Cursed: By the Fae Hunter (The North Shore Fae Book 3) Read online

  CURSED

  BY THE FAE HUNTER

  A. S. GREEN

  Copyright © 2019, 2022 A.S. Green

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a $250,000.00 fine.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Gombar Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Glossary

  Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  About the Author

  Also by A. S. GREEN

  Bonus Epilogue

  GLOSSARY

  The Black Castle - The ancient human society that originated with St. Patrick in Ireland and was promulgated by his followers down through the ages. Its single purpose is to rid the world of the fae on the basis that their existence is an unnatural abomination and an affront to God. The name of the group originates from the coastal castle ruins in County Wicklow, where some legends say St. Patrick first came to shore as a missionary.

  Fae - also faerie/s. The general and collective term for all the races of the faerie realm.

  Danu - a deity in the Celtic pantheon; the mother goddess. Creator of the highest-ranking fae: the seelies, fae hounds, succubi, and banshees. Often invoked.

  Seelies - Historically the ruling faerie race. Families are conservative and proud. Individuals have varying abilities to create glamours designed to confuse others’ perceptions of reality. The seelies are easily identified by their lavender eyes.

  Hell Hounds - also fae hounds, or simply the hounds. Fae of dual nature sometimes appearing as human, other times appearing as a terrifying creature resembling a wolf the size of a small horse, with blazing red eyes and great strength. At the time of St. Patrick, the hounds were in servitude to, and the guard dogs for the seelies. Though they later rebelled and earned their independence, the hounds retained their natural instinct to protect, particularly their anamcharas (fated mates).

  Succubi - (singular succubus) a type of fae known for beauty and music, for communicating through dreams, and for harvesting emotional energy from their prey.

  Banshees - a type of fae identified by their amber eyes, youthful faces, and snow white hair. Banshees are reclusive and generally avoided because they only appear to herald an imminent death.

  Pookas - a type of “lesser fae;” skilled shape shifters that prefer the form of a rabbit, colt, or beautiful black-haired woman. A pooka will lead someone away from harm or, just as easily, kill them herself.

  Nuckelavees - horse-like demons that emerge from the sea to cause havoc on land.

  Kelpies - a type of “lesser fae;” water spirits that live in the oceans, lakes, and streams. They naturally appear as horses but can shape shift into a man or woman, though they often retain their hooved feet.

  Mermaids - a type of “lesser fae;” water nymphs with the ability to shift to a human form. Though more prevalent in the oceans, they will endure fresh water for limited periods of time.

  Brownies - a type of “lesser fae” that originated from Scotland before settling in Ireland. They remain invisible to everyone, except those whom they trust and, when seen, resemble little old men covered in a thick coat of fur.

  Redcaps - evil, murderous goblins who get their name from dipping their caps into the blood of their victims. Reclusive and opportunistic with no known loyalties, they live in colonies along the borders between countries. The one colony that settled in North America resides on the border between Minnesota and Canada.

  Dryads - a type of “lesser fae;” tree nymphs. The Irish druids took their name from the dryads after having received a gift of their magic. The dryad’s song calls all other fae to a faerie ring.

  Anamchara (AHN-am KAR-ah) - Irish word for soul mate; fated mate.

  Mo cuisle (mah KOOSH-lah) - Irish term of endearment. Literally “my pulse.” Shortened form of a cuisle mo chroidhe, or “pulse of my heart.”

  Mo rún (mah ROON) - Irish term of endearment; a secret love.

  Mo stóirín (mah STOR-een) - Irish term of endearment; my darling. Literally “my little treasure.”

  Glamour (GLA-mer) - n. enchantment; magic. v. to glamour. The act of creating something by means of magic or enchantment.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hello, reader. Personally, I’m uneasy when I don’t know how to pronounce a character’s name. If you’re the same…

  Noisiu is a name originating in Irish mythology and is pronounced NOY-shoo.

  Peadar is the Irish form for Peter and is pronounced PAW-dar.

  Muirgen is pronounced MUR-in, which means “born of the sea;” and

  Aoife is pronounced EE-fa—a little like “Eva,” though there’s no real connection.

  Hope that helps!

  PROLOGUE

  BRANNA

  435 A.D.

  A Stable Near the River Boyne

  Ireland

  Branna crept silently up the ladder to the loft where her lover spent his nights. He’d been living above the rich man’s stables for over a year, working as a stone mason’s apprentice. As she passed the final rung and stood, ankle deep, in the soft bed of straw, she was relieved to see he’d returned. He’d been gone for the last several nights and had given no forewarning of his absence. She’d worried that, perhaps, he’d left for better work—left her.

