Of Blood and Sacrifice: A Realms Novel

By Mary Ann Hinrichs

Soon to be eighteen, Ro McBay has never met her father, has never learned his name, and has never seen his photograph. He left on the day of Ro’s birth and never returned.

When Ro’s old and extremely odd next door neighbor, Mrs. O’Leary, gets a visit from a handsome, young stranger, Ro’s secret dream of someday meeting her father becomes a nightmare - one which may possibly kill her.

After the stranger admits he is a warrior fae sent by Queen Eriu of Faery, he offers Ro a chance at saving her father and the mortal realm. Ro doesn’t know if the distracting Cian Brodie is simply crazy or full-on certifiable. Faeries aren’t real, right?

But when Torin, an assassin from the Winter Court, begins hunting Ro as well, she is forced to see the truth for what it is - a death sentence. “No, luv, not a lie, but a horrible truth. My kind are infamous for their brutal honesty and deadly honor. Come with me now, and maybe my liege will keep you.”

Forced to choose between death or enslavement, Ro’s destiny is one of blood and sacrifice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664197701

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Mary Ann Hinrichs.

All rights reserved. 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 copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/28/2021

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

The Legend

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

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Epilogue

For my grandma Nancy - who taught me

family is more than bloodlines.

And for my husband - my otherworldly

prince - forever and always.

"The more a thing is perfect, the more

it feels pleasure and pain."

Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy

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The Legend

In the beginning, Light shared The Great Void with Dark. So stark and formidable were their differences, neither dared to breach the boundary dividing the other’s existence. But as The Ages shifted, melding millennia into eons, Light grew curious and crossed into Dark’s shuddering void.

Wrapped in Dark’s inky folds, Light burned with a taunting, endless hunger. Fearful of Light’s mysterious warmth, Dark roared back in cold, unforgiving waves of rage, urging Light’s retreat. Yet Light did not run from Dark’s unbending scorn, but flung a legion of blistering suns into the core of Dark’s empty heart. In time, Dark’s wounds healed into imposing scars, forming realms within realms - one of gods, one of men, and one of shadow.

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"Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in Faery lands forlorn…"

- Keats

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Chapter 1

The Realm of Faery

The Lord of Winter arrived in his usual form - belligerent and surly. Monstrous clouds stripped the glorious fae sky of its golden luster, leaving the horizon cloaked in frosted greys and bitter shadows. Even the wistful sea rose from its languid stillness to shatter into a froth of madness. Without apology or invitation, Arwyn of Winter entered Faery in deadly pursuit of its queen.

Eriu rose from her throne of star-fire diamonds and sighed. Ruling was a tiresome chore, more so when one’s nemesis descended upon one’s doorstep. Arching her graceful brow, the queen of Faery met the Winter Lord’s black gaze with feigned indifference. As sole matriarch to all fae courts, Eriu had no equal. Here, within the jeweled heart of Faery, the violet skies and lilac winds coalesced to enhance her powers, assuring its queen dominance over all who dared to enter the unmatched realm.

Shifting her gaze to the only fae cunning enough to slip through her defenses, Eriu stifled the urge to sink her claws into his frozen heart. Arwyn of Winter, this is certainly a most unpleasant surprise. In one, graceful step, Eriu stood dangerously close to the fae lord. Have you come to ask for an end to your miserable existence? An ivory hand slid to the jeweled dagger belted at her waist.

Arwyn grinned, sparking life into his twilight eyes. Ah, Eriu, still so lovely, still so cruel. I assumed you would be pleased to see me powerless and weak within these glistening walls of yours.

Her name, uttered from those brutal lips, sent a frosty ripple up her spine. Both a curse and a temptation, the Lord of Winter unleashed memories better left chained to their wounded past. "As I recall, the need to please yourself has always been your greatest weakness. With a slight flutter of lash, she added, Until this rather daring sojourn, I had all but forgotten you once prowled this realm."

Towering over his queen, Arwyn challenged the monarch to recall their long, entangled history. "You once claimed me as your match, your confidant…, your lover. I know, my fair queen, you remember this." Sliding the tips of his fingers down Eriu’s silk-kissed arms, the Lord of Winter gambled with his eternal life, and covered her mouth with his.

