Fated: To the Banshee (The North Shore Fae Book 6) Read online

  FATED

  TO THE BANSHEE

  A. S. GREEN

  Copyright © 2020, 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 punishable by up to 5 years and/or a $250,000.00 fine.

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

  Cover by Gombar Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

  CONTENTS

  Glossary

  Quote

  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

  Chapter 32

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by A. S. Green

  GLOSSARY

  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 banshees, fae hounds, succubi, and seelies. Often invoked.

  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, then escort the dead to Tír na n’Óg.

  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. The hounds’ natural instincts are to protect the fae and, if they have one, their own anamchara (fated mate).

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

  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.

  Mermaids - a type of “lesser fae;” water nymphs with the ability to shift to a human form. They are the creators of “mermaid gold,” which is known to bring luck to those who bear it.

  Dryads - a type of “lesser fae;” tree nymphs.

  Redcaps - an evil, murderous goblin, who gets its name from dipping its cap into the blood of its victims. Reclusive and opportunistic with no known loyalties, they live in colonies along the borders between countries.

  Pookas - a type of “lesser fae;” skilled shape shifters who, in their natural form, have goat-like faces and sharp pointed horns.

  Changeling - A fae child who is abandoned by his parents and placed in a human household.

  Sluagh - A swarm of evil spirits, hell bent on destruction and resembling a flock of crows.

  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 was to rid the world of the fae.

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

  Anamchara (AHN-am KAR-ah) - Irish word meaning “soul mate” or “fated mate.”

  Tír na nÓg (TEER-na-NOEG) - Irish name for the land of everlasting youth; the fae version of heaven.

  Mo stóirín - (ma STOR-een) - Irish term of endearment, meaning “my little treasure.”

  From Danu’s darkest shadows freeing,

  winter’s wind will bring to being.

  Then sits a banshee, always keening,

  knees drawn up while deep and dreaming.

  Mourning for her one true lover.

  He is dead, there is no other.

  - Anonymous

  1

  KANE FITZGERALD

  Hawthorn Academy

  Early October

  Duluth, Minnesota

  Sweat poured down Kane Fitzgerald’s spine and into his T-shirt as he beat the shit out of a punching bag. He kept his stance wide while his mind wandered to places he didn’t want it to go—namely to the gorgeous little nightmare in room two-sixteen. Jab. Jab. Jab.

  The weight room was empty this time of day, with the exception of his best friend and fellow fae hound, Hayes Connolly, who leaned into the opposite side of the bag, grunting as Kane landed each punch. “Dude…umph…something…uff…bothering you today?”

  Upper cut. Cross.

  “No.” Jab. Cross. “Why would you think that?”

  Hayes laughed, but it ended quickly when Kane hit the bag so hard, he put his friend down on his ass.

  “Dude!” Hayes said in surprise. They were in the midst of some serious role reversal. Between the two of them, Hayes was more often known as the hot head. “If someone pissed you off, bro, take it out on them. Not me.”

  Kane caught the bag as it swung back, then he stormed off for the bench where he’d left his towel. He allowed the glamour of his T-shirt to fade away and he wiped the sweat off his bare chest, too agitated to sit.

  The fae hounds—or hell hounds as most of them preferred to be called—shifted so frequently they’d developed the skill of glamouring the appearance of clothes. It appeased the other fae races’ modesty, and it beat having to replace a perfectly good shirt every time they shifted into their hounds. Every stitch they wore was merely an illusion.

  Hayes pushed himself up off the floor, shook his dark hair out of his eyes, and made his way over. He wasn't quite as big as Kane, but few hounds were.

  “So?” Hayes asked. “What gives?”

  Kane finally collapsed onto the bench and looked up at his friend, doing his damnedest to suppress the growl rumbling through his chest. He had to tell someone before he exploded, even if Hayes wasn’t exactly known for his good advice.

  “I found her.”

  “Who?” Hayes absentmindedly picked up a twenty-five-pound dumbbell from the rack and began an effortless round of reps. The smaller weights were here for the other fae. The hell hounds weren’t challenged until they got on the bench and started loading on the plates.

  “Her,” Kane repeated.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific,” Hayes said, his eyes on his bulging bicep.

