Chapter One
A grad school professor once told me that change came from great insight or great pain—mine came in a shiny red sportscar and claimed he was my brother.
Standing in the yard, sandwiched between my two husbands, I replayed the previous three minutes on repeat. An unbelievably handsome stranger had driven up in a car that cost more than most folks made in a year—and that wasn’t the weird part. Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome had crossed magical wards that acted like an invisible fence…an invisible fence that surrounded our property and only opened for blood relatives.
The wards were meant to keep us, and the people we loved, safe from an ever-growing list of enemies. Yep. We’re a paranoid bunch, but we’d come by it honestly considering we’d tracked down a half a dozen serial killers, black magic users, and a freaking boo-hag in the previous couple of years.
Aaron folded his arms and gave my alleged brother his best intimidating cop-stare. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Killian, Killian O’Roarke.” The guy looked like he’d just stepped out of a movie screen. To say I didn’t see a family resemblance would be the biggest understatement in the history of understatements. Then again, I had no idea what my father’s side of my family looked like, so what the heck did I know?
“And you’re my brother?” Not only did my voice quiver, but my dang southern accent thickened to Scarlet O’Hara levels. The hurt and abandoned little girl inside me wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg for scraps of information about her daddy, but grown-up Tessa couldn’t risk it. Not until I had a DNA test or better yet divine intervention.
“That, I am.” He glanced over the property. Emerald green eyes landing first on the house I shared with Bryson, Aaron, and our kids, then settling on the little pink cottage that belonged to my great-grandmother. “Sorry to show up and drop a bomb on you. Is there someplace we can talk?”
My southern manners warred with my common sense. It was rude to leave a guest standing in the middle of the yard, but there was no way I was inviting him into my home for sweet tea and a chat. Not until I knew he was who he said he was.
And therein lies the problem. How the heck do I figure out if he’s telling the truth?
“It seems like a shame to waste such a pretty day.” I motioned to a wrought iron table and chairs beneath an enormous live oak.
Killian gave the pink house one last look before following me to the table.
His interest in my great-grandmother’s place set me on edge. We had two kids, two old ladies, and a newborn hiding there until we gave the all clear—if we gave the all clear.
The men waited for me to sit. Bryson and Aaron claimed the chairs on either side of me, and Killian sat directly across the table.
Unsure what to say, I extended my hand. “Let’s start over. I’m Tessa, and these are my husbands, Bryson and Aaron.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you and your spouses.” If the news that I had two hubbies surprised him, he didn’t let on. “Unfortunately, this isn’t a social call. As I said, our dad is in serious danger.”
Our dad. Our dad. My dad.
The words hit me like a two by four upside the head. Waffling between anger and tears, I held up my hand as if to stop the world, or my brain, from spinning. This man, whoever he was, didn’t need to know how much his words were affecting me. “What sort of danger?”
As if on cue, his cell phone rang. Killian pulled it from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and frowned. “Excuse me it’s urgent.”
“Of course.” I waited until he walked a safe distance away before blowing out a breath. “Holy Moses kayaking on the Red Sea. I wasn’t expecting this today. What do—”
Bryson held up a finger and whispered a privacy spell.
As soon as the soundproof bubble snapped into place, Aaron said, “I don’t like it. How do we know he is who he says he is?”
While I agreed with him, I wasn’t ready to dismiss Killian’s claims. Not yet. Not when I’d potentially met a member of my father’s side of my family. “We don’t, but he was able to cross the wards.”
“I should check the wards.” Drawing a slow, deep breath, Bryson closed his eyes. A split second later, his magic caressed my skin as it spread out across the ten or so acres, we called home.
While I appreciated the fact he was protecting our family, I wished he’d hurry the heck up. If Killian was up to no good, he likely wouldn’t stand by while we assessed his magic. But if he was telling the truth, I had questions—a million and sixty-two questions.
Bryson sighed, but his shoulders remained tight as bow strings. “The wards are intact, but Killian is locked and loaded with magic.”
Aaron rubbed his arms. “That’s coming from him? I thought it was Tessa.”
“So did I…at first.” Bryson met my gaze. “He may very well be your brother, but—”
My brain stuttered. “You think Killian’s magic is like mine?”
I’d sensed the same thing, but had chalked it up to wishful thinking. He didn’t have the heat of the firebird, that part of me came from Atsila, my birth mother. Killian’s magic was stormy and cold and reminded me of the part of myself that allowed me to talk to the dead.
Bryson nodded, but the lines between his brows told me he wasn’t happy about it.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth? That my father is in trouble?” I didn’t know my dad, and the idea of finally meeting him made me dizzy.
“I don’t know.” Bryson took my hand. “But you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t find out.”
“She’s not talking to him alone. I’m telling you, there’s something off with the guy. One of us should be with her.” Aaron shifted to the edge of his seat as if preparing to launch into action. His unease plucked on my already frazzled nerves.
Planting my hands flat on the table, I said, “She’s sitting right here and can make up her own mind.”
Aaron’s frown deepened. “What do you want to do?”
“I have no clue.” I wished I could let go of the doubt and give Killian a chance, but I’d been fooled before. I needed to know for sure he wasn’t using some sort of Fae mind trick on us before I could trust him. “Is there a spell or something that will prove he’s my brother?”
“Maybe, but we’d need time to research it.” Frustration thickened Bryson’s voice.
Aaron scratched his jaw. “Can you reach out to Charlie or Atsila to confirm his story?”
