Banshee Power: A Steamy Paranormal Fae Romance: The Blood Fae Chronicles, #3

By Jen Katemi

I am determined to ignore my banshee power... until the magic I despise becomes the only thing standing between death, and life, for everyone I care about.

 

Inspector Maewen Jones of the Supernatural Police Division is tough, uncompromising, and focused on being the best human detective she can be. Her banshee half is a curse, not a blessing.

 

When the heir to the Winter Court of Faerie turns up in her office with information about her latest case, Maewen can no longer ignore her magic side. Mae and Rhodri's passion might heat up the night, but this unlikely pair must put aside their differences and work together to bring down a deadly foe.

The Fae prince and the half-human detective will have to dig deep to find the strength to face their darkest battle, not only against a vicious enemy who would bring chaos and destruction to their worlds, but to conquer their own hidden demons that the darkness brings to the fore.

If you enjoy the complex characters and steamy relationships of Dannika Dark, and the paranormal action and sizzling romance of I.T. Lucas or K.F. Breene, then this is the series for you!

 

Read Banshee Power today for the thrilling conclusion to the Blood Fae Chronicles series.

 

~~~

Author's Note: This series is set in the same world as the Hellhound Protectors series. Read both, and enjoy!

 

Blood Fae Chronicles series (can be read in any order):

Banshee Cry

Banshee Song

Banshee Power

Banshee Quest: Renna's Curse (A prequel & sequel in one)

 

Hellhound Protectors series (should be read in order):

Bewitched in Blood

Bewitched in Dreams

Bewitched in Darkness

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flourish Books
• Release date: Jan 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393405085

Book preview

Banshee Power

The Blood Fae Chronicles

Book 3

by

USA Today bestselling author

Jen Katemi

Banshee Power (The Blood Fae Chronicles)

Copyright © 2021 Jen Katemi

All rights reserved

Second Edition

Published by Flourish Books

Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet

Edited by Rainy Kaye

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Banshee Quest: Renna’s Curse – Chapter One

About the Author

Chapter One

Maewen

I’ve been staring at this damn enchanted medallion for so long, my eyes are getting blurry. The new vamp police sergeant in our team, Luc Durand, handed it over to me after the abomination attack in Hatton Grove, and I’ve been studying it in my spare moments, trying to figure out how to unlock its secrets.

It is definitely infused with necromancer magic, and interestingly, fae magic, too. Our calibration meter—the only one of its kind in the world designed to identify the source of magic trace—has ascertained that much. Beyond that little snippet, the medallion has frustratingly managed to keep its mysteries undiscovered.

The design, though, matches what we found on a bracelet beside a dead necromancer last week. The guy was discovered in a back alley in the northern part of the city, lying half-melted in a puddle of stinking pus that had leached from his body. He’d clearly died of some kind of poisoning. The reason my team was called in, as well as the standard city police, was because someone noticed the purple trace still swirling around the bracelet.

Eventually the piece of jewelry found its way here to the lab, and our trusty calibration meter established what kind of magic it contained.

The same unusual combination of magics as the medallion.

Necros and fae do not often collaborate. They certainly do not collaborate with supernatural creatures turned loup.

Is that how the rogue supes attacking humans are being controlled? By a necromancer pilot, who is being assisted behind the scenes by a fae?

Yet another night is almost over, and there are still no concrete answers as to how the supernatural abominations are being controlled, nor why. Nor even who is behind the chaos and the violent deaths.

I glance at my watch and discover that it is almost midnight. Where does the time go? I need to finish up and head home, before I fall asleep right here, slumped on the work bench of SUDAP’s police lab in Melbourne.

The fifteen-strong members of my team already left earlier in the evening. They are generally a good bunch, accepting of having a female as their officer-in-charge. Most nights at least some of us will stay back late, depending on who caught what case, and where we’re at in our various investigations, but I am often the last one out the door each night.

I love my job as an inspector in Australia’s first national police Supernatural Division, but even I know that sometimes, I can be a little obsessive over cases that pique my interest.

