ROMANCING THE BANSHEE
By Alecia Monaco
ISBN: 978-1-59596-323-9
Changeling Press
Release Date: January 2006
Copyright ©2006 Alecia Monaco

Aisling is a banshee, the Celtic fairy species in charge of sounding the death call for mortals. But when the mortal in question happens to be sexy attorney Declan Mahoney, killing him is the last thing on Aisling’s mind.

When Declan proves to be immune to Aisling’s death call, they both want to know why. Can they work together to discover who wants Declan dead and why? Or will their passion become unavoidable?

Damn. She really didn't want to kill this one.

From her perch on the fire escape outside, Aisling stared through the window into the darkened bedroom of her latest assignment and sighed. Sometimes she hated her calling -- especially when it involved being the harbinger of death for a deliciously gorgeous mortal male.

And this one, she thought with another glance at his sleeping form, might very well redefine the word gorgeous forever.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her handkerchief hemmed white gown, retrieved her PDA and switched it on, smiling when it lit up with a merry digital green glow.

Thank the Goddess for backlighting. At her age, seeing in the dark wasn't the piece of cake it used to be.

With a few careful movements of her stylus, she brought up the file on the current assignment.

Declan Mahoney. Age thirty-two. Yale grad. New Haven resident. Attorney. No wonder someone wanted him dead. Former smoker. Cat lover. Well, that's always a plus. Never married. No children. Driven. Successful.

Scheduled to die. Tonight.

Might as well get the ball rolling. No point in prolonging the inevitable.

She gathered her long skirt in one hand and, with a blink of her eyes, turned into vapor. She materialized on the other side of the window with ease, and found herself a few feet away from the rumpled bed of one Declan Mahoney.

Mmmm. She inhaled deeply, appreciating the scent of spicy aftershave combined with pure unadulterated male.

Speaking of male. Assignment #327100DM rolled onto his back and revealed an impressive erection tenting the sheets. For a minute, Aisling almost felt flattered. Remembering that human males typically had several meaningless nocturnal erections as part of a normal sleep cycle, she scowled. Had she gone without male attention for so long she was reading hidden meanings into midnight mystery boners?

She rolled her eyes. She could have a vagina growing from her forehead and men still wouldn't notice her. The whole “herald of death” thing tended to be a bit of a romance killer. No pun intended.

But it wasn't just loneliness that had her noticing this particular male with such ravenous attention. He was truly beautiful to behold. His hair was cut short, slightly tousled on top, and as blue-black as the birds of Rhiannon. His sleeping profile showed aristocratic features, purely Celtic and lethally sexy.

She wondered what color his eyes were.

The blue sheets had slipped down to reveal a spectacularly muscled chest with just the right sprinkling of blue-black hair. Aisling's fingers itched to run through it, to lie beneath the sheet beside him and see if he felt as warm as he looked.

Aisling bit her bottom lip. Couldn't she let this one slip through the cracks? It would be a crime against humanity to remove such a specimen from their gene pool. If she couldn't have him, she could at least leave him to be the love of some other woman's life.

But Morgan Le Fay had ordered his death herself, signing the decree in ink made of raven's blood. Black smoke had risen from Cerridwen's cauldron when Morgan tossed the death warrant into its iron depths. Declan Mahoney had to die, and she had to start the process.

Yippity-skippity.

Drawing in a breath of air tinged with his scent, she filled her lungs. Her fangs extended and she squeezed her eyes shut. The first note of her keening call sounded, rising up from her diaphragm, roaring through her chest, gaining power in her throat and vibrating forth from her mouth. It was the death call. No mortal could hear it and live. It fed on their death throes and grew stronger, compelling them to surrender their spirits to the hands of the Goddess.

Aisling threw her head back, letting the call take her. The sound ripped through the small bedroom, shredding the air. A glass shattered somewhere. The windows shook behind her. Still she called, her keening beckoning the soul of Declan Mahoney to leave his body.

When her voice began to give out, she cautiously pried open an eye, expecting to see the misty spirit form of the gorgeous mortal male drifting toward his eternal destiny. Instead she saw a very much alive Declan peering at her in wide-eyed horror.

Well, that answered one question. He had blue eyes.

He continued to stare at her, mouth gaping, the edge of his blue sheet -- it almost perfectly matched his eyes -- grasped tightly in his large hands.

What the hell had happened? What had she done wrong? “Why aren't you dead?”

CHANGELING PRESS