Fae war chronicles the c.., p.1
Fae War Chronicles: The Complete Series, page 1
Fae War Chronicles
The Complete Series
Jessica Wayne
Contents
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Accidental Fae
1. Ember
2. Ember
3. Ember
4. Ember
5. Ember
6. Ember
7. Ember
8. Ember
9. Ember
10. Ember
11. Ember
12. Ember
13. Rafferty
14. Ember
15. Ember
16. Ember
17. Ember
18. Rafferty
19. Ember
20. Ember
21. Ember
22. Ember
23. Rafferty
24. Ember
25. Ember
26. Ember
27. Ember
28. Rafferty
29. Ember
30. Ember
31. Rafferty
Cursed Fae
1. Ember
2. Ember
3. Rafferty
4. Ember
5. Ember
6. Rafferty
7. Ember
8. Rafferty
9. Rafferty
10. Ember
11. Ember
12. Rafferty
13. Ember
14. Ember
15. Rafferty
16. Ember
17. Rafferty
18. Ember
19. Ember
20. Rafferty
21. Ember
22. Ember
23. Rafferty
24. Ember
25. Rafferty
26. Ember
27. Rafferty
28. Ember
29. Rafferty
30. Ember
31. Rafferty
32. Ember
33. Ember
34. Ember
Fire Fae
1. Ember
2. Rafferty
3. Ember
4. Ember
5. Rafferty
6. Ember
7. Rafferty
8. Ember
9. Ember
10. Rafferty
11. Ember
12. Ember
13. Rafferty
14. Ember
15. Rafferty
16. Ember
17. Ember
18. Rafferty
19. Rafferty
20. Rafferty
21. Ember
22. Ember
23. Rafferty
24. Ember
25. Rafferty
26. Ember
27. Rafferty
28. Ember
29. Rafferty
30. Ember
Acknowledgments
Also By Jessica Wayne
About Jessica Wayne
Fae War Chronicles,
By Jessica Wayne
Copyright © 2022. All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or actual events is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission of the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Bewitching Covers by Rebecca Frank
Edited by Dawn Y.
Proofread by McKenna Lay & Tasha Lewis
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Accidental Fae
Accidental Fae
Saved by a dark fae warrior.
I never expected to see the age of thirty.
It was something I'd come to terms with.
Or so I'd thought.
Kidnapped by a murderous fae who thinks I have a magical vagina that will make him the true king of Faerie (no, that is not a joke), I have very few choices left.
Then I land--literally--at the feet of a sculpted warrior whose darkening golden gaze haunts my every moment.
He's gorgeous.
Deadly.
Imprisoned beneath the castle.
And my very life rests on the promise he makes me.
A promise that might just be my undoing.
This one is for Heather.
Thank you for talking through the crazy with me.
Chapter 1
Ember
Death.
A fun word, right? After all, what other word consisting of five ordinary letters possesses the ability to ground the dreamers, cripple the strong, and bury the hopes of all who hear it? Dramatic? Maybe. Probably. But as I sit here, staring at four stark-white walls boasting various degrees that still didn’t give the man before me the knowledge to save my life, I feel like I’ve earned that right.
The right to be a tad dramatic.
Even if I have no more tears to cry.
Dr. Alexander, a man pushing seventy, closes my file and leans back in his chair. His white hair has lost all its pepper, and his hazel eyes appear haunted by failure. “I’m so sorry, Miss Hall. We’ve checked everything and—”
I don’t need him to continue because I’ve heard it all before, using one phrasing or another. Over and over again these past five years, they’ve all said the same thing.
We can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.
We’ve run every test.
Triple checked every scan.
I’m so sorry.
There’s nothing more we can do.
Let me refer you to my colleague.
We can make you comfortable.
We can treat the symptoms.
The suffocating lump in my throat grows larger; every breath burns with the force of my grief. My anger. I’d let myself get my hopes up. Let myself believe that even though I’ve been fighting this battle for half a decade, this time, things would be different.
This time, they’d find what was wrong with me.
Boy was I wrong. How damned fitting—a girl with no past lacks a future as well. It all feels so pointless, doesn’t it? So completely and utterly pathetic. After all, what the hell is the point of my life? I haven’t done anything of notoriety.
