Dark Fae: A Dark Fantasy Romance by Quinn Blackbird ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway

Dark Fae

The Dark Fae Book 1

by Quinn Blackbird

Genre: Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

He came to destroy the world.

He came to destroy us.

But he kept me alive when all else died.

It’s the end of us, the humans. Our world is ravaged, burned to the ground, destroyed by the armies of dark fae crawling all over our lands. They seek to end us, weed out the last of our survivors, and tear us to pieces.

We hide as best as we can. But it’s inevitable.

A dark fae army finds us hiding in a little village. We’re all goners. All of my group dies around me, and I’m about to join them in death—until he spares me.

**On Sale for only .99 cents!**

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Taken

The Dark Fae Book 2

He's a monster.

I'm a prisoner.

And he's got his sights locked on me.

Caspan, the dark fae General, shows a dangerous interest in Vale, the latest human captive collected by the army.

What the dark fae want with the human captives is anyone's guess—but it's the last thing on Vale's mind. As she struggles to manoeuvre the strict rules of her new life as a slave, she quickly learns that she must avoid the attention of the dark, dangerous Caspan at all costs.

His interest in her is not only a sinister mystery—it's surely a death sentence.

Stay alive. That's her only rule in this dark, abandoned world.

But living amongst monsters sometimes means having to bend the rules.

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Dark Souls

The Dark Fae Book 3

Rule of the apocalypse. Don't mess with the dark fae.

I did, and now this monstrous fae wants me;

Wants to hurt me,

Kill me,

And kiss me.

Vale is trapped in the dark fae army, a prisoner of monsters. To make matters worse, the dangerous and dark General isn't forgetting her any time soon.

He corners her, watches her, and does what no dark fae should do with a human--kisses her.

His lips on her skin is a kiss of death.

But Vale sees in him an opportunity to save the life of her only friend.

Didn't anyone ever tell Vale never to bargain with the fae?

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Excerpt 1.

I race for the treeline ahead.

My bag slams against my back, hitting a sore spot where my tailbone is—it cries out with every thud, agony searing me beneath the flesh. Falling over that wall has wounded me all over.

I shove through the pain exploding under my skin, at my ankle and back, my burning shoulder—I push through the pain and run faster than I fear my legs can carry me. They’re wobbling beneath me, threatening to give way as I race up the hill.

I make it halfway before an arrow whirs by my face. I jerk back just in time. It grazes my nose a second before I throw myself back onto the grassy slope.

My bag breaks the fall as I slam down on the dirt. But it doesn’t stop me from rolling down the hill, faster than I can run. Everything whirls by me; grass, dirt, and darkness polluted by orange firelight. The spinning only stops when I land with a crunch on the cobblestone at the bottom of the hill.

With a grunt, I scramble to my feet and spin around.

The dark fae are pouring out from the alleys, all over the village, and from the woods comes another dozen of them, arrows notched and ready to release. And as I know from the tiny drop of blood swelling at the tip of my nose, their arrows are faithful.

I’m completely surrounded. I have nowhere to go.

They advance on me. Their movements are dulled now. They know they have me cornered. They advance, slow and steady, wearing wicked smiles on their faces or vicious scowls that ache of bloodlust.

I can’t believe, after this long of survival, this is how it ends. Behind some forgotten village, where I’ll be left to rot or be eaten by wild animals from the woods. Either way, I’ll be gone. Forgotten, just like the village.

I back up to the nearest building until the hard touch of its walls presses against my bag. My hands somehow found themselves held up, as if in surrender.

And I do surrender, don’t I? By not running or fighting, I’m giving up. Facing death so weakly might not save my life, but it might mean a quick death. And that’s the best I can hope for right now.

Menacing faces draw in closer. Bloodshed glimmers in dangerous eyes all around me. I sink back further against the wall, as if I can simply fall into it and vanish.

It’s truly terrifying how silent their footsteps are. Even as they close in on me and I see their boots flatten against the ground, I can’t hear much other than my own rapid, choppy breaths and pounding heart.

Sweat seeps out from my pores. I can feel the beads gather at my brow. Watching the advancing dark fae, I hook my thumbs through the straps of my bag and slip it off. It slams down at my feet, freeing up the space between my waistband and my hand.

Reaching behind me, I feel around the waistband for the scissors tucked there. My fingers brush the handle as the first dark fae, whose eyes are like cut emeralds, comes at me.

I whip out the scissors and strike. Of course it misses him.

He laughs as he effortlessly dodges my attack. His laughter rises up over the army as some even throw their heads back and howl.

Guess I’ll go down fighting after all. But I’ll be laughed at in my final moments.

