Outcast (Book Two of the Forever Faire Series): A Fae Fantasy Romance Novel Read Free

way there she passed men gathered at the nightly bonfire and pretended not to notice their hard gazes. When she saw Jannon, however, she gave him a small nod and smile. He reacted by turning his back on her and took a drink from the glittering blue bottle in his fist.
    Tears stung Tara’s eyes, and her throat tightened up. But she wouldn’t cry. It was time to behave like what she really was: an adult.
    The thought of going back to the room she shared with Kayla made her stomach knot, so she changed directions and walked into the wing reserved for the Forever Faire men. It felt odd and was too quiet, as if a thousand eyes watched her from mouthless faces. Tara shrugged off the feeling and went down the row of doors. Near the end of the wide hall, the doors were open. As she peeked in the first, she realized why: they were unused, and therefore perfect. She immediately went over to shut the open windows. After turning on the heat and warming her hands in front of the big vent, she found matches on the bedside table and lit the oil lamp. Though there were no bedclothes on the large mattress, she stretched out on it.
    Cursed. Filth. Evil.
    Pulling her velvet cape around her like a blanket, Tara closed her eyes. The men would spend a couple of hours talking and drinking by the bonfire. As for her, she’d rest a few seconds, and then she was leaving.

Chapter 3
    J ANNON FERGUSON WANTED nothing more than to drown himself in drink, but no amount of snowine would wipe the memories of watching sweet, innocent Tara Rowe kissing that foul, stinking, son of a poxed whore, Dirk Blackstone. It had been branded on his brain, likely forever, and so he would endure it. As he endured all the rest of the utter fucking plagues upon his heart.
    Colm Longacre came to stand beside him. “In town there are wenches more than willing to help a man forget his worries.”
    Jannon gave him a sour look. “How would you know?”
    “Ah, you remind me.” Colm nodded. “I’m not a man, but a nosy, gelded, sodding ponce of a winge. Still, you’re not, so I wager you’d manage.”
    Dimly Jannon recalled hurling those insults at Colm during his last wallowing, and felt regret grind salt in his wounds. “’Twas the snowine speaking.”
    “Aye.” Firelight burnished Colm’s copper eyes to a dark gold. “This lass. She’s lovely, and helpless, and everything that stirs a man’s heart. Changelings are made to be so, Jan. Beneath all that pretty hair, behind those haunted eyes, there’s darkness waiting. It will bide its time, but when it’s ready…”
    “…it will eat her soul alive,” Jannon finished for him. He wanted to pummel Colm, but all the man did was offer the truth. “My clan once took in a changeling. He’d been left in the hills to die by a mortal family too frightened to keep him. Tristan, they called him. He was only a wee lad when we brought him into the clan.”
    “Changelings are spelled to be beguiling,” Colm said carefully. “But your family must have known he would turn.”
    “Aye, and when my father and I caught him tormenting one of our hounds with his fire magick, he smiled so sweetly at us. As if he were only playing. He was almost too small for the chains.” He rubbed his eyes. “My father wanted him done, but my mother loved him, and slipped into the cave that night to release him. All she found were his charred clothes, filled with his ashes.”
    “Tara Rowe is likely worse,” Colm said. “She’s wanted by the Blackstones, brother, and all they covet is power.”
    “Aye, so it seems.” Jannon saw how he was looking at him. “Only know that I am not my mother.”
    Colm nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and retreated to talk to some of the other men. Jannon left the fire and walked to the lodge, where he planned to spend the rest of the night drinking himself unconscious. Once inside he passed the hall leading to the Rowe sisters’ room, he paused, and then forced himself to keep moving.
    Jannon