ready to defend her from harm.
“Aren’t you the curious one? You know what they say…curiosity killed the cat.” She clenched her fingers, then released them. “I inherited a property outside of town from a relative I didn’t know I had.”
“Here in Ireland?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. I had so many questions. I sensed she would shut me down if I pushed too hard.
She reminded me of a hummingbird––her movements were quick yet fluid. The melodic hum of her voice awakened every nerve in my icy heart. My sweating palms made holding the steering wheel difficult. Those physical reactions were unfamiliar to me. Long ago moments flashed through my mind, happy times when love mattered. Life changed me into something else, someone I didn’t recognize.
“Abracadabra, right? It's one of those Faerie tale kinds of things. What brings you back to Ireland?” She shifted in the bucket seat. She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them.
Her every action spelled trouble.
“The ould one turned seventy last week. My father,” I said, answering her curious gaze. “Tell me, who was your relative? If you don’t mind me asking?”
My fingers itched to tame that glossy mane, to smooth the cowlick swirling the crown of her head. Her high cheekbones, elegant jawline, and pointed chin were testaments to the remarkable features of a people who once called Ireland their own—a people who prized physical strength and revered intelligence—an ancient civilization that battled for our homelands. Those memories had long since faded into the mists of time.
COLLAPSE 