I expect dedication from my team, but I don’t believe in working them so hard they burn out. No, you’re leaving that fate for yourself, my traitorous inner voice whispers.

As usual, I ignore my inner voice. She’s far too annoying. Though I have to admit I am more tired than I should be, tonight. The nightmares are getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can keep tamping down my magic.

I twirl the silver ring on the little finger of my right hand. It is set with a multi-colored opal infused with a charm.

I purchased the ring from a witch mage I met during a case several years ago. The power it has been imbued with, has enabled me to work as a police officer without curling up in an agonized ball of tears and snot every time a death takes place.

The mage warned me there would be consequences, but I didn’t realize quite how debilitating it would be to have the little sleep I do manage to get filled constantly with nightmares of death and dying.

As I place the medallion back in a reinforced glass cabinet in the lab, and peel off my protective gloves and face shield, a giant yawn almost splits my face in two. Definitely time for bed.

After I lock up the lab, the small lamp in my corner office is the only illumination left on the whole floor. I head through the open-plan area where the team sits, back toward my desk. I make a mental note to ask the cleaning staff to keep the hall lights on from now on, and allow me to turn them off when I leave. No wonder my eyes are getting wonky.

I wriggle my shoulders and crick my neck, and my stomach gives a loud rumble to remind me I need sustenance. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast this morning. Well... I glance again at my watch and amend my thoughts. Yesterday morning.

Luckily there’s a twenty-four-hour pizza place almost next door to my apartment building a few blocks from here, so I can pick up some take-out on the way home.

As I grab my bag from the corner of the room and lean over the desk to switch off the lamp, a flash of silver light brightens the space. What the heck? I blink fast, trying to recover my vision as I scrabble for the gun on my belt. Silver light usually means fae, and there is no one of that species on my team.

Two tall, dark-haired men materialize in the room.

Definitely fae. Specifically, it is the fae warrior I met briefly several days ago—Tarrien, his name was—at the cabaret club when the singer Indigo was snatched. He is accompanied by another fae, almost a head taller than Tarrien. Quite impressive, given Tarrien is over six feet tall. I’ve never met the second fae before.

I point my gun at the second man’s chest before either man tries to greet me.

Who the hell are you? I ask. And what do you want?

Inspector Jones, please. Tarrien shakes his head, reproach in his tone. That’s no way to greet royalty.

Royalty? The other fae inclines his head gracefully and then studies me, as if waiting for something. Does he expect me to bow? Curtsy? Fall at his feet in supplication?

He’ll be waiting a damn long time, if that’s the case.

Instead, I simply raise a brow.

To be honest, it’s a bit hard to ignore how handsome the second man is, and how much he actually does give off the air of being someone rather important. There’s a magnetic charisma that draws me toward him. Of the two visitors, the taller one is definitely the more commanding. I plant my feet firmly, refusing to give in to the impulse.

Eventually the taller fae scowls and folds his arms across his chest.

Tarrien gestures. Inspector Maewen Jones, meet your prince, His Royal Highness, Prince Rhodri, of the Winter Court of Faerie.

My prince? I don’t think so. I cock the hammer on the gun, enjoying the faint flicker of shock on the prince’s face a little too much. Careful, Maewen. You’re over-tired. Don’t play with guns. Don’t tease the royal guy.

Bet most of his subjects kowtow to him. I can’t imagine many point a gun.

A gun that shoots a special type of bullet comprising a mix of silver and iron. The prince of winter would not enjoy it, should my trigger finger spasm.

Slowly I re-engage the safety and re-holster the weapon.

The wariness in both Prince Rhodri’s expression, and Tarrien’s, reduces a notch.

Pleasure to meet you, gents, I say. But you haven’t answered the second part of my question. What do you want? And please, make it quick. I’m hungry, and I’m tired, and I don’t have an ounce of patience left in my body or my soul, tonight.

Tarrien sighs, more dramatically than I think is warranted.

What is it about Renna’s children? he murmurs as if to himself.

The mention of my banshee mother causes a shard of annoyance in my chest. I resist the impulse to roll my eyes.

The fae prince chuckles.

