Prism Book Alliance® would like to thank Rory Ni Coileain for stopping by today.
Title: Mantled in Mist
Author: Rory Ni Coileain
Publisher: Riverdale Avenue Books
Cover Artist: Insatiable Fantasy Designs
Genre: Gay Romance, Urban Fantasy
Fiachra Dubhdara is a Fae living a stolen life, in a body that isn’t his own. He’s also the most junior detective on the D.C. Vice squad, assigned the task of infiltrating and shutting down Tiernan Guaire’s Purgatory.
For his part, Peri Katsura is the newest and hottest masseur at Lochlann Doran’s Big Boy Massage, inexplicably drawn to the gorgeous cop assigned to bust him but needing to hide a dark secret of his own.
And the owner of Fiachra’s body has a plan to get it back – a plan that may cost Fiachra his SoulShare and close the doors of Purgatory forever. Unless the Marfach gets there first…
A few more steps, and Fiachra could see the rest of the club, the part that had been the focus of most of the write-up in Vice’s dossier on Purgatory. Though that report certainly hadn’t included even a fraction of what was going on in front of him. The cock pit was in fact a pit, irregularly shaped, sunken into the floor and filled with black leather furniture — chairs, benches, sofas, loveseats. Most of the furniture was occupied, by single males, couples, threesomes, moresomes. Fiachra could see three blowjobs in progress without needing to turn his head, or even move his eyes very much. A daisy chain of thoroughly inked bears occupied one of the sofas and spilled over onto the floor, grunting loudly enough for a Fae, at least, to be able to hear them even over the subsonics coming off the dance floor. A burly bare-chested gray-haired male frowned in concentration as he threaded corset laces through an elaborate set of piercings in a long-haired twink’s back. Some of the couples, or groups, were so wrapped up in each other the rest of the club might as well not exist; some were on delicious flagrant display for anyone who cared to watch.
There were plenty who cared to watch, too. Almost as many humans stood around the edge of the pit as sported in it. And some wanted to get even closer. A drag queen — all Fiachra could see from where he stood was long dark hair and a spectacular sequined teal gown hugging a slender form — was perched on the arm of the sofa watching the bears at play, one dainty stiletto-heeled foot swinging back and forth like a pendulum.
All things considered, if Fae ever changed their collective mind and decided to believe in a blissful afterlife, the scene before Fiachra’s eyes would almost certainly be found somewhere in it. Sex was an art form among the Fae, and Fiachra had always been an art enthusiast, to whatever extent his physicality permitted.
And Harding expected him to help shut Purgatory down? No fornicating way. Even leaving aside the whole issue of the Summoning that had originated from somewhere in the club, and ignoring the separate siren call of the pseudo-magickal energy welling up from behind the bar —
The drag queen startled, shoulders stiffening as if Fiachra’s gaze were a physical touch right between her shoulder blades. Slowly she turned.
Fiachra stared, stunned, at wide dark almond-shaped eyes, impossible cheekbones, a perfect shining plum-colored mouth forming an oval of shock.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Which was idiotic. In the time before the Sundering of the Fae and human worlds, thousands of years ago, the relationship between Fae and humans had been quite clear. The Fae seduced, played with, toyed with humans. Humans were prey, and Fae mostly benevolent predators.
No Fae had ever needed a human. Not the way he needed Peri. He’d spent the morning trying to pretend it was all sex. It wasn’t. They were connected. Kisses, touches had set a hook, and the memory of pain in strange dark human eyes had channeled a purely human kind of magick.
And now this magick had a new form. One just as arousing, ensorcelling —
The name was Fae, but it wasn’t his. But it shattered the spell of the moment; Peri turned away, flushing, and Fiachra wheeled round to face the speaker, lips curling back in a very Fae snarl. “Who the hell are –”
Two Fae males stared at him, leather-clad, sex rolling off them both in waves Fiachra could feel against his skin. One had wavy dark-blond hair and faceted irises of a jade-green so pale they were almost white. The other wore his blond hair short, except for a forelock that curled over his forehead as if it expected to be grabbed. His eyes were blue topaz, and magnificent tattooed stars like those in a Royal’s diadem swarmed around his nearly-bare torso.
Cuinn an Dearmad. The voice in his head didn’t sound happy. At all. And the lost Prince Royal of Fire, Rian Aodán.
Even the disembodied Fae Fiachra had been had heard the tale of the kidnapped princeling.
“I’m not Brodulein,” he croaked. “But I don’t think he likes you very much.”
About the Author
Rory Ni Coileain majored in creative writing, back when Respectable Colleges didn’t offer such a major, so she designed it herself – being careful to ensure that she never had to take a class before nine in the morning or take a Hemingway survey course. She graduated Phi Beta Kappa at the age of nineteen, sent off her first short story to an anthology being assembled by an author she idolized, got the kind of rejection letter that puts therapists’ kids through college, and found other things to do, such as nightclub singing and volunteering as a lawyer with Gay Men’s Health Crisis, for the next thirty years or so, until her stories started whispering to her. Now she’s a legal editor, the mother of a budding filmmaker, and amanuensis to a host of fantastic creatures who are all anxious to tell their stories. And who are proving to be purely lousy at waiting their turn.
I have a number of paperbacks, most of which are signed, to giveaway. Over the between now (11 Mar 2017) and 31 Mar 2017, every comment on the blog (this post and all other new posts), will be entered to win 1 of these paperbacks. There are also some misc swag items, so there will be a few packs of these to give away as well.
Thank you so much for your support over the last 4 years. Prism will be closing its doors on 1 April 2017. All content will remain available, but no new content will appear after 31 Mar 2017. As such all request forms have been turned off. Again Thank you,
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