Arwyn’s icy heat was an exhausting affair. In all things, the immortal was first a conqueror, finesse and subtlety left to those of lower ranks. Sinking her teeth into his lower lip, Eriu pushed free of his grip, her nails scoring the finery of Arwyn’s robes to the skin beneath. Such pleasures, my lord, are something I can get from any number of skilled courtesans. She smiled, washing his blood from her lips with a subtle brush of tongue.

Arwyn gave her nothing, not even a flicker of his displeasure. "Do you play me for a fool, my banrion?"

"My lord, I never play," she countered, inviting Arwyn to continue with his taunting of their troubled past, hoping he would give her a reason to sink her blade into his miserable heart.

For a thunderous rush of breath, Arwyn remembered Eriu’s gift for provoking madness. Vividly recalling her addictive talents, he could almost taste the memories. Her kiss, a toxin; her scent, an orchard blossoming beneath a spring sun; and her touch…, her touch could make even an immortal weep.

But they were not to be.

He had broken fae doctrine and Eriu was a monarch who followed the law like her warriors wielded their weapons - ruthlessly. To apologize, to have simply imagined mercy from Eriu had been a ridiculous hope. To Queen and Kingdom his destiny had been forged - neither had treated him justly. Coming to her realm today was no longer about winning Eriu back, an unlikely goal as there ever was, but about Rinn, her son.

Do you know where our prince is presently residing, my queen? Arwyn watched for the quickening of her sweet breath, for the dilation of those gemstone eyes. Eriu was a master of deception, but then, so was any respectable fae.

Eriu frowned. Prince Rinn was a restless sort, trapped within the galaxies of Faery, chained as he was to eternity. Even as a royal, he was not so different from other fae. But he was young yet, still lacking the experience, the cruelty one needed to rule the ruthless.

My queen? Arwyn pressed.

Her eyes caught his. Of late, my spies report the prince is seeking amusement with the House of Selkie.

Ah, yes, those lovely sirens of the sea, the lord responded thoughtfully. The prince does have an unquenchable appetite for beauty; however, my queen, you are mistaken. Rinn has not been frolicking along forlorn shores, but consorting with a mortal.

Eriu had suspected, but had never challenged the prince on his indiscretions. The last time Rinn had lingered in Faery, he’d reeked of human. Have you come to gloat then, Arwyn? How predictable of you.

Arwyn faltered, his plans to bargain with the queen unraveling into lunacy. He had thought to ask for a pardon, thought to barter for his return to Faery, to his rightful place at her side upon the dais. But Eriu would want her vengeance the moment the truth left his lips, and so Arwyn quickly altered his strategy. There were less dangerous ways to bring down a tyrant. I have come to offer you aid, my queen.

A deadly quiet settled throughout the chamber as Eriu studied the demagogue before her. Arwyn was calm except for the slight twitch of his sword hand, the one he used so expertly to seduce faery and human alike. The Winter Court is offering me succor? How delightful.

In a silky sashay of woman and gown, Eriu’s power rippled alongside Arwyn as if she had slammed her fist into his gut. You are either the most arrogant fae in all the courts or extremely stupid. Which is it, my lord, for I have little patience for either.

No, Eriu would not be granting him clemency this day, but he would glory in the moment his words found their home in her fickle heart. My queen, as we speak, the prince is within the mortal lands, awaiting the birth of his half-blood child.

Fire sparked from the queen’s eyes, a cruel, seething violet. You dare spout such treason? I have condemned others to the Shadows for less. What treacherous act are you about this time, Arywn? She buried her jewelled fingers into the silk swirled about his neck, pulling his face a breath from her own. Admit to your lies now and I will only strip you of your title. Continue and you will suffer an eternity with the Damned.

Victory bloomed in Arwyn’s gut, wild and glorious, but he schooled his features, hid his true nature from a monster on the verge of shattering. My queen, you know as well as I, our kind can not lie. I am here to offer aid to the Realm, and nothing more.

For a fleeting breath, Eriu let defeat own her, let it sink her exquisite shoulders and droop her fine brow. Then he touched her, let the softest of sighs caress her cheek, and her senses returned. It was true, fae-kind were unable to lie, but there were other ways to cheat the truth. Arwyn was foolish to a fault, but he wasn’t naive. Slowly, Eriu’s fingers unfurled, the finery at his neck frayed and shriveled. Send your best after the prince. Have him caged in a prison of your choosing. I will deal with his half-blood.

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Masters of magic and bearers of ancient knowledge, fae

became known as both angel and nightmare.