  “My anamchara.”

  Hayes’s arm froze. Then his eyes slowly shifted to Kane. He lowered the weight, dropping it onto the mat. His face was blank. “No shit?”

  “Total shit,” Kane grumbled. Only his life could be so fucked up.

  Hayes’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t get your meaning.”

  Kane let out a sigh. In for a penny, in for a pound. “You know the stories we grew up hearing? How you’d see your anamchara—your one true fated mate—and how your head would fill with this crazy wind, so loud you wouldn’t be able to hear your own thoughts?”

  Hayes’s eyes glimmered with hope. Kane knew why. His best friend had been hoping for months that Molly Buckley—a classmate of theirs—was his anamchara, but so far…no wind. None of the tell-tale signs. “So you’re saying it’s not true?” Hayes asked.

  “Oh, it’s true,” Kane said, hating to burst his friend’s bubble. “I thought I was going deaf the first time I saw her.”

  Hayes’s shoulders slumped. “Okay. So what’s your point?”

  “The stories always end with you falling into each other’s arms, unable to resist each other, and living happily ever after.”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s total bullshit.”

  “But the MacConall brothers…” Hayes began.

  Kane knew exactly the path his friends' thoughts were taking. Not every hell hound found his fated mate, but the MacConall brothers had all found theirs. It was a statistical feat, and now they were all living together in the same house. One big happy fucking family. “Lucky bastards.”

  “So…” Hayes hedged. “Your anamchara…are you saying she’s not into you? Is she, like, some kind of unicorn? I mean…every female fae is into you. Big, blond, and those blue eyes. Christ, I thank Danu every night that Molly met me before she met you.”

  Kane glowered. “Nope. She’s not into me at all. And I’m thinking that’s the only good thing about this.”

  Hayes looked at him like he was crazy. “Dude, that doesn’t even make sense. Why should there be anything good about your anamchara not being into you? Is she ugly, or something?”

  Kane snorted. Devan Foley was so fucking gorgeo
us, it hurt to look at her. She was tiny, yeah. But perfectly proportioned with large amber eyes ringed in thick black lashes. Her hair was like corn silk, and as white as freshly driven snow.

  He didn’t tell Hayes any of this. Hayes wasn’t an idiot. He’d recognize the description, and Kane didn’t want his best friend to know his anamchara was a banshee.

  Christ, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Kane had learned not to ask for much in this life, but he still had plans. All he wanted was a clan, a family, and a mate. He’d never expected to find his anamchara—his fated mate. He’d planned to be satisfied with any good, decent female who didn’t drive him insane.

  And never in a million years did he expect his anamchara would be a banshee—the very bane of a hound’s existence. The hounds were on this earth to protect. A banshee only showed up when a hound failed at his job; they only appeared when someone died.

  A banshee for an anamchara… Fuck! It sabotaged everything he’d been working toward. He had no family to rely on, and seven years ago he’d been banished from his clan. Therefore, his future survival meant starting his own. But no fae in their right mind would join a hound who had a banshee—a harbinger of death—by his side.

  “Okay, then,” Hayes said. “Is she boring? Stupid? Terrible lay?”

  Kane didn’t know Devan well enough to answer those questions but he seriously doubted it. He shook his head.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Kane kept shaking his head as if he could erase everything. Like his head was some big ol’ Etch-a-Sketch and he could clear the last twenty-four hours out of his mind. But of course that was impossible.

  “Kane, I’m your best friend. Tell me.”

  But he couldn’t tell him. And not being able to tell Hayes… Shit. It made the whole thing worse. “It’s just that… She makes me uncomfortable, okay?”

  Well, that was certainly one way to put it, though the explanation barely scratched the surface.

  “Uncomfortable can be good,” Hayes said. “A little agitation can make for an impressive cockstand.”

  Kane rolled his eyes. He had no problem getting it up when it came to that tiny little nightmare. He’d been hard as concrete since the first moment he saw her.

  “We’re just not…” What could he say? “Well suited.”

  “Well suited,” Hayes repeated, not comprehending. “If she’s your anamchara, then by definition, she’s perfectly suited. Danu specially designed her for you, my friend, and you for her.”

