The Rising: Thea: Eve Of The Fae

By Jane O'Roarke

A Medium-Burn Romantic Fantasy.

Thea Duffy's arrival in London sets a series of calamities in motion sending her running back to the mountains of WV after a wild one-and-done with a sexy Scotsman...or three.

Cormac and Fyn don't have time for doomsday prophecies or their grandmother's ravings about faeries. They are too busy saving the family business and Clan heirloom, but the universe has other plans. The stakes are higher than anyone knows; is this the beginning of the end?

Best suited for 18+ for language, sexual content. This is a MEDIUM-BURN book in a standalone series that ends in a HFN and an eventual HEA.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane O'Roarke
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223540526

Jane O'Roarke

I'm Jane O'Roarke, and I write paranormal, fantasy romance, and sports romance. Most of my books are on Amazon as Kindle Unlimited, but the first book in each of my series can also be found on Apple, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, Kobo, and more stores around the world. I write heroines who aren't afraid to walk on the wild side. They are strong women who have lived life, and made mistakes but still want to find love on their own terms. The Beginning: Thea introduces my EVE OF THE FAE series, which delves into the mountain community of Rocky Top, West Virginia, and the mysterious happenings around Thea Duffy, musical virtuoso and an unsuspecting queen of the Tuatha de Danann. Necessary Line introduces my Men of Honor series, where you meet the BRAVO Platoon of SEAL TEAM 42 as they hunt for Prvobitan, an elusive international terrorist organization.

Book preview

One

Dulles Airport, Virginia

Thea Duffy wiped her hands free of gravel and mud from the puddle of dirty, slushy water she’d just fallen in. She glanced around to see who had seen her spectacular wipeout.

Everyone. Awesome.

She gave a little wave and an embarrassed smile to reassure the gawkers that she was fine and they could go on about their business. Yep. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.

A typical day in the life of Thea Duffy, one minute walking along humming a haunting melody, searching for that elusive note, the next minute ass over teakettle with her legs flailing in the air, water seeping into her undies.

Thea sighed as she lifted the strap of her heavy satchel bag over her head. She carefully set it out of the range of mud. Bending her knees closer to her chest, she wiped the blood from her knee. Both pant legs were muddy and torn, with no hope for recovery or cover-up. Unsurprising since she’d fallen on all fours in a puddle the size of a small ditch.

Super.

Tilting her head back, she looked up at the sky and blew out a deep breath. Fuck.

She should have stayed at a hotel last night instead of driving in early from the mountains. The narrow roads across the Shenandoah Valley had left her exhausted, overwhelmed, and not feeling the seven-hour international flight ahead of her. The side-trip into the mud puddle rounded out the morning. As a rule, Thea looked on the bright side, especially given all the out-of-control things in her life.

So, falling in a mud puddle at the airport? Check.

This is the way her life rolled and reason number fifty-three why she was thrilled to stay in her mountain cabin up on the ridge and do her own thing.

Pushing her long black hair out of her face, she shifted her sunglasses up onto her head and looked around for the best way to get herself off the ground.

Do you need some help, miss? The voice startled her, coming out of the blue like that. A spectacular man, tall and handsome in a crisp blue suit, leaned toward her, hand extended.

Did she need help?

Just a little.

Some days, Thea wondered how she'd ever survived her childhood. For the most part, she was a walking disaster. She'd been the freak child of her small mountain town, lost in her head or constantly scribbling down music on scraps of paper.

A musical virtuoso. Thea snorted. Right.

Reaching up, she gripped his hand and allowed him to pull her up. Keeping her head ducked, she adjusted her clothes, wiping as much dirt off as possible, not that it helped. She felt incredibly rumpled compared to the black polished shoes and sharply creased suit pants she could see from the corner of her eye.

Thank you, she said softly.

Happy to help, ma'am. His voice was deep and soothing, somehow making her feel better and worse at the same time. She shifted, wishing she could sink into the ground.

The man just stood there as if waiting for something. Thea shifted nervously. Thank you… ahhh.

Jake, he said, flashing a smile that made butterflies flutter in her stomach. Wow.

This is Nico. Jake motioned to a second man, dark haired and as beautiful as the first, who moved to her other side. Nico bent down to grab the strap of the satchel bag she'd taken off earlier.

