Page 1 of The Succubus's Song

PROLOGUE

Scotland had many predators.

There were plenty of things waiting for the opportunity to kill you, of both the magical and non-magical variety.

The kelpies lurked in the streams. The wulver stalked the moors, and the bean nighe waited in the shadows.

No part of the country had ever been truly domesticated. Even the wind whipped through the valleys with vindictiveness. The hills were rife with wildcats, the adder viper, and the worst threat of all…man.

It was widely believed that man had no natural enemies.

Not in Scotland. In Scotland, man was not the apex predator.

The baobhan sith was.

The baobhan sith had owned the land before the clans, before the British, before the Pictish tribes crossed the forests. It was rumored the baobhan sith were the first fae to ever step foot on Scotland’s moors, eagerly crossing the border from Faerie to feed.

Not much else was known about the baobhan sith. They sat on the edges of fae society, governing themselves, ignoring what they perceived to be the fickle squabbles of the seelie and unseelie. The baobhan sith had been called succubi, banshees, and vampires. Their beauty and primal thirst for blood became their defining characteristics—and they did not discriminate. Although they preferred men, any blood would do if it meant they wouldn’t go thirsty.

The baobhan sith only ever appeared as beautiful women; there were no men. Over the centuries, the poets tended to elaborate, claiming the vampiric fae had deer hooves instead of feet, that they could shapeshift into ravens or could only wear the color green. None of that was true, or perhaps it was.

No one had bothered to ask.

For ages, the baobhan sith were simply called ‘the blood mistresses’, lest speaking their name out loud should summon them. When the clans lived in the Highlands, there was a practical superstition—that really wasn’t a superstition at all—demanding when you prayed at night, you must always evoke God’s protection first. If you neglected to do so, any manner of faerie folk could answer your pleas. Many a lone hunter or traveling kinsman were found dead in the hills, the blood drained from their veins, after drunkenly praying for a lass’s companionship, only to have a baobhan sith answer.

Scotland’s other magical residents feared the baobhan sith. They called them ‘unnatural’, since their kind could only be turned, never born, and they could only be females.

In reality, the baobhan sith needed blood to survive, and their shape-shifting abilities were limited. The women masked their red eyes, teeth, and claws with glamours and could only change their appearance by vanishing into a cloud of red mist that traveled on the vindictive winds.

Scotland’s magic fell; the baobhan sith were trapped in Faerie, and their reputation turned to the stuff of legends.

Only one remained in the country… Mara Parker.

When the curse was broken, Mara wept.

The predator was now the prey.

CHAPTER ONE

Mara looked out over the packed club, with bodies gyrating from wall to wall. The bass and lights flooded her senses. Normally, this would be her scene. It didn’t matter if it involved mead in a field or a cocktail on a dance floor. For centuries, Mara had never been at a party she didn’t like.

Until Scotland’s magic returned.

It wasn’t the only thing that came back that night. For Mara, it meant that ancient fears were resurrected, ones she thought were long buried. While thousands of magical creatures all over Scotland rejoiced, she returned to her apartment alone and wept.

Now, to the tune of a horrible DJ, Mara was bored. She checked her watch and grimaced.

1:37am.

It was prime time for a succubus; she should be on the dance floor, pressed in between bodies and deciding who to take home. Instead, she was nursing a vodka soda near the bar and debating if it was time to leave.

Her family would be so disappointed, but that fact alone made her grin.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile all night,” a drunken voice started slurring next to her ear. Mara lurched away with a visible scowl. A red-eyed hipster wannabe leaned over the counter and took a sip of his beer. His hair was messy, and he repeatedly pushed it out of his eyes.

Mara’s lip curled in disgust as she looked him up and down. “Am I supposed to be flattered that you’ve been watching me?”

“Most women are,” he hiccupped.

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