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  Wake the Dream

  Brea Viragh

  Wake the Dream ©2019 Brea Viragh

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Cover Artist: Vampari Designs

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Wake the Dream

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Illaria’s only hope of escape is a man who may inadvertently lead her to her death.

  Illaria and Yelena are Fae trapped in this world, hiding in plain sight. But when her sister goes missing, Illaria vows to do anything to bring her home. Even if it means teaming up with a human detective who would rather needle her than do his job.

  Gifted with the Sight, Kieran Shanahan knows things others do not, which makes him the least popular man in the Marsh precinct. He’s given a case no one else wants, and in an attempt to prove his worth, he vows to solve it. Even if it means dealing with a Fae who would rather decapitate him than sit on the sidelines.

  Soon, the unlikely duo will have to work together to find Illaria’s sister. If they fail, someone—or something—will use them to destroy each other.

  Fans of Charlaine Harris and Karen Marie Moning will sink their teeth into this new paranormal town. Welcome to Hedgehill Marsh.

  Chapter One

  Illaria

  She’d never given much thought to why humans and fairies should not mix. A cautionary tale—the oldest Fae kind—warned against intermingling on a personal basis. Illaria knew, of course, that interbreeding was taboo. In many ways, Fae and humans were completely incompatible.

  Then he walked into the bar. And she was reminded yet again that in many more ways Fae and humans could be a delicious mixture. Illaria pushed the warnings out of her head entirely.

  The man looked ready. He would be an easy target. Human 100%—plus something extra.

  Lots of tourists with magical juju were drawn to this town, drawn by the powerful ley lines that made Hedgehill Marsh special and allowed its residents to hide in plain sight. All the better for Illaria and her sister, Yelena.

  Illaria took her time with the approach, a glance now and then, a smile when it suited. She knew the game and had danced the dance more times than she wanted to admit in her fifty years of living in the town.

  Good thing she didn’t look older than twenty-six, a deliciously delightful perk of being Fae-born.

  Then she lost herself to smooth lips. Hot skin. The promise of more when her target introduced himself. The rest of the bar faded away as her attention was caught by the breadth of his shoulders, the strength of his thighs, the scent of him—essence of male.

  The perfect way to end the day in Oregon.

  She brought the man from the bar to her hotel room with the anticipation of some Olympics-worthy sexual escapades, where she was sure to come away with the gold medal. She always did.

  For the next hour, her reality consisted of fervent, exploring hands and lips and a set of muscles she could use to hold up her car. In one word: delicious.

  Illaria knew it wouldn’t amount to anything serious, but she had to enjoy life to the best of her abilities. Otherwise, she’d go stark raving mad from the isolation.

  She shoved her partner’s shirt off one shoulder and ran her lips along his skin, teasing him with nibbles here and there. She breathed him in, a hot swell of magic rising inside of her. Air magic. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains in the room although they remained closed and locked.

  She used to be afraid she’d be seen for what she was. Luckily, she’d stumbled upon the town nestled deep in the Oregon wilderness purely by accident when she and her sister were searching for a place to disappear.

  Now, they didn’t have to. No one did.

  All kinds of wrong for her and she knew it, Illaria dove into intimacy with the stranger with the zest of a competitive swimmer hearing the firing signal. She craved that little death. Loved the look of his golden skin against pristine white sheets.

  Her bedfellow pulled back long enough to stare at her, blinking rapidly. “What was your name, again?”

  His brown eyes reminded her of a puppy dog. Wide, sad, and willing to come alive with the promise of food. Or sex, in this case. Illaria couldn’t promise to put it on the table—fairies were known for being notorious tricksters—but she’d enjoy the fun while it lasted. Unless she changed her mind at the last minute. But the way he held her, the way her body responded, she had a good idea how the night would end for both of them.

  “Does it matter?” She asked the question in return, syllables light and lyrical, pushing her fingers through his slightly too-styled hair.

  The man didn’t answer, which meant he agreed. Or at least in her mind it did.

  His lips eased toward hers, drawing a reaction from deep inside. It was a different kind of magic, she knew, and one humans shared with their monster brethren.

  Still, she’d have been better off not grabbing his attention to begin with, if the tongue lashing she’d receive upon going home was any indication. Her sister had taken up the mantle of notorious shamer. If Yelena found out where Illaria had gone, she would hear no end to the nagging about making better choices.

  They strained against the bed with enough force to rattle the bland oatmeal-and-brown painted mountain landscape held in a plastic frame on the wall.

  Meaningless sex had become a way to cope with stress. Illaria knew that, too. Cope with being trapped in the mortal world instead of her native land. At the moment, however, she pushed those thoughts aside to better enjoy the man’s truly delicious physique as he fisted a hand in her moonlight-colored hair.

