I am Rhiannon, Moira of the Clan, keeper of the fates, champion of the Fae. At last, the pieces begin to fall into place. The runes of Fate and Domain have been rediscovered and already put to good use. Our defenses have been strengthened and the destinies of our young foretold.

But an undercurrent still buffets us, swirling unseen. The Jionagh, the traitors within the Realm, are still active, still plaguing us with their little nips and bites. Our own species’ collaboration with a race as abhorrent as the pixies nauseates me, even as I search to discover and destroy those who would threaten our most precious Realm.

It is most unfortunate Chloe-Sidhe and her shaman, Logan Whitefeather, completely broke Cameron O’Donnell, for he had many answers we still need. But it was either that, or lose them both, an unacceptable trade.

Yet there is more I see in the rune of Fate. It whispers to me of a lost child, of this Fae’s direct relationship to the rune of Inspiration. The rune of Domain whispers that we can do little to assist in this recovery; it will be the action, or inaction, of our sister which sets our course.

I am Moira, and under my leadership, the Fae will be made whole again. It is my calling, my fate, my destiny.

As I ended my narrative when the quest for the Runes of Fate and Domain began, so I shall end this.

This is not my story, but in truth, how the final call to power of the modern-day Fae began.

Chapter One

“Hottie alert, two o’clock, on the left in the tux.” Tristan whispered in Fiona’s ear. “Definitely out of my hunting zone, but probably just right for yours.”

Fiona smiled and nudged her best friend in the ribs with an elbow before slowly swiveling her head and taking in the morsel Tristan had so kindly pointed out. The wedding they were working at the Promontory Hotel in Big Sur had already been a feast for the eyes. She’d never seen so many beautiful people in her life.

Oh yeah, the man Tristan had pointed out was definitely up there on the hot-o-meter, but even better was the man standing next to him. Wiry build on a tall, rangy body, classic Hispanic features, liquid brown eyes.

Both men had shed their formal jackets and bowties and chatted with each other and the assorted guests. The object of her attention stood easily in a pristine white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, glass of champagne in one hand, the other hanging loose at his side. Even from this distance she could see he held his body like a warrior, feet spread at hip-width, toned body at the ready even in this relaxed atmosphere. Yeah, there was a man she could drool over.

Unfortunately, men in tuxes didn’t tend to reciprocate when she was wearing her figure-killing, blend-into-the-background uniform. Some of the waitresses looked great in their corporate ignore-me duds, but Fiona wasn’t one of them.

With a sigh, she turned back to Tristan and the cocked eyebrow indicating he wanted an answer to his alert.

“Both of them are hotties, you’re right, but seeing as I don’t know which one is the groom, I’m going to turn off my range finder and concentrate on getting out of this reception in time for my yoga class.” She’d been behind the scenes for the ceremony itself, only catching glimpses of the wedding, and hadn’t seen the actual wedding party until now.

“You and your yoga. If you actually put any of those positions to good use, I could see going.” Tristan grumbled, before sighing long and loud. “Besides, the groom is the dreamy stud on the left, and oh, look, here comes the bride. Bitch.”

Fiona smiled. Tristan was more catty than most women. Since she wasn’t, they made a good match.

She looked more closely at the two men and the beautiful, gypsy-haired woman in wedding white who had joined them. As a triad, they were stunning, and she took a stray moment to wonder where the best man’s date was.

Something about the groom struck her as familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. It wasn’t because she’d seen him before--she was positive of that--but more the way he held himself. Whatever it was, it made her uneasy.

Her unease doubled, then tripled as he sidled her way, his new bride at his side.

“Greet you, Sidhe,” he said in a low, undeniably sexy voice, his eyes intent, as were the woman’s.

“Can I get something for you, sir?” Fiona asked with an “I’m here to make your reception perfect” smile.

He looked puzzled, flashing a glance at his wife. She shrugged and took a sip of champagne.

“I’m Aidan Hughes, Salamander Clan.” He looked expectant, as if he’d said something she could or should understand.

She tried to keep her professional face on. Why did all the cuties have to be nuts?

“Congratulations on your wedding,” she said. “It was a beautiful ceremony.” Unusual, but beautiful, most of it spoken in a language she didn’t understand, but had struck a chord within her nonetheless.

She took a step back and offered the tray of canapés she’d picked up.

Aidan still looked confused, and said something in the dialect she recognized from their vows.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand.”

He shot her a quick, thorough glance, then shook his head. “You will,” he answered enigmatically, looping his arm over his bride’s shoulder and turning away.