“I can try, but I’d have better luck tonight when it’s quiet.” I glanced back at Killian. Nothing about him seemed threatening, but I couldn’t let my guard down. Not yet. I had more than just myself to think about.
Bryson split his attention between Killian and me. “It’s your call, but you might want to get him out of here before Darlene and the others get here.”
“Crap on Toast.” I’d forgotten about the family dinner to celebrate my cousin Tank’s release from jail. The poor guy had witnessed a boo-hag running off with his wife’s skin, been arrested for her murder, and then thrown in a psych ward for inmates. He deserved a drama-free dinner, or as drama free as it could get with Darlene at the table.
Aaron slung his arm around my shoulder and leaned me close. “I know how much finding out about your dad means to you, but we need to proceed with caution.”
“Spoken like a true police detective.” Nuzzling into his side, I whispered, “I love that you get it, and I promise. I’ll be careful.”
My men exchanged yeah-right looks.
I absolutely hated it when they ganged up on me, but in this case, I understood. Had it not been for the fact the Queen of Nosy-ville was coming for dinner, I would have put my maybe-brother through a Q&A session that would have made the Spanish Inquisition seem like child’s play. “I’ll get his number and arrange a meeting when we can all talk in private.”
“That sounds like a reasonable plan, but are you sure you’re willing to let him leave before you get some answers?” The concern in Bryson’s eyes warmed me from head to toe. Sometimes it felt like he understood me better than I understood myself.
Their support gave me the courage to do the right thing, even when my inner-child wanted to hurl herself at Killian and beg him to stay. “I’m sure.”
“Let’s make it quick. Darlene and Stone will be here any minute.” Bryson dissolved the privacy spell and nodded toward my maybe-brother. “He’s finished his call.”
Presenting what I hoped was a picture of a happy family, or at least a united front, we watched as Killian walked back to the table. Unfortunately for me, the closer he came, the more I second-guessed myself.
What if my dad is in serious danger? What if I am the only one who can save him? What if he dies while I’m dragging my feet about Killian? Could I ever forgive myself?
“Sorry about that.” He met my gaze. “Court business.”
Court business?
Aaron perked up a bit. “Are you a lawyer?”
“Not even close. Perhaps proper introductions are in order.” Laughing, he bowed with an honest to goodness flourish. “Killian. Killian O’Roarke, second of the Leipreachán clan and advisor to Caoimhe, Queen of the Aos Sí.”
I glanced between Bryson and Aaron, unsure of what Killian had said, let alone how to respond. His California accent had morphed into the thickest brogue I’d ever heard.
Aaron shrugged.
Bryson, however, narrowed his eyes.
Fat load of help they are.
I recalled the Aos Sí were the Celtic version of Fae. Bryson and I were Nunnehi, or the Cherokee variety. Then again, if Killian and I shared a father, that’d make me a what? Did it work like dog breeds? Was I a celt-okee? A chero-tic?
Thankfully, Bryson interrupted my visit to crazy-town. “I’m familiar with the term Aos Sí—”
“It’s another word for Sidhe, right? The rest of what you said went over my head.” I realized I’d not only cut him off, but I sounded as uneducated as I felt. “We aren’t usually so formal. What with titles and all.”
The space between Killian’s brows wrinkled for a split second before he plastered on his Hollywood smile and plopped into his chair. “Forgive me, English isn’t my first language. I suppose you could say I speak Fae-glish.”
Be it my nerves, or temporary insanity, I laughed. Loud. Hyenas had nothing on me. Sure, his joke was dumb, and racist, and he spoke English just fine, but once I started giggling, I couldn’t stop.
Aaron rested his hand on my shoulder, likely in an effort to calm me down.
Bryson ignored my borderline hysteria and continued to stare at Killian.
“Let me try again.” His accent changed to nondescript American. “I’m Killian O’Roarke. Son of Liam. Second of the Leipreachán clan, and advisor to the Queen of the Aos Sí.”
Liam. My dad’s name is Liam.
Questions zinged around in my head. What’s he like? Does he know about me? Of course, he knows about me. How else would Killian know who I am? Why did he stay away my entire life? Where is he now? What kind of trouble was he in?
My brain screeched to a halt.
Wait a cotton-pickin’ second. Did he just say I was half leprechaun? Half Celtic-Fae I could handle, but little folk with pots of gold and rainbows? Not so much.
Aaron, God love him, scratched the side of his head. “You’re a leprechaun?”
Killian’s smile melted into a bland indifference. “Yes, but as you can see, the legends have it all wrong. We are not short, nor do we wear funny hats and green shorts, and we keep our gold in banks not pots.”
It’d taken me a while to accept the fact I was a fairy who happened to shift into a flaming bird, but this…this would take some getting used to.
Killian motioned in the general direction of my deflated baby bump. “You were pregnant in the photos on the website. Where is the child now? I would very much like to meet him.”
And just like that, my suspicions formed an ice wall that would make Jon Snow and all of the Night’s Watch drool with envy. No one, and I mean no one, outside of the immediate family went near my baby. Bryson, Aaron, and I had been warned Quin was powerful, and that kind of magic would put him in danger.
“I don’t think that’s a good—”
Bryson interrupted me. “Exactly what sort of trouble is your father in, and why is it that Tessa is your last hope?”
Before Killian could answer, my mother’s little blue Prius came up the drive. Even from across the lawn, I could see the whites of her eyes as she stared, first at the Lamborghini, and then at its owner.
Hurricane Darlene was about to make landfall.