  But no. Here he was.

  Young, handsome…human.

  Her Noisiu.

  Arms jerking, back flexing, he used a fire steel to light the candle on the small wooden shelf above his bed. The wick caught, and the loft glowed, soft and inviting.

  She’d been meeting him here for months.

  She loved him. And he loved her, too.

  Her eyes drifted over his shapeless form, hidden beneath his cloak, knowing that underneath all that wool he was so, so beautiful. She almost laughed. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t take her eyes off him?

  Nothing. Nothing at all. Noisiu was born to be watched.

  Her hand rose to the stone pendant she wore around her neck, strung on a thin braided rope made of his own long, yellow hair. The pendant was in the shape of a rabbit, and she stroked her thumb over its smooth contours.

  Noisiu had carved it especially for her, for he knew who and what she was. He’d seen her shift many times before—both into a rabbit, and even to her natural state as a pooka. Though the latte
r was more gruesome than the former, he hadn’t been afraid. He said he was in awe of her. He said there was no one and no thing more glorious.

  When he presented the pendant to her a month ago, Branna swore she’d wear it forever—even after he was gone. For he would someday, and likely far sooner than she, be gone…

  The thought sent a burning pain through the center of her chest.

  Foolish business, falling in love with him, but how could she not? A man who accepted her for who and what she was, with no thought for himself…

  He reached into the small bag tied around his waist. When he pulled out his hand, he let a fine trickle of salt slip through his fist, drawing a line beside his pillow on the floor.

  Air caught in Branna’s throat as she instinctively retreated from the repellant meant to keep the fae at bay. But then she remembered who this was. He would never hurt her with something so crude as salt.

  She took another step into the loft and hesitantly opened her mouth to speak. “My love?”

  His head jerked at the sound of her voice, then he slowly turned. On the shelf behind him stood a newly hewn cross—the stranger’s symbol. It had never been there before.

  Noisiu set the fire steel on the shelf as the candle flame danced in the drafty air. He pushed back his hood, and horror welled inside of Branna’s heart. His beautiful hair was gone! All that remained was a thin yellow ring around a scalp so shiny it reflected the flickering candlelight.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, and his voice was flat.

  “Who did this to you?” she asked, stepping closer, her arm outstretched as if to comfort him. “Who took your hair?”

  “No one did this to me,” he sneered. “We must all look out for ourselves, and I have simply chosen a better path.”

  “A better path?” The truth dawned as she remembered seeing two other men in the village, their hair shorn in similar tonsures, following behind the stranger whose symbol now stood on Noisiu’s shelf. “You mean his path. The one they call Patrick? No. Please, Noisiu—”

  “Don’t call me that! From now on, my name is Peadar. Brother Peadar. Now go away. Leave me. This is a new world, and you will only hold me back.”

  Peadar? What kind of name was that? “But… I won’t leave you. You can’t make me.” She couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

  “I can make you, pooka. And I will.” The way he said it told her quite plainly, he didn’t see her as awesome and glorious anymore.

  “No!” she implored him, grabbing his arm.

  He shook her off, but she was undeterred.

  “Please! Don’t join him. Stay with me! Remember the old ways.” She threw herself into his arms. It was desperate, and it was pathetic. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She couldn’t let the strange religious man take him from her.

  Branna wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. She pressed her lips to his and begged him to remember what they’d shared, but he pushed her away roughly, peeling her from his body.

  “You are unnatural. Vile! Monstrous! Patrick has shown me the way. I hate you, and all your kind. You are a scourge upon the earth. The devil’s spawn.”

  Branna lifted her chin and, though her eyes burned, she hid the deep wound he’d carved in her heart. She challenged him. “If you won’t have me, then I will take my love elsewhere.”

  A strange expression, something between hatred, fear, and pain, flickered in his eyes. “I can’t have that.”

  “I don’t see how you have any choice.”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  Obviously not, for she’d thought he was a good man.

  And then he raised his arms, whispering a curse, calling up a language she’d only heard uttered in faerie rings, and then only by the elders. “Your purest love is poison,” he said. “To enter your body is certain death.”

  Branna sucked in a breath as his curse struck deep. How was this possible? He was human. Not a fae. But the curse carried such searing pain it nearly blinded her. A lesser fae would have dropped to her knees. But she only felt an ice-cold blade of fury rise within her. Without thinking about the consequences—and she really should have thought about the consequences—she held up her own hands, palms out, and struck him down.