Oh, sorry. I've got that. Thea’s hand brushed against his as she grabbed the handle. A shiver ran through her. Wow. These guys were way out of her league. Thea didn't know why, but she felt like they were security or spies or something. Tall and well-built, even without uniforms, they had an air of military about them. They reminded her of Sean and the other deputies that had come to Rocky Top with her ex-Navy SEAL brother, Wes.

Did you need something else, ma'am? Nico asked, glancing at an expensive watch before looking back at her.

Embarrassed to be caught staring, Thea quickly responded, Umm, sorry. Get back on track, Thea. She would miss her flight if she didn't get going. Could you point me in the direction of a bathroom so I can change? Thea's hand fluttered down to her wet pants.

Straight ahead through those double doors. Then take a left. You should see them. Nico’s voice was rumbly and just as delicious as Jake’s.

Thanks again for your help. Gathering her things, she quickly pulled her large rolling luggage toward the doors. Her satchel, briefcase and purse were strapped across her chest like a bandolero.

Don't look back. Don't look back.

She lasted until she got to the sliding doors, then she quickly looked over her shoulder. Both men were standing where she'd left them, watching her intently.

Yikes. Thea gave a small, embarrassed wave.

Jake nodded in response, and Thea moved forward quickly into the bustling building. With a deep breath, she reset her mood. Even though she’d been pissed at Ursulette for secretly sending her music, Thea was beyond excited to finally be traveling to London for the award ceremony. She half expected to receive a call that it had all been a mistake, that they'd meant a different Thea Duffy.

Thea practiced her positive affirmations before moving into the restroom. You are successful. You are successful. You are successful. Crossing the space, she pushed open the large accessible stall, dropping her bag to the floor before pulling out a dry set of clothing. As she changed, she tried to calm down and forget about the rough start of the day.

Falling into the puddle was not an omen of things to come.

Nope, it was just a sign that Thea wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. As usual. At times, Thea felt like the constant sounds in her head were the only thing she could focus on. Sometimes the sounds were random, jarring, and disordered. Other times, they flowed together as easily as a song on the radio. As early as six, she'd realized no one else had a constant soundtrack running through their head. Nope, that was her special torture. Worse, once she focused on the notes, the outside world disappeared. It didn't matter if she was sitting in her chair, walking down the street, or driving.

Absence seizures are what the doctor called it, which didn't help at all other than making her lose her driver's license when she was younger. Which, at the time had been a good thing for other drivers and the town's safety. But, with the help of her brother Wes, she’d gotten her license back and had driven herself to Dulles without mishap.

She couldn't just let the music do its own thing while she went about her business. Oh no, she felt a constant need to get the melodies right, to correct that one discordant note that inevitably popped up. No matter what was going on around her or what else she was supposed to be doing.

Like getting onto her first flight. Ever.

She gazed into the mirror, checking her appearance as she smoothed down her fly-away hair. London. Even though she'd barely left her home state of West Virginia, she was flying over the ocean to a new country. What the hell?

The overhead speaker blared, announcing that her flight was about to board. Hurriedly shoving everything back into her luggage, she rushed out the door, right into somebody. Masculine hands grasped her arms to steady her. Slow down, miss.

As she watched, a red flush moved up the man's face, his eyes dilating. He ran his hands up and down Thea's arms in a way that was totally freaking weird.

The day had gone from awesome hot-guys encounter to run-away from the nut-job guy in like ten minutes flat. That was a record, even for her.

Sorry. I didn't see you. Thea nervously sidestepped away from him.

The man had moved very close to her. Too close.

Thea darted around him before quickly walking to the airline counter. He followed closely, way inside her bubble. The ticket agent was busy, stoically dealing with an angry passenger. It looked like his day had gone as well as hers. She shifted, trying to distance herself from the man. In the awkward silence, she gestured to the bags at her feet. I can check my luggage here, right?

The crazy man just stared at her without responding. Thea looked around, watching as other passengers lifted their bags onto the scale. Thea nervously hummed one of her melodies beneath her breath while she waited for him to move, or say something, or hell, even blink.

Nothing. Thea's fingers started tapping a rhythm on her purse, a sign of her anxiety. Luckily, the ticket agent came over. She handed him her passport and ticket information. The phone rang, distracting the agent as he handed Thea a sticker band to put on the luggage at her feet. The crazy man was still standing next to her, staring. Sir? Thea waved a hand in front of his face. I need to get the rest of my luggage onto the scale. Can you move back?

