Echo vamp-sped out of the bed, putting it between them. “Who the hell are you?”
The redhead had unusual amber-gold eyes, a tip-turned nose, full mouth, and golden freckles across her cheeks. Elven. Beautiful. Not unlike Niamh, actually.
Echo inhaled and froze.
The woman smelled like Niamh and Elijah.
“You’re fae,” she whispered.
The redhead nodded and spoke in accented English. “Sorry about this. It’s not personal. You’re just in my way.”
“What—”
The fae moved. At a speed Echo couldn’t compete with. One minute she was in the hotel room and the next she felt the air battering against her skin. There was a grip on her arm so tight it was like a vise. Echo tried to yank herself free as her body tingled with the awareness of nearing sunlight.
No.
No!
Suddenly, she was stumbling free of the fae, her bare feet biting into gravel and dirt as she was thrown outside into the hotel’s drop-off and pickup zone. It was the first time in six years Echo had seen daylight, the sky a denim blue above her, barely there clouds, and the sun inescapable.
The hem of the long T-shirt tickled her upper thighs as a breeze blew over her.
This is how it would end.
Elijah wouldn’t know what happened to her.
Odette would mourn her.
Despair filled Echo even as she gaped in horror at the redheaded fae who had delivered her to her death.
A tingling scored up Echo’s spine and then along her limbs. A foreign sensation. Not unlike the feel of the sun’s heat on her skin. Except this came from inside her.
And she wasn’t bursting into ash.
Echo turned her hand, raising it to the sky, ignoring the shocked and bemused looks of guests strolling into the hotel at the sight of the half-naked blond.
“What the fuck?” the redhead bit out.
Yes. What the fuck?
“It looks like that plan didn’t work out the way you thought, huh?” A strangely familiar Irish accented voice sounded from behind Echo.
She glanced over her shoulder and her mouth parted at the sight of Niamh Farren stepping out of a black SUV parked in the pickup zone. A gorgeous male Echo recognized from surveillance as Kiyonari Fujiwara appeared at her side. Niamh Farren’s (possibly immortal) werewolf mate.
The shocks kept coming as a huge male rounded the SUV.
Fionn Mór. Once an ancient Celtic king, now fae, made by the queen of the fae herself. He wore a three-piece suit that strained and stretched against the enormity of his muscled shoulders.
At his side was his mate. A tallish (though she looked tiny next to Fionn), lean brunette with striking light blue eyes.
Fae-borne Rose Kelly.
There was a whoosh of movement and suddenly, Elijah was between her and the two couples, his back to her chest, his arms wide, guarding her. “Stay back,” he warned in a menacing growl she’d never heard from him before.
“How?” Echo asked, wondering where he’d come from and how he’d known she was in danger.
“I felt your fear.” He glanced back at her. “How are you?—”
