Just One Touch

By Erin Grace

Once upon a time, the powerful Lianhan Shee—the Celtic Love Fairy--could capture a mortal man's heart with a mere glance, trapping him into a life of misery and unrequited love until his death.

Nowadays, it is all she can do to get noticed.

Bored and wanting to prove her powers aren't weakening in the modern Irish world, she accepts a dangerous wager, one that could see her kneel at the bidding of a scheming leprechaun.

But, the mortal chosen as her target isn't all he seems…

As the battle begins for magic gold, immortality and the soul of a man who sees what others can't, will love prove to be the most powerful weapon of all?

 

 

 

*(Previously published as Blind Devotion)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erin Grace
• Release date: Oct 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393403937

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bored.

That’s what she was.

Below her perch on a rocky outcrop, a procession of drunken men staggered by in the wee hours through the swirling mist blanketing the ground, all casualties of last night’s St. Patrick’s Day celebrations.

During the reveling she could have taken her pick of vulnerable young men, but for the first time in millennia, had rejected them all.

Hell.

If word got out that the Lianhan Shee wasn’t interested in enslaving mortal men, the faerie folk would take great pleasure in mocking her. With no conscience, no remorse, she’d enslaved the hearts of countless men, all of whom had never once so much as touched her but had been willing to give their very lives to please her.

Nothing ever had.

Millions of flowers, thousands of romantic poems, gifts to befit a queen…the men went to their graves professing love eternal, and in reply she’d simply smiled and assured each of them she would be theirs alone…together forever in Tir-na-nOg--Land of Eternal Youth.

Strange. It never seemed to bother any of the poor fools that the only way to get to Tir-na-nOg was to die.

In fact, the harsher she’d treated her besotted admirers, the more determined they’d become to win her heart.

What heart?

Now, why the forlorn face, me lovely?

Fergal. Her shoulders sagged, and a soft groan escaped her throat.

He was the last creature she wanted to see.

Such fools, mortals, to adorn trinkets and food packages with leprechauns, who were not the cute and cheerful folk they supposed. And Fergal was the biggest exception of all.

Even with his hat and boots he stood barely to her hip. A fine down of red hair covered his pudgy body, and his rubbery looking skin stunk like mold. A bulbous nose sat between his ruddy cheeks, more the result from too much whiskey than from ever being cheerful. In fact, for as long as she’d known Fergal, he seemed to be in a temporal state of hangover, which made his demeanor grumpy at best.

Now something akin to mischief glinted in his brilliant emerald eyes--his only redeeming feature.

She crossed her arms and continued watching the crowd. What do you want?

Oh, nothin’. Just surprised is all that you’re not down there seducing some poor soul into giving his life for you. His sleazy expression repulsed her. Wouldn’t be losing your touch, now would you?

Don’t be an imbecile, Fergal. I don’t need your petty provoking this morning. Haven’t you got anything better to do? Besides, I am the Lianhan Shee. I don’t ‘lose my touch’, as you so eloquently put it.

A wry smile curled the edge of his mouth upward.

Damn it. He knew he’d riled her. Smug little wretch.

No. No, of course not, lovely. He took a pipe from his bright green jacket, stuffed some tobacco into it then struck a match. But you have to agree these modern folk are very different from folk in the past, aren’t they?

She shrugged off his observation. I don’t believe so. Men are men. That fact will never change.

Hmm, you think so, eh? He puffed on the smoldering pipe, blew out some greenish-gray smoke, then leaned forward and peered at the men below. Now then, let me see. There’s a big fellow...no, he’s gay.

She let out a sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes.

And those four over there? No. Football fans. He shook his head and glanced up at her. They’d already be drunk enough to think they were God’s gift to womankind. Not sure how effective your powers would be on that lot.

Anger welled and raced through her veins like molten lead. Blasted little gnome had some nerve interfering in her work.

But, as a scorching reprimand scolded her lips, she knew in some ways he was right.

Hell.

Folklore magic was growing weaker by the day. She could no longer deny it. Once, a man had only to catch her eye and they were fatally smitten.

Was it the times changing? Or had she?

Admittedly, the repetition of her task had grown dull after millennia, but now these modern men presented different problems. What strange and ridiculous creatures they were. Many found affection only in the eyes of their fellow men, whilst others blinded themselves with self-worth every time they opened their mouths.

Hair care, fashion, emotions. How could she seduce a man by sight, if she couldn’t move his gaze away from the mirror? She hadn’t seen so much male flamboyance since the Renaissance.

Well?

Perfect. The little toad was still there.

She scowled. Well, what?

I’ll tell you what, lovely. Just for a lark, what say we make a wager?

She wouldn’t trust Fergal not to cheat on any bet. Exactly what kind of wager?

His smile broadened, revealing his yellow stained and chipped teeth.

Charming.

He pointed his pipe at the drunken mob. "Let’s say I choose your next suitor…"

And?

And, if you can make him love you, I will grant you a piece o’ me lucky gold.

What a horrid creature.

Yet no leprechaun worth his salt ever parted with his treasure. Lucky gold wasn’t just mere precious metal…each piece was a powerful spell that could grant the owner any one thing they desired.

No. What he offered was too valuable--even to faerie folk. He must be up to something.

She shrugged and straightened the sleeves on her amber gown. Come now, Fergal. What would I want with a wish?

He crossed his arms and puffed on his pipe. Oh, I don’t know. But why not look at it as currency for future use?

Bloody toad.

He’d obviously guessed what she’d really needed. Not gold. A challenge. Someone who’d give her a bit of sport rather than simply fall for her at first glance.

She turned to face him. And if I fail? Though, I must warn you, Fergal, it has never happened--ever.

Understood, me lovely. I’m willing to take the chance. He paced before her, a little jig in his step. If you lose, you agree to be me companion for…let’s say…one hundred years.

Outraged, she shot him a fiery stare. Insidious creature. And if I refuse to accept this ludicrous bet?

How she’d love to wipe the smirk from his podgy face.

Well, I’ll not think you the worst for it. I understand how intimidating it must be for you to accept a wager you might lose.

She clenched her