He drew a deep breath, his nostrils flaring before grabbing the tag from her hand, reaching for the handle of her satchel. I'll take care of it for you. She watched as he affixed the baggage tag and put it on the scale.

Thea quietly asked the ticket agent if she was done. He was still on the phone but nodded, so she took that as a yes, and while the crazy man wasn't looking, she hurried away. She wanted to put space between herself and the man. She still hadn't made it through security. God, she was going to miss her flight. Moving quickly down the concourse, the last call for her flight pushed her into a dodging, weaving half-run.

Get a grip, girl. Laughing, she slid onto the terminal tram right before the doors closed.

Ekofisk Oil Field, North Sea

The engine strained as the fifie bounced against the white-capped waves of the North Sea. Faint lights glowed from the windows of a dilapidated building perched along the cliff on the small island in the Ekofisk oil fields. The winter night was cold. Tiny snowflakes blew through the air ruffling Brigid O'Donal's long white hair. Visibility was low. Luckily, there wasn't anything to see, just endless waves, water, and small islands that local fishermen used for resupplying or shelter from harsh weather. Brigid knew her way around these waters as well as any of the fishermen, having been born nearby long before these islands became prizes in a tug of war between Norway and Scotland.

Don't say a word that it was me that brought you here, Brigid.

Brigid looked back at Gerry, a friend of more than fifty years now. Don't fash yourself. I won't mention you at all.

I mean it. Your grandson told me not to take you out again, or he'd –

If my grandson wants me to stay out of boats, he should stop cavorting in strip clubs out in the back of beyond. Brigid didn't have time for this foolishness.

Gerry shook his head, not bothering to respond.

Brigid grinned to herself. I'll be in and out before you know it.

Brigid tucked a wisp of hair back under the plaid woolen scarf she'd wrapped around her head. She scanned the shore as they reached the dock. Good. No one was there. Time was short, and Fyn O'Shanahan needed to stop wasting time in places like this. Brigid had one goal here, to finally get her grandson to listen to her warnings and get himself down to London before the world ended.

Because the world was ending, she'd known it for years, the signs and whispers she'd heard all her life were screaming at her that the time for action was now.

In the old days, the days of her birth in a small Gaelic village, they'd have called her a Seer, a respected wisewomen valued for having 'the sight.' But modern people just called her crazy, so she most often kept her visions to herself. She'd forgotten her exact birthdate, but she knew it was long enough ago that no one would believe her if she told them. She was tired and ready to go on with her loved ones, but she couldn't leave until she protected her grandsons, even the ones who refused to listen to her like the seven braw men recently come from the oil rigs for 'relaxing' at this devilish place.

Why don't I just text Fyn and have him meet us down at the dock. This isn't any kind of place for an old-

Brigid whipped her head around to glare at Gerry, daring him to finish that sentence. And it's a place for an old geezer like you? Cavorting around with girls young enough to be your great-grandchildren. Shame-

Gerry sighed, tightening his lips in disapproval. I've never set foot in that place-

But you know what kind of place it is, then do you? Brigid snapped back.

Calm yourself, woman, Gerry grumbled, Don't ask me to wait for you if-

Brigid's laugh echoed as the boat slowed to a crawl, the bow nudging against the steel floating dock. You're like a wee bairn, getting your feelings hurt at a simple comment. Of course, you're going to wait for me, aren't you love.

Gerry ducked his head, turning the engine off and focusing on tying the ropes. A smile lifted the corner of her lips when she heard his sigh. Gerry was a dear, sweet old man, easily swayed by a kind word or two. Heaviness filled her as she tightened her coat around her. Placing her hand in Gerry's, she got out of the boat. She looked ahead at the steep flight of stairs, not looking forward to the climb. Gathering her energy, she glanced back at Gerry's weather-chapped face, a pang filling her chest at the thought of what was coming, at the losses ahead.

Wait for me, Gerry. Please. Brigid softened her tone, genuinely grateful for his help over the years. I'll be back soon enough.

Gerry nodded without responding. Brigid started up the stairs toward Fyn, urgency pushing her forward to find Fyn before it was too late for everyone.

Drink interferes with the bloodline. At the sound of the raspy voice, Fyn O'Shanahan turned his head toward the little old lady standing in the doorway like a goblin from hell. His sluggish brain tried to process what he was seeing.

