fae

And she arose from her deathbed in a gossamer gown, with eyes the color of starlight and hair as black as the night. And those who were her captors trembled, for the scent of death and madness emanated from her soul, and yet she was not dead. She moved like the spiders that creep in the treetops, and none could look away. Taking her first captor in hand, she fed deep and ravenous. And so it was that Myst, Queen of the Indigo Court, was born from the blood of the dead.

This is no dream, Novi. Everything you are experiencing is real and until you accept that, you will not be able to go home.___eah, okay. Sure. Twin queens, talking otters, Autumn Fae, houses suspended in midair. Yep, totally real. Got it.

Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.

Of course the fall semester didn__ start for another eight weeks or so. There was always a chance we were both being overly optimistic in thinking I__ be alive when it rolled around.

I wanted to pull out his toenails and poke them in his eyeballs.

One ravishing dark-haired beauty wearing leather pants and strategically applied electrical tape, stared hard at me and, when she saw me looking, licked her lips very, very slowly. She trailed a fingertip over her chin, down across her throat, and down over her sternum and gave me a smile so wicked that it's parents should have sent it to military school.

How do you weigh a soul?Is it heavy with love or hate?Does it deny the things it's done?Does it even remember its own name?Does it miss those it has loved?Does it long for the life it's lost?How do you weigh a soul?After it has paid the highest cost,Does it lose the will to live?Without a physical shellDoes it sense without handsThat can touch and truly feelDoes it need sustenance to last?A cold drink or warm mealHow do you weigh a soul?Are souls even real?

DJ, are you awake? Freaking elf. __o home, Rand._ I am home. Where are you? I frowned and burrowed my face into the soft down pillow. Which wasn__ my pillow. Holy crap. What had happened? I sat up and took in several observations at once, none of which made sense and all of which sent my heart rate jack-rabbiting hard enough to send my blood pressure into the ozone. First, I was lying beneath a heavy bedspread woven in a rich blue-and-cream print. The bed was an elaborate confection made to look like an antique half-tester, and a brass chandelier hung overhead. I recognized the Hotel Monteleone. I recognized Jean Lafitte__ bedroom in the posh Eudora Welty Suite in the Monteleone. I didn__ have a clue as to how I got here. Second, I wore only underwear. My clothes were thrown across a chair in the corner. I had no recollection of removing them. Third, the pillow next to mine still held the clear indentation of a head, and there was water running behind the closed bathroom door. What in God__ name had I done? Rand! Where are you? So help me, if that elf was behind this, I__ splay him open like a catfish and watch his guts fall on the floor. Then I__ batter and deep-fry him. God, Dru. Stop shrieking like an elven shrew. I think you got too cold and went into a survival state.

Eugenie looked great, her short spiky auburn hair edged with conservative blond tips and her face wearing a minimum of makeup. Must be Mr. Natural__ influence. I gave her a hug and turned to meet Quince, who was sitting across from her.Okay, I could see the attraction. He had thick, honey-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail not unlike my own, and a green gemstone stud in one ear. He reached out a grasped my hand, shaking it firmly. __t__ great to meet you. Eugenie talks about you all the time.___he talks a lot about you too, Quince._ The man had no idea.He smiled and his blue-green eyes were almost enthralling. __ost people call me Rand, but Eugenie likes my real name better than my nickname.__fter a half hour of small talk, I wasn__ sure I liked Quince Randolph. He was drop-dead gorgeous, no question about that. But there was something off about him I couldn__ quite pinpoint. He stared too hard when he talked to you, made my eye contact than a normal person. I tried to dig into his head a little but came up blank, which was weird, except I__ done a heavy grounding ritual this morning.__ou know, I just noticed something._ Eugenie had a funny look on her face. __ou guys have the same hair and eye colo. I__ never realized it till I saw you sitting there across from each other.___aybe we__e very distantly related._ Rand smiled.__ doubt it,_ I said, frowning. __ don__ have much family. And if we were related, I__ be pissed off that you have better cheekbones.

Keeping up with him would require running, and there is no dignity in running after any man for any reason, injured or not.