She caught a snippet of what he was saying as he leaned close to his wife.

“...how can she not know ... faking it?” They moved out of earshot.

Fiona snorted and headed to the kitchen. They didn’t call California the land of fruits and nuts for no reason, but their conversation took the fruitcake.

Tristan collared her as she shouldered through the kitchen doors.

“So, love, what did the delectable groom have to say? Was he looking for an addition to their wedding night?” His eyebrows rose lasciviously.

Fiona thought hard as she deposited the tray onto a side table. Was that what their little exchange had been? No, except for his strange questions, he’d only had eyes for his wife.

“No such luck,” she quipped. It wasn’t something she’d entertain at this point in her life, but in her youthful twenties she’d been more than experimental in that regard. The experiences had been light, fun, with no real commitment, and while she’d moved on now, she definitely looked back on them with fondness. One particularly delectable tryst had been how she’d met Tristan, as a matter of fact.

But when she’d become friends with him and his now-partner Daniel, rather than just having a good time, she’d ended their physical relationship. That’d been six years ago. Aunt Carrie had been harping on her to find a man of her own since, but the oomph, the gut-punched feeling she knew would indicate “the one” had been sorely lacking. Not from a lack of trying on her part, though.

These days she tended toward hanging out by herself, only hitting hot spots when she felt the overwhelming urge to get nasty. Those urges were coming more and more infrequently as her desire for something more lasting solidified. She wanted what Tristan and Daniel had.

Tristan broke into her self-analysis. “Well, damn. What about the best man? He’s here solo.”

“What’s in it for you, Tristan?” she snapped, uncharacteristically edgy now. She was never good at introspection. And what was it with Tristan and his pushing?

He held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Down girl. It’s time for you to get laid. You’ve been acting pissy lately, and we both know what that means. Why not hook up with Mr. Studly out there ... you know you want it.”

Damn. Tristan was right, and her response to him a second ago just proved it. He didn’t have to look so smug about it, though. She thought fast, back to her last fling. Three months ago. Too long for a woman in her early thirties. Way too long. That and her thoughts about long-lasting relationships made her decision more than anything. Maybe a quickie with a stranger was what she needed to pull her out of her atypical funk.

“All right.” She nodded. “Yoga’s out. Let’s toss a line in the water and see if he bites.”

* * * *

Mike Alvarez scanned the room--again--looking for the hot little blonde waitress Aidan had been talking to.

Aidan and Leanan had acted odd the moment they’d laid eyes on her, and he had the feeling it was because they were trying to set him up. Aidan knew the type of women he liked. Hell, until his buddy and Leanan met and fell in love, they’d been the original dynamic duo when it came to the ladies.

While he didn’t need any help in that particular area, he wouldn’t mind hooking up with someone he’d never see again. It would help him take his mind off the upcoming fire investigator’s exam.

She’d probably left already, since the reception was winding down and he’d seen her in the thick of things since long before the ceremony began.

His attention was snagged--completely--by the sight of her walking out of the kitchen doors. She’d changed into a flimsy little peach sundress riding just above her knees, hugging her breasts to perfection. The switch between waitress and hot tamale threw him for a loop. He’d expected her to be pretty, but this went way beyond his expectation.

The short, blonde hair which had capped her skull like a lover’s hand now fanned out in a riot of spikes, haloing a face that managed to look angelic and completely nasty at the same time.

She strode directly toward him, eyes as blue as the sea locked on him. One corner of her mouth--her full, generous mouth--kicked up in a half-smile.

There was no come-hither quality to her expression. Instead, it said she’d like to eat him alive--if he was willing.

His cock swelled in response, pushing against the fly of his tux pants, and he had no doubt they’d be tangled in the sheets, thoroughly replete, long before tomorrow morning hit.

He stepped forward, ignoring Aidan’s hail from across the room. Screw him. He already had a girl.

His mystery woman took his hand without a word and steered him deftly to a side door, pushing the French doors open into the cool coastal night.

The surf crashed on the rocks below the promenade the hotel sat on, and it sent a primal thrill through Mike, one which demanded he conquer, claim his right to her body.

But he was too well schooled in the female species to just take without asking.

He turned to her. “My name is...” Her finger, topped by a short, unadorned nail, rested against his lips.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “No strings, no names. Just this.”

Damn, she had a voice that could set the world on fire ... all smoke and heat. He looked at her in a bit of shock, then took her at her word. What man wouldn’t? He sucked her finger into his mouth and nipped it, drawing a tiny gasp, and ran his tongue along the tip, teasing away the tiny pain.