  Not dead. But down.

  He groaned and his legs gave way. He caught himself on the shelf and it pulled away from the wall. The cross and candle fell to the floor, but the straw was wet from a leaky roof, and the flame snuffed out, leaving them in utter darkness.

  Branna had never cursed anyone before, and she couldn’t imagine ever doing so again. But in that moment, she wanted another creature to suffer. And suffer he would.

  “You want this new life you’ve chosen?” Her voice was rough as she crouched before him. No longer in the form of a beautiful woman, she chilled the room and blistered his face with the cold white light from her vile, monstrous pooka eyes.

  He looked up, his mouth contorted. There was so much anger, so much hatred on his face, it almost made her catch herself. But she carried on, landing her final blow: a curse of immortality.

  “Then I hope you enjoy your new life. Because you’re going to be living it for a very…very…very long time.”

  1

  AIDEN

  Present Day

  Martin’s Landing

  Aiden MacConall, the youngest of the living MacConall brothers, stood in his backyard, under the gnarled branches of the newly budded crabapple tree. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and leaned his axe against the wood pile that was beginning to take shape. It was only May, but it was never too early to start planning for winter.

  He crouched, his thick thighs flexing, and used a yardstick to make sure the logs he’d placed were lined up perfectly. Order kept his mind from wandering. Planning kept his path clear.

  His brothers might joke about it, call him Mr. Clean now, but at least his coping mechanisms had kept him upright the last few decades. The same couldn’t always have been said for them—though Cormac had returned home eight months ago with Meghan Walsh, his anamchara and fated mate; and Declan had recently gotten clean with the help of his own, Rowan McNeely.

  Aiden stroked his hand through his thick dark beard, assessing the wood pile, then he adjusted one of the logs that was protruding a quarter inch beyond the others. Once he was satisfied, he went inside to work on the next project for the day.

  He set his yardstick on the kitchen table just as Declan’s voice came from the upstairs bedroom directly above his head. “Hey! Who’s got guard duty tonight?”

  Though the fae hounds, or hell hounds as many preferred, had long since been liberated and were no longer obligated to protect the fae at large, natural instincts were hard to ignore.

  Aiden tipped his head back and yelled at the ceiling. “I printed out our schedules for a reason!”

  Rowan’s softer voice trickled down through the vents—It’s all right, love. There’s plenty of time—and Aiden imagined her hand resting gently on his brother’s shoulder.

  “Does anyone know where my phone is?” Cormac yelled from the top of the stairs.

  Aiden shook his head with exasperation, then he turned toward the front of the house and the stairwell. “In the sitting room! Charging!”

  “I looked there!”

  “Look again!” Sometimes Aiden wondered if he was the only thing keeping the MacConall ship afloat. In fact, that thought was so frequent, it barely even registered anymore.

  He refocused on his project. Two days ago, he’d painted a four-by-five-foot section of the kitchen wall in blackboard paint. Now he was using chalk and his yardstick to mark off columns and rows. Once he was done, he’d create a menu plan for the week.

  Things were different now that it wasn’t just Declan and him whipping up instant ramen and the occasional frozen fish stick. Rowan insisted that Declan eat healthy, and Meghan was a good cook. Well…she was getting better, at least. It wa
s Meghan who’d seen this blackboard-menu idea online and mentioned she liked it.

  Painting the wall (in other words, changing the house) had been a risk. Aiden and his brothers kept their parents’ memories alive by keeping the house nearly the same as it had been when they died. They’d replaced the blood-stained kitchen floor, but otherwise the kitchen, their parents’ bedroom, even their mother's piano room remained untouched.

  He cleared his throat to escape the darkness of his memories, then he tipped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. Did one of those rows look crooked? He rubbed it out with a wet paper towel and waited for the board to dry before trying again.

  He’d just got the chalk realigned along the yardstick when there was a loud thump from above his head in Declan’s room. Aiden’s hand jerked, and the chalk line slanted upward. “Fuck!”

  Two more dull thumps followed, setting up a rhythm. He glanced at the ceiling with annoyance.

  The other big change in the house lately…? His brothers were gettin’ it on the regular, which—time for some brutal honesty—was the real impetus behind all his household projects. Not only did they play to Aiden’s need for routine, organization, and good solid planning, they also gave him a necessary distraction from all of the pheromones in the house.