Book 2 in the Fae series

Trystan Raines loves cock. That’s a bonus in his line of work–he’s a prostitute, and damned good at his job. But pickings have been slim lately, and he’s homeless and flat broke. so when a stranger offers him a million dollars to play escort for a month, he jumps without looking–right into a world most humans don’t know exist. The world of the Fae. And his new master-for-a-month is their gorgeous prince, Braelan, who wants to “experience” New York with a human.

Uriskel serves Braelan too, as a bodyguard, but his term is a lot longer than Trytan’s: life, without possibility of parole. He’s also Braelan’s half-brother–but he can’t let the prince know that, or the King will have him killed. Uriskel is less than pleased when Braelan introduces his new human toy, and informs him that he’s to play bodyguard to the prince in the human realm.

Trystan thinks Uri’s an asshole. Uri thinks Trystan’s a fool. But when the prince forces them to perform sexual favors with each other for his amusement, they discover mutual lust that deepens to love. Unfortunately, there’s no way the prince will let them be together–unless it’s over Uri’s dead body.

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An excerpt from HEARTSONG:

A noise like a hundred sticks rubbing together erupted behind him. Trystan glanced back. Dozens of luminous pairs of orange eyes peered from the tops of the trees. “What are those?” he whispered.

“The Orendl.” Braelan steered him gently away, across the stone toward the gathered Fae. “Come to watch. They sense that blood will be shed.”

Trystan stiffened. “I said no cutting, or the deal’s off.”

“It will not be your blood, gallae.”

Jesus. What kind of entertainment did they have planned? If these guys were royalty…shit. “You’re not going to kill somebody, are you?”

“Not today.”

The fluttering in his stomach increased. He probably would’ve puked if there had been anything in it.

Braelan stopped beside the raised platform, half-turned. “Is it ready, Morven?”

“Of course, Highness.” Morven stepped up and took something from one of the columns. It looked like a hoop of braided sticks, a wreath without leaves or needles.

“Good. He comes now.” The prince let his arm fall and looked at Trystan. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “During our time together, there is one rule you must not break. You will tell no one of our arrangement. Let them assume what they will about us. Do you understand this?”

“Sure. No problem.” He tried to ignore the cold lump of doubt settling in his gut. Ready or not, the game was on. Time to play the submissive, make Braelan happy, and earn his ticket to an easier life.

Just for a month. Then he’d be free from everything.

Braelan nodded, looked past him. A wicked grin touched his lips. “The dog crawls from his hole,” he said. “Is he ready to face his punishment?”

“I’ve not heard my crime yet. Highness.”

The new voice reached down Trystan’s throat and squeezed his heart. If winter could talk, it wouldn’t sound half as cold and bitter as that. He turned slowly, caught sight of the speaker—and froze, unable to look away.

This one wasn’t as tall as the others, not flawless or model perfect, and somehow that made him exponentially sexier. Shoulder-length dark red hair the color of polished mahogany. Impossibly green eyes. A curved scar along one side of his set jaw. Tawny skin rippled over defined muscle everywhere, visible because he wore only a leather string around his waist with two strategically placed flaps at the front and back. More scars on his chest formed a crude knotted star, not raised and deliberate like Braelan’s, but pale pink and puckered. Healing.

His green eyes settled on Trystan. Raw hatred spilled from them with the intensity of a hundred suns.

The prince broke the electric silence. “Your crime is one of negligence, Uriskel. You were to bring your quarry back alive and unharmed.”

“Unharmed.” The rawness migrated to his voice. “How long did it take you to concoct that lie? I’d wager two months.”

“Disobedient cur,” Braelan snarled. “If you possess the smallest shred of wisdom, you will hold your tongue and do as you’re told. Report to Morven. Now.”

One corner of his mouth twitched down a little. “As you wish, Highness.” But he hesitated, and his heated gaze pinned Trystan again.

Trystan shuddered and forced himself to look away before those eyes burned right through him. When the Fae—Uriskel—finally moved past him toward the platform, he turned and looked up.

Morven shook the wreath thing, and it uncoiled to trail on the floor. It was a whip.

At least now Trystan knew where the bloodshed came in.

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