Page 15 of Savage Guardian

But first, a shower.

It took him fifteen minutes of scrubbing under lukewarm water—because the shithole motel was probably using a water heater from 1980—and once his shower was done, he slipped into the clothes he’d removed the day before, when the bloody fun began.

It was time to check out.

Wiping down every surface that could hold a fingerprint, he left the hotel room and the gore behind, his package for his beautiful girl tucked under his arm. The Do Not Disturb sign on the door would hold off the one on staff housekeeper for a few days, since she was probably getting high or fucked on company hours, and would take any opportunity tonotwork. But once the weekend rolled around, and he still hadn’t checked out, someone would go into the room. Someone would find the mess he’d left. By then, though, he’d be checked in to another hotel, miles and miles away.

A new setup. A new part of his plan in play.

He slipped into his sedan and placed the package carefully onto the passenger seat.

“Don’t want to make another mess,” he mumbled, before pulling out of the parking spot and into the street.

Hitting the Bluetooth connection button on the dashboard, he waited for the call to connect.

“Yeah?” a familiar voice rasped. He grunted at the irritation in the man’s voice but let it go because the man on the other end of the line, in perfect position, was instrumental in his scheme.

“It’s done, make sure everything is in place,” he ordered, then hung up, knowing no other words were necessary. Every piece of his plan was coming together.

And he couldn’t wait to watch the mayhem.

Screams that chilled the blood, a wailing that could wake the dead. That was him, the harbinger of death. The herald of destruction and chaos.

He was theBean Sidhe. The dark to his fairy queen’s light. The sin to her salvation. The blackness to her purity. They two were push and pull, upside and downside.

Life and death—and those who dared impede his perfectlifewith her—would know death.

Fae swayed with the flow of the music, the guitar in her lap an extension of her body. She hadn’t intended to come back to the studio after her “meeting” with the man from Savage Protection but, after having actually set eyes on the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, she’d been inspired. So, she was back at Junkbox, sitting alone in the studio, strumming and humming, and weaving together melody and lyric into a song that she didn’t even know if she wanted to share or not.

The man, Haakon—Hawk—had left her breathless, trembling, and turned on. Never in her life had she had such a cataclysmic reaction to a man before. It had been like the earth opened up, swallowed her, ground her bones to dust under the pressure, and then spat her remains back out into the hotel suite.

Yeah, and he probably thought you were a stuttering weirdo for staring at him like you did, and then asking stupid questions about his name.

“God, you’re an idiot,” he muttered, thankful that Teddy had called it a night an hour ago when he realized she had no plans to leave. He waved goodbye and told her to lock up behind her, then he left her to her own devices, which meant she was going to spend long hours playing her instruments, writing her songs—or pouring over memories of what the hell happened that hotel room earlier.

After Hawk had left, Carrie had done what she usually did when faced with a man she wanted: she grabbed her purse and headed out to go shopping. Of course, she had to take Madden, the nighttime bodyguard with her, which only tickled her enjoyment. Madden was tall, built like a football player, and had a face carved from marble. Yes, he was gorgeous, but to Fae, his looks didn’t touch the edgy, masculine danger that Hawk exuded in waves.

When Carrie left to go shopping—and what money she was spending, Fae didn’t even want to think about—Fae decided to make a night of it. Meaning she was spending her night doing what she did most nights. Making music. Alone.

Music people loved. Appreciated. Music people shared. Music people wrote to her about, telling her that something she created had touched their lives.

It was music that had pulled her from the despair of losing her mom. It was music that had befriended her when the bullies at school stole her joy. It was music that had taught her about beauty and acceptance.

But no one would care about her music once they saw Carrie’s face. It was a tale as old as R & B. You could have a greatest hit that people all over the country played on repeat, but what sold the most music was the sexy chick, shaking her ass in the music video. Music had been sexualized so much that men and women with mediocre musical ability were offered million dollar contracts, simply because they were pleasing to the eye.

Fae McCabe was average in every way except one: she was a skilled musician. She could carry a tune so perfectly, angels wept. But people didn’t care about that.

Jimmy was right. Carrie was right. If she wanted even the sliver of a chance to grow her audience, to share her love of her musical heritage, and to touch more people’s lives, she needed to stay in the shadows and let Carrie shine.

But, God, how she hated it. Especially when men like Hawk took one look at Carrie and immediately fell for her virgin slut act.

And that wasn’t the image she wanted as the brand for Aoibheal. Unfortunately, she had no choice now. She’d been talked into Jimmy’s plan, and she’d signed the NDA. She was trapped by her desire to become a household name—a legend in modern Celtic music. Think Celtic Woman but with more electric guitar.

She grinned softly at that.

The cell in her back pocket vibrated against her ass. Grabbing it, she saw it was a Google Alert for one of the many keywords she’d listed.

It was a link to a blog post.

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