Release Date: February 28th, 2014
Author: Rory Ni Coileain
Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance
Rian Sheridan is a foundling, a Northern Irish Catholic corner boy whose world was destroyed in fire, and reborn the same way, beside an Orangemen’s bonfire last July the Twelfth. A consuming, dimly-remembered pain in his past calls to him, taunting him, daring him to find it and lose himself to it in the S&M underground of Belfast.
Cuinn an Dearmad is the last surviving Fae Loremaster, and he’s just seen the beginning of the death of the Realm, the haven of the Fae race. The only hope of stopping it starts with him finding the Prince Royal of Fire he stole from the cradle, and lost in the human world, many years ago. He has a few guesses about where that hope ends, and he doesn’t like any of them.
Rian and Cuinn are an impossible pairing, two SoulShared Fae. Any two Fae will strike sparks, but these two Fae are a conflagration. Unable to stand one another, yet drawn into an escalating series of sexual collisions, their passion will either save a world or destroy it.
About the Author: Rory Ni Coileain
I majored in creative writing, back when Respectable Colleges didn’t offer such a major, so I designed it myself – being careful to ensure that I never had to take a class before nine in the morning or take a Hemingway survey course. I was lucky enough to score the wonderful P.C. Hodgell as a major advisor, too, and to spend several years in a writer’s workshop with Eleanor Arnason. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, sent off my first short story to an anthology being assembled by an author I idolized, got one of those rejection letters that you talk about with your therapist until you’re old and gray, and found other things to do, such as corporate law and nightclub singing, for the next thirty years or so, until I discovered, entirely by chance (except that I don’t believe in chance), the world of m/m erotic romance. Now I have a day job as a legal editor that I’m aching to quit, I’m the mother of a high school senior (when did THAT happen?) and a member of my church choir and the St. Mark’s Cathedral Choral Society, and I’m trying frantically to keep up with the adventures of a group of very randy Fae and tree spirits and the humans who can’t seem to help falling in love with them.
20 Fun Facts about Rory!
1. I have two toenails on each of my pinky toes.
2. My favorite color is purple-and-green-and-gold. Yes, I Mardi Gras.
3. Men with morning stubble. Yespleaseandthankyou.
4. The only things I want on my mashed potatoes are butter and pepper.
5. I’ve played connect-the-dots with the freckles on the back of one of People’s Sexiest Men Alive.
6. I’m possibly the only writer who not only doesn’t write to music, I can’t write to music.
7. I have a serious jones for designer handbags. Deeply discounted designer handbags.
8. I didn’t have a driver’s license until I was 23.
9. I teach Irish ceili dancing. No, not Michael Flatley dancing. Bite your tongue.
10. If you want to get me on a roller coaster, you will have to pry my fingernails out of the railing. And then out of your arm.
11. I was .01 GPA percentage point away from being the youngest summa cum laude graduate in the history of the University of Minnesota.
12. The class that sunk me was Creative Writing.
13. I have hugged every cast member of the original Star Trek
except William Shatner and James Doohan. Yes, that includes George Takei. Be jealous.
14. I’m a very good cook, I just hide it because I hate bringing things to potlucks.
15. I speak, or have spoken, English, Spanish, Welsh, Latin, Russian, and Irish.
16. Drinks of choice: Guinness, Tennessee Honey, Moscato, Talisker. Drink of last resort: Champagne. Not that I don’t like it, but I can’t hold my bubbles. The whole reason I have a Pinterest account is Champagne-induced carelessness.
17. My Doctor is Four.
18. I’ve met the then-sitting President of one European country.
19. I assembled my writing desk myself. And didn’t hurt myself. Much.
20. I was in Seven World Trade Center at the time of the FIRST World Trade Center bombing.
Cuinn’s laugh didn’t sound all that different from Rian’s own. Just as bewildered, and almost as frustrated. Saner, though. Maybe. “All I know is that what I felt last night – you felt it too, don’t bother to deny it – I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. Which life has been going on long enough that I really did think there was nothing new left. Until I realized how badly I need you.”
Reluctantly, Rian turned back to Cuinn, drawn by the force of those words, the effort that went into them. “You don’t want to need me.”
“Hell, no.” Cuinn shifted on top of him, and all the scents and sensations of arousal flooded over him anew. “One thing you’ll learn soon, if you don’t know it already, no Fae ever wants to need anything. Especially not from another Fae.”
Rian understood, or thought he did. “If you need something, whoever has what you need has power over you.”
“Congratulations, you’re a Fae.”
For all the bitterness in Cuinn’s voice, there was a longing in his beautiful eyes, one Rian wanted to be able to ignore. Unfortunately, he was shit-out-of-luck in that regard.
“And you’re my SoulShare.” Cuinn’s hand cupped Rian’s jaw, a thumb stroked his cheek. “I want you to share what I felt. Need you to. That alone is enough to make me wonder if I’ve lost my mind.”
“Cuinn…” The touch on Rian’s cheek tingled, burned. Drove out the pain in his head, and made it worse at the same time.
Cuinn didn’t appear to hear him. “But you don’t want the joy. You don’t want any part of it. And it bugs the shit out of me that it bugs the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” To his mighty astonishment, Rian believed what he said. It would be good, to see Cuinn smile, to be able to give him what he needed. He wished he could do it. But it wasn’t in him, not if he was honest about who and what he was. “There’s no joy to sex, no wonder. It’s not about making someone happy, or being happy myself. It’s about getting what I need.”
“You don’t need wonder?”
Rian started to shake his head, but was stopped, dead, by a kiss. Not one like last night’s, not the first move of a duel. A gentle, lips-parted kiss, an exchange of breath. Closed eyes, the soft touch of a tongue. A shiver, arrowing down his spine.
“You’re so fucking wrong,” Cuinn whispered, before taking Rian’s mouth for fair.
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