Strong hands slipped over her shoulders as Alex joined us, standing so close, I could feel his body heat radiating up my back_.He squeezed my shoulders a little hard for it to be a show of solidarity. I__ probably have bruises. He was marking his territory.

He__ violent and unpredictable. He hit you once-hard. Oh, sure he saved your life later but it was in his beat interests. Plus, you have absolutely no common sense where he is concerned, and we won__ even mention the dead thing.

A weathered black and silver Dodge pickup towing a small motorboat pulled up behind us, and Alex circled back to greet the driver. I couldn__ see who sat behind the crusted and dirty windshield, but Alex stood at the driver__ window and pointed down the block where the boulevard disappeared into floodwater. The truck pulled ahead, maneuvered a deft U-turn, and backed toward the water. Alex motioned for me to follow. By the time I lurched my way to the truck, he and the pickup driver were sliding the boat down the trailer ramp. Sweat trickled down my neck, and if I hadn__ been afraid of being poisoned by toxic sludge, I__ have made like a pig and wallowed in the mud to cool off. I kicked at a fire hydrant, trying to jolt some of the heaviest sludge off my boots, and heard a soft laugh behind me. With a final kick that sent a spray of brown gunk flying, I turned to see what was so funny. I needed a laugh. A man leaned against the side of the pickup with his arms crossed. He was a few inches shorter than Alex, maybe just shy of six feet, with sun-streaked blond hair that reached his collar and a sleeveless blue T-shirt and khaki shorts. His tanned legs between the bottom of the shorts and the top of sturdy black shrimp boots were scored with scars, bad ones, as if whatever made them meant to do serious damage. He__ been grinning when I turned around, flashing a heart-stopping set of dimples, but when he saw my eyes linger on his legs, the grin eased into something more wary.

I__ pulled my unruly blond hair out of its usual ponytail for the occasion, loaded on some makeup to play up my teal eyes, and poured myself into a little black skirt, short enough to show off my legs while not offending Lafitte__ nineteenth-century sensibilities. It must have worked, because the pirate was giving me that head-to-toe appraisal guys do on instinct, like they__e assessing a juicy slab of beef and deciding whether they want it rare, medium, or well-done. __ou really are lovely, Drusilla._ The timbre of Lafitte__ voice shivered down my spine, and I fought the urge to check out the biceps underneath that linen shirt. Holy crap. This was just wrong. I should not be absorbing his lust.

I grabbed a shard of glass and spun around, brandishing it in front of me. It was a pretty, stippled blue piece, nice and sharp.__old on, tiger. I give up.__ bear of a man stood in front of me, hands raised in mock surrender_ well, except for the shotgun in his right hand. He towered well over six feet and was shaped like a linebacker, one who__ gone a little too long between haircuts. Dark curls hugged the collar of a basic black T-shirt that almost camouflaged a black shoulder holster holding some type of nasty-looking black handgun. It all matched his black jeans and boots. He looked like the poster child for an upscale GQ mercenary. The only shred of color on him was his eyes, and they were dark brown. Mr. Monochromatic.He laid the shotgun on the table near the door and stepped back, hands up, watching me from beneath hooded lids. A lesser woman would have noticed the thick muscles moving under his tanned skin when he raised his arms, or the T-shirt that fit just snugly enough to send a girl__ thoughts to the Promised Land. Good thing I don__ notice stuff like that.__f you want to search me for more weapons, I__ game.__y eyes shot back to his, and I felt my cheeks flush, hot and bothered on the way to angry. Leave it to a guy to open his mouth and ruin a perfectly good moment.

Jean Laffite was a sexy bad boy with a gentleman's manners and an air of barely suppressed danger. Every girl's secret dreamboat in other words. We always say we want a nice, hardworking, decent guy but we're lying to ourselves. - DJ Jaco

She shook her head. "I can't believe you got bit and you didn't even get an orgasm out of it. I guess True Blood isn't true after all.

He sat beside her. "What sort of things did you dream of?""Oh, what most young girls do, I imagine. Fey tales. True love." She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. "You.