  She ripped his shirt from his shoulders and placed her mouth on the curve of his neck. A groan of appreciation rumbled in his throat.

  “God, walking into that bar...it’s my lucky night. Gotta be.”

  Not yet, but it was about to turn into it.

  She relished the anticipation, the kind of evening where the body bent in all kinds of interesting ways and ended up slicked and sated, the mind curiously blank.

  Too bad this was becoming a frequent ritual of hers. Settling down in the bar and sipping on one too many ambrosia sours—a Hedgehill Marsh special—waiting to pick up a stranger because she wanted to feel something.

  She wasn’t always sure she made the right decisions. In fact, if she stopped to think about it, she’d be horrified with her path. Then the action started and things got sweaty and she stopped thinking entirely.

  This man certainly had the muscles for some serious gymnastics. This night might go down in the books as one of her more athletic anonymous sex partners, although she hesitated to make assumptions when they’d only just begun. Illaria knew better than to get ahead of herself.

  He’d proved to be a good kisser so far, though. Had a decent set of peepers on him, too.

  Tonight, Illaria planned to ride her man like she intended to win a rodeo contest. Eyes shut, she let him squeeze her breasts, tilting her head back as sensation flooded her. Yes. This was what she’d needed to get her mind off of...well, everything.

  Work for one thing—because for some strange reason, trapped in the mortal world even immortal beings were forced to hold down jobs—her sister for another, also the fact that their parents had abandoned them on Earth. Everything.

  His tongue swept the inside of her mouth and sent a shockwave of heat into her lower extremities. This. This was her way of trying to enjoy life when life wasn’t always enjoyable.

  His arm came around her midsection and hoisted her higher until she was forced to wrap her legs around his hips. Yes, yes.

  “The bed,” he whispered.

  Illaria couldn’t agree more.

  Her rear hit the mattress with a rough bump once her mystery man let her go. She stared up at him, a smile teasing her lips apart, her inhalation deep and hot when his lips fastened on hers again. His hands pushing her down, down.

  “Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me how much you want me. What you want me to do to you.”

  She’d been a part of too many illicit rendezvous, complicated hookups, and one-night stands to be overly impressed with the line. Experience had jaded her.

  The booming tones of the clock alerted the h
our. She nearly tuned them out until she realized the count. Ten.

  Ten already? She hadn’t meant to be out this late. Oh, Jesus, Yelena would kill her.

  Illaria interrupted the frantic fumbling of the man trying with little success to get her bra to snap apart. “Sorry, I have to go.”

  Nope, definitely not what he had wanted or expected to hear.

  Her “date” started, leaning back to stare at her through wide, confused eyes. “You have to be kidding me.”

  Not a question so much as a plea to reconsider. Already off the bed, Illaria adjusted the set of her shirt, inclination for intimacy gone. Disappeared in a snap.

  Her sex drive was powerful, but this was a different kind of power. Her desires urged her to sit down again and send her sister a text with an excuse. But she couldn’t. Not when she’d done it too many times before.

  “I was supposed to meet my sister at nine,” she told him, searching around for her boots. Not that she owed him an explanation. A tourist more than likely, her mystery man would have been good for one night and on his way out of town in the morning.

  Just the way she preferred them.

  “You can’t leave me like this.” He pointed to his crotch and the massive erection pressing against his jeans. “Seriously.”

  “Seriously, it’s a problem you’ll have to solve on your own. I’m sorry.” Illaria tucked her delicate feet into the boots and zipped them up the back. They added a good five inches to her petite frame. “It was fun while it lasted.”

  He made as if to come after her, to grab her arm and stop her from leaving. Maybe express his disappointment through sweet words.

  Illaria held up a hand and her magic swelled. It stopped him in his tracks with a gust of wind. Strong and powerful.

  That was the beauty of her home. The controlling ley lines meant she could be herself without fear of persecution or reprisal. Who knew how it was perceived by him? Perhaps he had a sudden urge to go somewhere else, unsure where the desire came from. At any rate, it gave her the seconds she needed to get out of Dodge.

  The ley lines that made Hedgehill Marsh special were unprecedented in this world. To Illaria’s knowledge, there was no other place on the planet where monsters could be themselves without anyone the wiser. Tourists saw what they expected to see, not what was real, and that was what made the town unique.

  To the hunk in the bedroom, he wouldn’t recognize her magic.

  “Call me,” she said over her shoulder. Knowing full well she hadn’t left her number.

  She hurried out the door and down the steps to the first floor of the motel which was located on the outskirts of town. She probably should have been a bit more careful with how she flaunted her magic this close to the border. Mistakes were bound to happen once in a while, although she hadn’t made any yet.

