More than two thousand years ago, the healer Lochlann Doran was the first Fae to leave the Realm after the Sundering of the Fae and human worlds. After centuries of wandering the human world, seeking his SoulShare, he has spent all his magick, and lost all his hope.
Garrett Templar is the star pole dancer at Purgatory, the hottest gay nightclub in Washington, D.C. If his past hadn’t taught him the futility of hope, his present surely would; HIV-positive since age 18, his illness has suddenly and inexplicably mutated into drug-impervious AIDS.
A SoulShare bond with Garrett may give Lochlann back his magick, his gift of healing. But it also might kill him. And if he survives the return of his magick, the Marfach and its host are waiting to use the dancer as bait in a deadly trap. Only an impossible love can save them both. And everyone knows Fae don’t love….
- 2 To Be Read lists
“Garrett, lanan, please, don’t fight me.” A rough cheek brushed against his own. “What do you feel, when I kiss you? When I touch you?”
“Nothing.” He barely managed to get the word out through clenched teeth. “Not a fucking thing.”
Lochlann’s grip on Garrett’s hair loosened, just enough to allow him to stroke the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone. The gently possessive gesture sent an ecstatic tingle racing through his body, straight to his groin, which was so not obeying orders at the moment. But he sucked in a breath, and kept his face impassive. “Really.”
“Not true.” Lochlann shook his head, tousled dark hair falling over his forehead, nearly into his eyes. “I know exactly what you’re feeling. I can see it. And I feel it too. The joy, all out of proportion to what it’s supposed to feel like when you touch someone. Even someone you want as much as I want you.”READ MORE
“What do you mean, you can see it?” Better to talk about that than about the other. About joy, about being wanted. “Let me guess, you’re psychic.” The impulse to push, push back hard, put this danger at a safe distance, was overwhelming. “You never did say what you do for a living – do you sit around your house and answer calls on one of those bullshit four-dollar-a-minute hotlines?”
“Psychic?” Lochlann arched a brow, his gaze capturing Garrett’s with abrupt impossible intensity. “Not in the sense you mean.” The hand on the small of Garrett’s back slid under his sweatshirt, and he shivered with the delicious heat of it. “But I’m not human. And if you’ll stop fighting me, I might be able to heal you. If I don’t die trying.”COLLAPSE