- The Book of Fae

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Chapter 2

Eighteen Years Later - The Mortal Realm

With her elbows in the dirt and a rip in her favorite jeans, Ro belly crawled her way through her neighbor’s heather bushes, cursing her cat every tedious inch. When I get my hands on you, Merlin, you are so done, she promised. From the moment the first thorn had scraped across her skin, plans to end her cat’s relentless fascination with gardens began forming inside Ro’s head. A simple visit to the vet for a few well-placed snips would cure Merlin’s incessant prowling - permanently.

Glancing down at her mud packed nails, she didn’t care if her cat purred like a soprano or if his chances of fathering little Merlins dropped to zero. If neutering the beast kept Ro from these endless recon missions into Mrs. O’Leary’s creepy yard, then Merlin was destined to live out the remainder of his nine-lives missing a few key parts of his anatomy.

Lately, sniffing and scratching his way through the old lady’s garden had become Merlin’s preferred pastime. Two days ago, after Mrs. O’Leary had lugged her ancient bones up to their front door and returned Merlin for the umpteenth time, Ro’s mother had arched one rigid brow in her daughter’s direction and vowed to donate the feline to a nearby research facility if he didn’t stop digging up the woman’s plants.

Stupid cat, Ro muttered, pushing herself deeper through the undergrowth. Within seconds a tiny cottage appeared on the other side of the hedge. The familiar flicker of light caught her eye first. The old woman didn’t own a light bulb. Candlelight twenty-four/seven was odd, but then so was Morighn O’Leary.

Marking a century or more, the little house appeared as feeble as the woman herself. Over time, the earth had digested its foundation of wood and stone, leaving the home stoically lopsided. Built to board the logging crews who had once roamed Caspian’s redwood forests by the hundreds, only a few of the relics still stood, and to Ro’s disappointment, Mrs. O’Leary seemed to enjoy rustic living. The old woman had moved into the hovel nearly eighteen years ago and would likely die between its termite-infested walls.

The wind shifted, freeing a leaf from an overhead branch to alight upon a chair O’Leary had built from animal bone and driftwood. Held together with leather strapping, the strange piece reminded Ro of a throne designed for summoning plagues and casting spells.

Shakespeare’s notorious chant popped into Ro’s head. "Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble, eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog…." Compared to her neighbor, Macbeth’s witches were ordinary. Last week, while Ro had been nestled beneath the covers reading Jane Eyre for Classic Lit, O’Leary’s throaty cackle had pulled her from Mr. Rochester’s declaration of love to her bedroom window where Ro had witnessed her neighbor dancing around a crackling fire wearing nothing but moonlight. There had been numerous other weird moments as well, the most notable being a seance on the front porch and a May Day celebration complete with a cauldron, stag antlers, a rainbow of candles, baskets stuffed with herbs and crowns of woven flowers. O’Leary was far too strange, even for an unconventional town like Caspian.

A streak of orange, trailing a bushy tail, appeared in Ro’s peripheral, abruptly banishing the mental images of old bones and sagging flesh. Damn it, Merlin, she grumbled, scrambling from her hiding place, come here or…

Mrs. O’Leary’s backdoor moaned in protest as a long shadow fell across the rickety deck. Ro didn’t hesitate. She bolted towards a cluster of oak trees and dove for cover. Rolling onto her knees, Ro peered out between a pair of sturdy trunks. When her eyes stumbled onto the old woman, every hair on Ro’s body tingled with panic.

Like a ghost stirred from the grave, Mrs. O’Leary slithered onto the groaning planks. Candlelight followed, outlining her brittle bones in a silhouette of gloom. One, leathery hand appeared beneath the frayed shawl draped across her shoulders. With a flick of her wrist, flamelight rose upon the woman’s fingertips and she moved to light the lantern hanging from a rafter overhead. In seconds, an ominous glow tapered down her withered body to slither about her ankles like mist.

Stepping to the porch’s edge, the old woman swept back a snarl of stormy hair and scanned the yard. Closing her eyes, she sniffed the wind and grinned, her broken teeth a yellow spark within the shadows.

Ro squirmed, disturbing the nest of withered leaves trapped beneath her knees. Mrs. O’Leary’s eyes snapped open and slid onto the ring of oaks. Ro’s breath faltered, her body turning to stone. Suddenly, neutering Merlin with a pair of sewing scissors didn’t seem so unreasonable. As if on cue, the cat’s whine pierced the quiet. Ro turned to catch a flicker of Merlin’s bold stripes darting across the yard, disappearing yet again beneath a hedge of greenery.