Christ. It's Gran.

Brigid O'Donal, Fyn's grandmother two generations removed, narrowed her hazel eyes, clearly not intimidated by the smoky room, the loud rap music, or the bare asses of various girls swinging around poles on the three large stages.

The heavy beat of the music echoed in Fyn's head, and more than a few pints slowed his response as he shifted the blond woman on his lap. The woman giggled, either too drunk or too stupid to recognize the impending disaster.

Lucky her.

Fyn was Clan Chief of the O'Shanahans and the sixty-ninth Duke of Somerled. He was important. Way too important to be caught acting badly by the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the room, looking for a rescue. Where the hell were his cousins? None of the other men in the room met his gaze. A few of the bastards even turned away, barely hiding their grins.

Geezus, Gran was like a homing pigeon on steroids, popping up at the worst moments. Fyn could feel heat climbing his neck. He grabbed his stout from the side table, taking a long drink, green eyes locked with Gran across the room. The wind rattled the thick-pane windows, strobe lights flashing to the heavy beat from the clubs' speakers, taunting him as Gran maintained his stare, refusing to back down. He settled his six-foot-six frame deeper into the armchair, trying to look like getting caught at a strip club by your Gran was an everyday thing. He loved his Gran more than any other woman in his life, but this was too much.

Drink interferes with the bloodline. Brigid's creaky voice was scornful, one eyebrow raised imperiously.

Bloody Hell. Fyn pinched the bridge of his nose before running his hand down his bristle-covered face. He'd been awake more than seventy-two hours putting out fires at one of the rigs his family-owned, he was too tired to indulge her when she was harping about that again.

Bloodlines, like he's a stallion or something. Since he was a small child, he'd been pushing back against Brigid's stories of bloodlines and fate. The older he'd gotten, the worse it was. While he loved and respected her for mothering him and his six cousins, it wasn't healthy for anyone to indulge her when she started on about visions and doomsday prophesies. He did his best to provide a safe and comfortable home for her, but she was wily like a fox and sometimes disappeared for days into the woods or chased him down in the middle of a winter night to a strip club on a remote island in the North Sea. You shouldn't be here. Ekofisk is no place for an old-

Gran put both hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly. What is that you're saying, Fyn?

He took another sip, trying to figure a way out of the pile of shite he'd just stepped in. Gran, the North Ridge is dangerous. Most men up here have been on rigs for months. They're looking for a good time and not particular about how they find it. A horrifying thought came to him. You didn't come across in Gerry's old boat, did you? Gran was a menace, especially when she set her mind to something.

Fyn tried to stand. Unfortunately, the woman on his lap wrapped her legs around his waist like a vice, shrieking like she was on a carnival ride. He shifted her weight, dodging her mouth as she tried to kiss him, right in front of his Gran.

The woman's red-tipped fingers tangled in his thick red-blond hair as she kissed up his neck. He winced as her nails scraped his hard jaw as she tried to drag his mouth back to hers. He could hear the laughter around him, his cousins enjoying his predicament of being stuck in a chair, arms full of woman in front of Gran. They'd just spent over two months on Platform Four sorting through mechanical problems, fires, and foul weather. He and his cousins had been looking forward to blowing off steam with hot food, drink, and uncomplicated women.

Instead, trouble had come to find him.

He reared back impatiently, his jaw clenching in anger as he tried to peel the girl off him. Cormac. His voice boomed through the room. Where the hell was Cormac?

Brigid's lips tightened as she flicked her fingers toward the back of the strip club where the private dance rooms were. Pfff, that one is o'er there in the backroom, spreading his seed again.

A glance revealed his dark-haired cousin's grin as he ducked into one of the side rooms with a club girl. No help there. Scanning the room, Fyn caught the eye of Declan, another younger cousin. He signaled with a lift of his chin.

Declan set his own woman aside, gently relieving Fyn of the carnival girl before easing past Gran to leave the room.

Gran's gaze tracked the woman as she passed, her eyes narrowing. Gran. Don't even think it.

Rising, Fyn walked toward the bar for another drink. Don't go out on the water with Gerry, especially not in the middle of the night. After taking a deep sip from the fresh stout, he waved a hand around the room. "This isn't the kind of place you should be in. You'll see more than you