Her taste, salty and sweet, perfumed by the sea, surged through his body. He released her finger and hauled her into his arms, capturing her mouth completely, delving his tongue inside, savoring the differences which made her all woman ... and all his for tonight.

Her curves imprinted themselves on him, the tight peaks of her nipples caressing him through his shirt.

He leaned into the kiss, bowing her back, and reached down to hike her leg up. His fingers found miles of soft, satin skin, and as he devoured her mouth, he slid his hand up her thigh, encountering nothing but sweet, heavenly woman.

His fingers probed and found, to his delight, that she was shaved bald. He slipped between her pussy lips, and she was wet already. His dick hardened as her questing hand cruised down the front of his slacks, tracing his erection with quick, sure strokes.

He drew in a rough, ragged breath and used the motion to whisper, “Not against the building.”

“Why not?” she asked in a voice gone soft and breathy. “Doesn’t it turn you on, thinking anyone can walk out here?”

It did, but it wasn’t how he’d been raised. His big, noisy Catholic family cherished their women. They didn’t slam them up against the wall and fuck them senseless like a caveman. But God, that’s what he felt like doing right now.

“Don’t think so much,” she whispered, and slipped her hand inside his pants, grasping his cock in a sure, firm grip. “Just feel.”

She slid her hand down his shaft slowly, flicking a finger over his cockhead, smearing the drop of precum over it as she memorized him by touch alone.

He stiffened, dropped his mouth to her breasts, and suckled her nipples to hard points beneath the silky material of her dress. She tasted like summer, heady and sweet.

She moaned when his fingers traced her seam again, gasping as he parted her and slid around her clit with teasing little strokes. He stroked lower, and slid a finger inside her hot, clenching pussy at the same moment he bit down lightly on her nipple.

She stiffened against him, a husky little cry breaking from her lips as her hand tightened around his cock.

Mike smiled ferally against her breast and slid a second finger inside her, pumping slowly, in direct counterpoint to the rapid beating of her heart ... and his. He continued tonguing her nipples, first one, then the other, interspersing his laving with nips and bites. She stiffened against him, her breath coming in harsh little pants as his thumb circled her clit, her fingers clenched around the iron of his erection as if it were a lifeline.

Jesus, she was like fire, burning in his arms. He brought her to a quick, wrenching climax, making her shudder. She sagged briefly against him, her weight a sweet pressure, before sliding her leg down.

He lifted his head from her breasts and straightened slowly, painfully, his cock still within her grasp.

Her face literally glowed with satisfaction, and her eyes were slightly glazed. “Well, that was a surprise,” she said, her voice husky and sated. “But I had something a little more mutual in mind.”

She retreated a few steps, leading him by his dick, until she was flush against the wall, and spun him. The rough contours of the rock and stucco walls bit into the fine lawn of his shirt, the sensation a scathing contrast to the hand now caressing him as if it were the last night on earth.

The rasp on his zipper lowering sawed through the night, incredibly loud, incredibly arousing. His cock sprang free, the head blindly seeking her through his Jockeys.

She laughed, low and sensually, and pulled his pants and shorts down just enough to bare him, tracing her nails down his swollen cock, making it ... and him ... jerk in response. Before he could even breathe out an oath of thanks, she dropped to her knees and her hot, wet mouth engulfed him. His moan carried on the night air, drowning out even the pound of the surf below.

Mike clutched at the rock wall in desperation, fingers itching to burrow into her hair, to direct her movements. But no, he’d let her lead, even if it fucking killed him.

Her tongue laved the bottom of his erection lovingly as she sucked him in, her fingers caressing his balls with just enough force to make him buck against her lips.

She hummed in approval and sucked harder. The vibration traveled through his body like a shot, scrambling his brain, short-circuiting his restraint. He buried his hands in the short spikes of her hair, setting a fast, furious pace as he fucked her mouth.

His mystery woman tightened her hold on his balls, the fingers of her other hand biting into his hip as she steadied herself.

His sac drew up, sensation thundered up his spine, and he was coming, jerking against her face as he shot cum down her throat.

He sagged against the wall, drained, but curiously alive ... more so than he’d ever felt after a quickie.

She took one last, long, loving pull with her mouth, stood and tucked him back into his pants and zipped him up.

“Thanks,” she whispered, “I needed this.” She dropped a quick kiss on his lips, slid away from him, and was gone in the night.