As you are probably aware, Tarrien is dating your half-sister, Rhodri says. When he speaks, he looks directly at me, making me feel as if his full attention is on me. The courtesy is strangely attractive. And I believe Indigo does not always do what Tarrien wants, nor expects.

Tarrien shuffles his feet and picks at the edge of his jacket during the prince’s explanation. A grin hovers about my lips. Well, well. Good for you, Indigo.

I can answer your other query, Inspector Maewen Jones, Prince Rhodri continues.

I want to tell him it’s Inspector Jones, or even just Boss, as many of the team call me. But what comes out of my mouth instead is, Maewen. Call me Maewen, sir.

Hell. Where did that come from?

The prince smiles—one of those rare ones that actually reaches the eyes. Most people don’t smile with their eyes, at least in my experience. I draw in a quick breath, trying to steady myself. His effect on my senses is completely unexpected.

Maewen, he repeats. Such a lovely name. I insist that you call me Rhodri in return. You want to know why we’re here, Maewen? We’re here because of this.

He gestures to Tarrien, who pulls a plastic packet from a previously hidden inner pocket in his coat and thrusts it in my direction.

I found this on a loup werewolf, Tarrien says. In the Badlands, on the edge of Faerie. That’s where they were holding Indie. There was a whole conclave of necromancers there. Wizards, a couple of witches, and a slew of rogue supes, all gowned up and readying for some kind of ritual that involved draining your sister of her banshee blood.

Slowly, I take the packet from him.

She’s fine by the way, he adds. Thanks for asking.

I bite back a growl of annoyance. "I know, Tarrien. Indigo called me several hours ago and we had quite a long chat. She wants to meet in person soon, and I have agreed to that."

Oh.

A small sound from the prince catches my attention and I see him biting back a grin.

The urge to grin with him rises. I manage to restrain the impulse, and return to study the packet’s contents. It is half-wrapped in a handkerchief, within the plastic packet, but the shape of it is obvious.

Another medallion? I shoot them a glance, excitement punching me in the gut. Maybe this one will be easier to crack. Then a thought strikes and I frown up at Tarrien. Did you touch it?

No. I used the linen handkerchief to pull it off the dead were, and then sealed it straight into the plastic. It felt...wrong, when I saw it, so I instinctively avoided touching it.

Good. Gut instinct tells me these medallions are bad news, and I suspect things might bode badly for anyone who happens to touch one without a protective layer between. Until we have more information about how they work, best not to touch them directly.

Prince Rhodri steps up beside me then, and stares down at the packet in my hand. His body imparts a pleasant warmth, creating an unexpected—and definitely unwanted—shiver down my spine.

Surreptitiously, I slide away. The prince is no fool, though. He flashes me a knowing grin. The man is too astute for my liking.

Thank you for bringing this to SUDAP, I say. I’ll need to lock it away with the other talismans for now, and get the team onto it tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll manage to extract some answers from them, soon enough.

Would it help if you know who made them? Prince Rhodri leans against the edge of my desk, making himself at home. He looks most un-royal-like. In his casual street clothing of dark jeans with heavy boots, a white tee-shirt and black leather jacket, he could pass for an extremely charismatic human male. Except for those pointed ears that show when he tosses back his long hair, and the aristocratic line of his nose, and those chiselled high cheekbones above the sexy-as-fuck mouth. And of course, the amazing, brilliant blue eyes that remind me of the sky on a sunny winter’s day...

Jesus. I shake my head. What the hell is wrong with me, tonight?

It might, I answer carefully. "Do you know who created them?"

Tarrien clears his throat. When I transfer my attention to him, his mouth tightens in a grim line and his eyes are flat and steely in color. I believe it was my father.

Wait. What?

Your father is responsible for these medallions? But...that means he’s responsible for... All the carnage. I can’t finish the sentence out loud. The disclosure is as unexpected as it is horrifying. The trail of violence and death caused by the rogue supes is long and bloody, enacted over many years. I might have a deep personal dislike of the banshee woman who birthed me and then flitted off to live her life without me, but I can’t imagine what it would be like knowing one of your parents was responsible for so much suffering and death.

Before I can ask why, Prince Rhodri speaks up, as if sensing that Tarrien