Never saved a life.
Never fallen in love.
I won’t get a chance to mother the next President or a scientist who can cure diseases like mine.
So what the hell has the point of my life been? I’ll answer that one: there is none. I’m one of the few who literally has no purpose. Fun deck of cards I’ve been dealt. A family who abandoned me, an orphanage who never wanted me, and now a disease that is killing me.
One, two, three, and the blows just keep on coming. My gaze drifts out the window to the people laughing and strolling through the park across the street.
A couple sits beneath the shade of a thick, towering tree, enjoying what looks to be a picnic lunch while their kids run and play near a pond dotted with different colored ducks. The serene scene should make me smile. Instead, I’m filled with an overwhelming jealousy that just pisses me off.
Forcing my attention away, I scan the park, doing a double-take when I see the massive wall of muscle standing on the other side of the street, staring directly toward the office. Cars pass, but he remains on the sidewalk, staring. My pulse hammers as my throat goes dry. Holy cow, that man is gorgeous. And half-naked.
Tan skin stretches across muscles I didn’t even know could exist—you could literally wash clothes on those abs. Was he running? I crane my neck around to try and get a better look; I mean, I may be dying, but I’m not dead, yet. And something about him is almost—familiar? I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before—
Dr. Alexander tilts his head, obscuring my view. “Miss Hall? Ember?”
“Huh?” I stretch out further, only to see that the man is already gone, likely finishing his run toward some gorgeous girlfriend who is just as healthy as he is. Ugh, I’m being such a downer I’m even annoying myself.
“Ember,” he says my name again, so I swallow hard and refocus entirely.
Hazel eyes train on me through thick-rimmed glasses, and the doctor leans back in his seat, running a hand through his silver hair, sighing as he does it.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
He smiles softly, revealing a look of pity I know all too well. It makes my stomach churn. I don’t want pity. I want help. Answers. I want a chance to live a full life—to get a man like the one outside to take a second look at me.
Is that really too much to ask?
The doctor sighs. “Maybe it’s time you meet with a grief counselor. Someone who can help you come to terms with what’s happening.”
I snort. If I had a dime… “Come to terms with dying at the ripe old age of twenty-six? I’ll pass, thanks.”
“You know, it’s normal to be angry. Afraid. Learning that you only have six months—”
“Thank you for your help,” I interrupt him, not wanting to hear another damn word. “I really appreciate everything you tried to do for me. I won’t ever forget it. In fact, I’ll remember until the day I d ie.” Pushing to my feet, I sling the olive-green strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder.
Dr. Alexander stands as well. “Think about what I said.”
Uh-oh. There’s the problem with not listening. “Which part?”
“Going into hospice care could keep you comfortable until…”
That’s a new one. “Until I die?”
He purses his lips. “I truly am sorry.”
Forcing a smile, I step forward and offer my hand. He takes it, holding it softly, as though the slightest pressure might break me. That’s been the worst part of dying. Having everyone treat me like I’m made of glass. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. But I won’t be going into hospice care.”
“Ember, you don’t have anyone. Accepting help is not—”
“I’ll be fine,” I interrupt. Thanks for the reminder that I’m all alone.
Thankfully, he seems to have the good nature not to argue with me. “Please, just think about it. While you do, we can continue the cold therapy. It seems to help keep the spells at bay.”
I know he’s just looking out for me; after all, we’ve spent the last year running every test, trying every possible route to manage my symptoms, and so far, nothing has worked. But he’s the only doctor, out of the sixteen I’ve seen over the last five years, who I believe has actually given it his all.
Yet, he still found nothing. No one can tell me why I pass out at random, why my hot flashes make me feel as if I’m about to spontaneously combust. And so far, no matter how many tests they run or how many ‘specialists’ I see, not a single doctor has been able to tell me why my temperature runs over a hundred degrees…or why my organs are shutting down, one by one. How, one moment, I feel totally normal, and the next, I can be nearly positive that I’m about to draw my last breath.
“Thank you for everything. Sincerely. But I won’t be needing the cold therapy anymore.” I offer him a hug then force myself to leave his office before he can bring up hospice again or ask me why I turned down the one treatment that brought me any relief.