  Illaria dragged her cell out of her pocket and hoped she hadn’t missed any calls. The screen remained blank. Nothing yet.

  Her heart urged her to hurry.

  She hated being late for her nights with Yelena. The two had only each other, trapped outside the bounds of their world when the Royals decided to close the gates between the two realms for good.

  No going back.

  Once she had enough room for takeoff, Illaria closed her eyes and summoned her wings. Those beautiful gossamer wings that looked lighter than air yet had the power to carry her wherever she pleased. Another thing she might never understand. How she and the rest of her flying comrades who made the town their home were able to traverse the skies above without any of the tourists, the lifeblood of Hedgehill Marsh, noticing their presence.

  Oh well. She didn’t want to know how the logistics worked. Leave it to the elders and the mayor, who made sure the town magic stayed strong and the rest of the citizens remained protected.

  She tensed her knees, pushing away from the ground. Trusting the wind to carry her home.

  It sure beat hailing a taxi.

  The wind lashed at her, a little cold, a little unforgiving. Her wings beat and pushed her higher still, working a different set of muscles.

  She relished her time in the air. Her kind had an affinity for the element. It made her family special among the rest of their Fae brethren, the only ones of their line to have wings. Illaria wouldn’t have it any other way.

  She landed outside the house she and Yelena shared, an old red brick colonial with towering oaks shielding the front windows from prying neighborhood eyes. The crescent moon overhead sent shadows to paint the sides of the building in shades of buttery yellow and deep gray. The night atmosphere brought goose bumps to the surface of her skin.

  Light gleamed in the front living room, seen through sheer curtains. Yelena was waiting for her.

  The wings sank into her back, disappearing from view, ready and waiting for the next time she called on them. Her first steps forward shook when her legs needed to readjust to holding her weight, but she pushed through the unlocked front door with a smile.

  “Honey, I’m home, and I’m so sorry,” Illaria began by way of a greeting.

  Closing and locking the door behind her, she shrugged out of her light jacket and kicked her boots aside after unzipping them. She dropped down to the floor, the sudden decrease in altitude making her dizzy.

  Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she called her sister’s name again.

  “I got caught up at work.” The excuse was birthed on the spot. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to be out this late. The damn boss didn’t want to let me go. You know how Sharron gets when patrons come into the gallery late. She wants to let them stay in hopes of milking every penny out of their pockets.”

  Illaria moved into the living room with a self-deprecating grin on her face, expecting Yelena to answer with her habitual “it’s fine” followed by a slew of passive–aggressive guilt-tripping.

  An empty room greeted her.

  Lips pursed, she moved into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, okay? Stop giving me the silent treatment. If you’re still hungry, we can go out and catch a bite to eat. There has to be something open nearby.”

  No answer. “Yelena?” Still no answer.

  Illaria searched the entire house, thinking this had to be a game. Was her sister seriously that pissed? But every corner she turned, she saw nothing other than the usual ordered chaos. The wobbly kitchen table they’d been griping about fixing for the last five years. The cluttered second-story den they used as a reading nook on snowy or rainy days.

  No sign of her sister.

  “Yelena?” This time, anger colored her tone. “This isn’t funny anymore. I’m sorry for being late. Okay? There’s no need for games.”

  Yelena went into hiding when she felt her needs were not being met. Or when she felt she hadn’t received enough attention. Once when Illaria came home late on one of their pre-planned meeting nights, Yelena disappeared for an entire day afterward, camping out at a sylph’s house down the street until enough time passed to make Illaria pay.

  Younger by a century and dark where Illaria was fair, Yelena was still prone to a bit of childishness, and this sort of thing happened frequently enough that it took Illaria a good thirty minutes to finally panic.

  Something about tonight was different, stonier. Illaria had searched the house from top to bottom but then searched it again to make sure she hadn’t missed something, calling her sister’s name the entire time. When she found no trace of her younger sibling, she pushed out the door and set off down the street, leaving the house open and unlocked.

  “Yelena!” she screamed, turning in a circle.

  They lived on a quiet street away from the hustle of the town’s center. Large older homes lined both sides of the road.

  Noting nothing out of order, Illaria hustled down the sidewalk in her socks, uncaring when she stumbled over cracks and rises in the cement.

  She pounded on her neighbor’s door until he dragged himself over to answer. A grumpy sylph—an air spirit with roots in ancient Greece—named Forest stared her down, his hair the color of roasted chestnuts a mess around his face.

  “You know better than to come calling this late. We’ve had this same discussion at least ten times before,” he told her, scratching his neck. He yawned and his mouth went wide. “I fell asleep in front of the television again.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Illaria didn’t wait for an invitation. Short enough to do it, she moved underneath his arm and set out down the hallway like she owned the place.