Damn stupid cat.

Returning her attention to O’Leary’s porch, Ro choked on a gasp.

The woman was gone.

Ro scanned the tangled yard, quickly realizing Mrs. O’Leary was skulking about the miniature forest of shrubbery and creepiness. Chest pounding, stomach coiling, Ro fell back on her heels, and tried to keep from throwing up. Visions of O’Leary hacking bodies, human and feline, into bite-sized pieces and dropping them into a fire-hot cauldron rushed into her head. She tried to swallow, but dry, desperate fear had lodged itself firmly in the back of her throat.

A heavy fall of footsteps echoed off O’Leary’s porch, rerouting Ro’s focus onto a pair of long legs encased in low slung jeans. Those powerful limbs came with a set of broad shoulders straining beneath a white button-up, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm. As the newcomer stepped into a lonely sliver of afternoon sun, Ro’s lungs stuttered to a halt. His hair lit into swirls of caramel and curled down his neck in a chaotic tangle. Brows drawn tight, he leaned a hip against the deck’s rail, one hand slipping into a front pocket. Framed by what was left of the daylight, the stranger reminded Ro of a wary angel, one tempting step away from exile. Crossing his arms, Angel Boy took a thorough survey of the wild yard, locking in on the circle of trees like some GPS tracking device. With a confident grin, he vaulted off the porch and headed towards Ro.

She didn’t think it was possible, but Ro was certain Angel Boy knew she was hiding within the small grove, cringing like a whipped dog. With her pulse hurling into the ozone, she sat paralyzed, hoping she was trapped in some freakish nightmare where she’d wake-up, sweat-drenched on her bedroom floor, sheets tangled at her ankles and Merlin in his bed.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Wake the hell up, Ro. Now.

The sturdy beat of his stride had her eyes reopening.

This was no dream.

Digging her fingers into the bark, Ro watched Angel Boy prowl his way closer, each step narrowing her chances of escape.

Cian, Mrs. O’Leary’s voice cracked in the distance.

The immense figure halted, but his gaze remained on the trees. Aye, Morighn, Angel Boy answered in a brogue suspiciously resembling O’Leary’s.

The old woman appeared alongside the porch, Ro’s cat cradled in her arms. ‘Twas Merlin making mischief in the brambles. What do you make of it lad? It could be a sign, no?

When Angel Boy turned towards Mrs. O’Leary, Ro quietly gulped down the ocean of spit pooling in the back of her mouth.

A sign? Perhaps, Cian nodded, studying the yard a bit more strategically.

Felines are known to sniff out magic and its kind, the woman added.

In a few strides, Angel Boy stood next to Ro’s neighbor. If you’ve been outplayed, Morighn, you best hope Eriu never learns of it, Cian answered, reaching for Merlin.

With an eager bellow, the cat squirmed out of the woman’s feeble embrace and into Cian’s arms, snuggling contently against an expansive landscape of chiseled muscle.

Mrs. O’Leary peered up at her imposing guest. You know well, Cian, glamour is no easy task.

Key-an? The name sounded more demon-like than angel, Ro thought sourly, as she strained to see through the deepening shadows. Who was Angel Boy? Maybe a grandson, no, he’d called her Morighn, not grandma. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. The guy was probably some long, lost relative and, by the sounds of it, just as crazy as her neighbor. What the hell - magic and glamour?

Cian’s gaze fell back on the grove. I see you have yourself a rare bit of oak stands.

The woman nodded. Oh, aye, feast days are not to be forgotten, lad.

A frown marred Cian’s face, turning the angel into something a bit more human. The Hunt will soon be upon us, he remarked, stroking the length of Merlin’s back. "You’ll be needing to do some of your witchery before then, cailleach."

The Hunt? Ro had read about the ancient festival in an old book her grandfather had given her years ago. What she remembered was creepy. It was a sort of ritual in honor of some demon and a few of his bloodthirsty friends. Too bad, Ro thought absently, Angel Boy was gorgeous, but obviously crazy.

Come, the old woman urged. ‘Tis time to find if the blood is true.

Cian grinned, giving the oaks one last glance.

Nearing the top of the porch, Mrs. O’Leary beckoned. Bring the curious tomcat along. I’ve a use for the feline.

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Fae find the human race both tempting and repulsive.

- The