Sarah, the receptionist, glances up from her computer to offer me a smile and a wave. “See you later, Ember.”
Once upon a time, right after I’d started seeing Dr. Alexander, we’d gone out for a girls’ night. Drinks at the club. She’d gone home with a man she’s now engaged to. She’d been the closest thing I’d ever had to a friend…until I’d confided in her that my prognosis had worsened.
Wasn’t long after that she’d pulled back. Stopped inviting me out, stopped returning my messages.
Not that I blame her. There aren’t many people who’d want to be friends with a walking dead woman. After all, why would you want to grieve someone you just met?
“See you around,” I say. “Good luck with the wedding.”
“You know you’re invited.”
I tap my bag. “Have my invitation right here.” Neither of us mentions the giant elephant in the room. Her wedding is in just over a year, and according to the good doctor, I have less than six months before my entire body shuts down and I join the dearly departed.
Sunshine warms my bare shoulders as I step out into the bright early-summer afternoon. Texas summer came early this year, and with my hot flashes, I’m already rocking cut-off shorts and a tank top in the seventy-degree weather. Since my temperature runs at one-hundred-and-four on average, one-ten during a spike, there aren’t many opportunities for me to be cold.
I step up to the curb and force my attention away from the handsome businessman waiting for the crosswalk beside me. Not that he pays me any attention, at all. Since I can’t keep anything down, putting any kind of weight on is impossible. Add that to my flushed skin, thinning hair, and gaunt appearance—let’s just say I know I’m less than noticeable.
It’s embarrassing to have the body of a pre-pubescent teenager, but at least I don’t look healthy. Pretty sure that would be false advertising.
The pedestrian light turns green, so I step out onto the street with the businessman as his stride carries him farther and farther away from me. I’ve made this walk more times than I can count, so as I head home, my mind drifts to the moment that started all of this.
I was twenty-one when I passed out for the first time. Right in the middle of teaching a self-defense class at the Y. I had my first dream then, too—a vision of me running from something that I now believe was a subconscious message about trying to outrun the reaper. Maybe my brain knew I was going to die before my body did.
When I woke up, they told me my temperature and heart rate had both skyrocketed and they weren’t sure how I was even still alive. A ‘miracle’ they’d called it. And when a week passed and neither vitals changed, they told me there was nothing more they could do for me there, and they sent me to a specialist. The rest is history. One doctor after another, one bad news meeting after another, and here we are.
Bitter acceptance.
As it always does after an appointment, numbness consumes me, blocking out my ability to care. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be abducted by one of those supernatural creatures claimed to have been outed in Montana a few months ago.
I snort. Leave the fiction to the fairy tales, Ember.
My apartment building looms ahead, and I pause on the sidewalk for just a moment. The decent trust fund set up for me by the family I never met is nearly gone, as is the savings I’d managed to earn working two jobs.
Not that it matters, can’t take money with me when I die, right? With a deep breath, I make my way inside. Before I even fully step foot into the lobby, I’m rushed by Amber and Heather, the two women working the front desk. Never too far behind looms Wally, the door man.
Cue the rapid-fire.
Heather’s first. “Well?”
Then Amber. “What did he say?”
Finally, Wally. “Anything?”
I smile softly, hating that I have such crap news to deliver. They are the only three who haven’t run from me, despite my worsening condition. And I’m pretty sure that’s because I was already sick when I moved here seven months ago to be closer to the hospital.
They’ve never known me any other way.
Then there’s the shit fact that Wally has found me passed out on my floor in a pool of my own blood more than once. They’ve all seen me at my worst, and never my best. Maybe I should be grateful because Dr. Alexander was wrong.
Even though I have no family, I know I’m not alone.
I look at each of them individually, letting my gaze travel over their faces, absorbing the hope in their eyes.
Hope that I’m about to crush. Honestly, as shitty as it is for me to think this way, it was almost easier when no one cared. When everyone pulled away from me. “He said there’s nothing more they can do.”
One by one, their expressions falter. Wally sniffles, and Heather gently touches his arm as she glances at Amber.
