He'd seen— not his brethren— but a woman. A human woman, illumed by that which his kind didn't possess, lit from within by the soft golden glow of her immortal soul.
A young, lushly sensual woman at that, with the look of the Irish about her. Long silvery-blond hair twisted up in a clip, loose, shorter strands spiking about a delicate heart-shaped face. Huge eyes uptilted at the outer corners, a pointed chin, a full, lush mouth. A flash of fire in her catlike great-gold gaze, proof of that passionate Gaelic temper that always turned him on. Full round breasts, shapely legs, luscious ass.
He'd gone instantly, painfully, hard as a rock.
And for a few critical moments, his brain hadn't functioned at all. All the rest of him had. Stupendously well, in fact. Just not his brain.
Cursed by the féth fiada, he'd been celibate for three long, hellish months now. And his own hand didn't count.
Lying there, imagining all the things he would do to her if only he could, he'd completely failed to process that she was not only standing there looking in his general direction, but his first instinct had been right: He was the focus of an intense gaze. She was looking directly at him.
Seeing him.
By the time he'd managed to find his feet, to even remember that he had feet, she'd been in her car.
She'd escaped him.
But not for long, he thought, eyes narrowing. He would find her.
She'd seen him. He had no idea how or why she'd been able to, but frankly he didn't much care. She had, and now she was going to be his ticket back to Paradise.
And, he thought, lips curving in a wicked, erotic grin, he was willing to bet she'd be able to feel him too. Logic dictated that if she was immune to one aspect of the féth fiada, she would be immune to them all.
For the first time since the queen had made him human, he threw back his head and laughed. The rich, dark sound rolled— despite the human mouth shaping it— not entirely human, echoing in the empty street.
He turned and eyed the building behind him speculatively. He knew a great deal about humans from having walked among them for so many millennia, and he'd learned even more about them in the past few months. They were creatures of habit; like plodding little Highland sheep, they dutifully trod the same hoof-beaten paths, returning to the same pastures day after day.
Undoubtedly, there was a reason she'd come to this building this evening.
And undoubtedly, there was something in that building that would lead him to her.
The luscious little Irish was going to be his savior.
She would help him find Circenn and communicate his plight. Circenn would sift dimensions and return him to the Fae Isle of Morar where the queen held her court. And Adam would persuade her that enough was enough already.
He knew Aoibheal wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes and deny him. He merely had to get to her, see her, touch her, remind her how much she favored him and why.
Ah, yes, now that he'd found someone who could see him, he'd be his glorious immortal self again in no time at all.
In the meantime, pending Circenn's return, he now had much with which to entertain himself. He was no longer in quite the same rush to be made immortal again. Not just yet. Not now that he suddenly had the opportunity to experience sex in human form. Fae glamour wasn't nearly as sensitive as the body he currently inhabited, and— sensual to the core— he'd been doubly pissed off at Aoibheal for making him unable to explore its erotic capabilities. She could be such a bitch sometimes.
If a simple hard-on in human form could reduce him to a primitive state, what would burying himself inside a woman do? What would it feel like to come inside her?
There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon find out.
Never had the mortal woman lived and breathed who could say no to a bit of fairy tail.
* * *
Gabby didn't take her foot from the accelerator until she'd squealed into the shadowy alley behind her house at 735 Monroe Street. Then she slammed on the brakes so hard she nearly gave herself whiplash.
She'd run every red light between Cincinnati and Newport, half-hoping a cop would pull her over (despite the warrant out for her arrest for unpaid parking tickets, as if she could afford to pay them once they'd doubled, with amnesty-day still four months away, and really, if the city would put sufficient parking downtown, a person wouldn't be forced to invent parking spaces). Throw her in jail. Lock her away where maybe the thing wouldn't be able to find her.
Most days she loved living in Kentucky, in her quaint historic neighborhood of old Victorians and Italianates, wrought-iron fences, climbing bougainvillaea and magnolia trees, a mere mile across the river from Ohio. It was convenient to work, to school, to the bars, to everything that mattered. But tonight it was much too close for comfort. Then again, Siberia would have felt too close for comfort at the moment.