  Kane grunted in response. What would his old clan think if they knew? They’d probably figure it was par for the course with him. Just one more disaster in his wake.

  Hayes sat down on the bench beside Kane and leaned back, legs spread out in front of him. “Okay then. Maybe it’s a mistake.”

  Kane leaned forward, forearms to knees, and picked at his thumbnail. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe if you avoided her, the feeling would go away.”

  Kane doubted it, but he grabbed onto that morsel of hope. He looked over his shoulder at his friend. “You think?”

  “Sure.” But Hayes didn’t sound like he believed it either. “I mean…I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Danu could’ve made a mistake,” Kane said, trying the idea on for size.

  It sounded heretical to even suggest that the creator-goddess could make a mistake, but if he got struck down by lightning, at least it would put him out of his misery.

  Even now his inner hound was whining and turning in agitated circles, wanting to see Devan again. That was the problem with anamcharas. They compelled their hell hounds to draw near. Physical separation was painful.

  Kane rubbed his fist against his chest, trying to massage away the hurt.

  “Did you tell your father about her?” Hayes asked. “You have to tell your chieftain.”

  Everyone assumed Kane’s father was the chieftain of his clan. Their assumptions were reasonable based on Kane’s physically imposing size (Like father, like son), as well as Kane’s attendance at the academy, a school designed to educate the future leaders of the north shore fae.

  What they didn’t know—not even Hayes—was that their assumptions were only half right. Kane took after his father physically, but his father was no longer chieftain. Kane didn’t even have a clan to lead. And he only had himself to blame.

  “No. I didn’t tell him,” Kane said. He wished he could. It gutted him, not being able to talk to his father, not having the benefit of his advice. Not being able to apologize.

  “You have to tell him,” Hayes insisted.

  A hound always reported an anamchara to his chieftain. The hounds were protective in general but, with an anamchara, a hound’s instincts grew exponentially. It was simply fae-hound nature to protect that which you couldn't live without, so hounds with anamcharas became some of the most formidable fighters among their race.

  “Dude,” Hayes said, his voice thick with meaning. “You’re now a bigger asset to your clan than you ever were before. Why are you being such a downer?”

  Kane made a scoffing sound. His old clan would never call him an asset. Not even now. Maybe especially not now.

  “Okay, fine,” Hayes said, when Kane hadn’t responded. “Where did you say you met her?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  The dean of students, Raine O’Keefe, had asked Kane to help Devan move into her room when she arrived at the school yesterday. He'd also asked him to keep her presence a secret until the administration could ease the other students into their introduction to her. The dean was concerned a banshee on campus might incite a riot. Judging by Kane’s own chaotic thoughts, he wasn't wrong.

  “You’re being weirdly mysterious,” Hayes said.

  Kane stood up abruptly and went back to the punching bag. “I just randomly ran into her the other day when I was…out.” Randomly, as in he opened the front door to the school, and there she was.

  “Kismet,” Hayes said.

  “What?” Jab, jab.

  “I think that’s what they call it. Serendipity. Or kismet, or something. Molly was having me take one of those magazine quizzes the other day. One of the questions was something about—” He cut himself off, made a pshh sound. “You know what? Forget it. What you should do is bring this chick something to eat. Make her a sandwich, or something.”

  Hayes wasn’t breaking new ground here. The hell hounds’ love language was gifts of food.

  “If you tried something like that,” Hayes continued, “you could make a better second impression if you think you fucked up your first.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Kane doubted a hundred gifts would make things any better. “Come hold the bag for me. I want to go another round.”

  Hayes got up reluctantly. Kane’s first punch had him back on his ass.

  2

  DEVAN FOLEY

  Room 216

  Hawthorn Academy, Sunset.

  Devan Foley pressed her palm against the cold window, feeling the smoothness of the pane, watching in fascination as her breath fogged the glass. She’d never had a barrier between herself and the world, only barriers between herself and the other creatures in it. Such was the life of a banshee.

  The goddess Danu created Devan’s race from winter shadows and icy air. The banshees originated from cold nothingness, and Devan had lived exactly the way she’d been born. Cold and alone.

  She wasn’t complaining. What good would it do? It wasn’t like she could throw in her cards and ask for a new deal.