I lunge forward and swipe out at him again. His fiery-red hair whips to the side as he swirls around, and my scissors sinks into nothing but dark air.

Howls of laughter bubbles over the fae.

The red-haired one turns to face me, a feral grin twisting his mouth. He looks up at me from beneath short lashes and, in a blink, he moves for me.

A scream catches in my throat as he snatches me by the throat and, swiftly, throws me back against the wall. I smack against it audibly, then crumble to the ground.

Heat swells at the back of my head. Blood, I’m sure of it. I felt the crunch of my skull against the solid wall. My bones heard the impact.

The ground is spinning. I try to push myself upright, but everything tilts with every move I make, and dizziness washes over me. My body jerks forward as a violent heave shoves through me, and I slowly let myself slump against the ground. Better to die down here.

The heat of flames advances on me. I feel the sear against my skin. Lazily, I look up at the dark fae crowding me and see the fire-torches in their hands, outstretched, as they get a good look at me.

Some of the dark fae wear frowns as they study me. The red-haired one tilts his head and stares intently at the side of my neck.

Gingerly, I reach my hand to my neck and feel around for any monstrosity or wound. But there’s nothing there, nothing that I can feel at least. But there must be something, otherwise why are they all looking at my neck as if it’s just sprouted an arm?

Murmurs ripple over the crowd encircling me. Some of them look to another and talk in soft voices—as soft as their cutting language can sound. I frown back at the red-haired one as he takes a hesitant step toward me. I notice that he’s holstered his blade. There are no weapons in his hand.

He swipes a fire-torch out of another fae’s hand, then brings it closer to my head. The heat burns my skin, an odd itchy sensation. But it’s a short-lived feeling, because he pulls back after a few seconds, apparently satisfied. He chucks the fire-torch back to the one he stole it from, then gestures to me.

I’m too sore to move. My heart is pounding, my legs don’t work. It’s all I can do to lie on the ground as two fae move in on me and lift me up.

They carry me, not kill me. Yet.

Excerpt 2

I hear him before I see him; the purposeful steps he takes up the alley, the clink of armour, the song of a dagger he sheathes.

I turn my head to the mouth of the alley, where the main street blazes orange. And I see his silhouette first. Tall, broad—consuming.

Danger creeps up my spine. I have the sudden urge to break free and run at the other dark fae. I don’t want to face this one coming up the alley, the one all the others fall silent for.

My breath is deep and shaky as I see him completely engulfed in firelight.

The darkness fades from him, but lashes of it seem to lick at his heels, as though the darkness itself belongs to him, he is their master, their home. His soft-soled boots are thin, onyx-black leather, matching the trousers that grip him.

At his hips hangs a belt that’s home to all kinds of daggers and throwing knives. Some blades wear traces of fresh blood, and my spine shivers at the sight of the crimson smears gleaming in firelight.

Chain-link armour—so fine that it appears to have been made from silk threads—clings to a black-leather vest he wears. Paler than moonlight, his skin is scarred all over. His arms, muscular and strong, are ribbed by these strange scars. They aren’t bumped like the scars that scatter my arms, but pale and jagged not unlike stretch marks. They climb up his neck like claws, and stop just before the strong jawline.

His face steals me.

I’ve seen some dark fae from a distance before, and up close and personal today. They are all beautiful in the most dangerous of ways, like deadly cobras or lethal panthers. But this one… he’s something else.

His sleek dark hair falls to the side and brushes over his raised eyebrow. His eyes are pits of nothingness, just pure black. As I take in his face, I think fleetingly of our old world and the likes of Henry Cavill and Matt Bomer.

Only, this guy is no pampered actor. He’s a warrior, and his onyx-black eyes are fixed on me. There’s nothing friendly about the way he looks at me, either. I get the gut-churning feeling he’s about to skin me alive.

Excerpt 3

Caspan is inside his tent. I spot him on the leather armchair by the iron fire pit as the tent flap falls into place behind me.

He holds a glass of purple wine loose in his grip, and leans his temple on his fist. He watches the flames in the fire pit, and doesn’t look up as I come in.

I linger by the entrance for only a moment before I move for his bed. He doesn’t glance my way as I walk past him. I rest the basket on the floor, then carefully set his pile of clothes and armour on the animal hides that cover the air mattress.

Beside the mattress, there is a discarded belt full of daggers and knives on the floor. I eye the small sharp throwing knives with a hunger I feel deep in my belly. My arm aches to feel the kiss of a blade dragging over it. It hasn’t been long since I last cut, but already I crave the pain again. I crave the nothingness it embraces me with.

I hesitate by the bed, weighing up my choices. I wonder what the punishment will be if he catches me stealing a knife. I don’t have one of my own to bring that bittersweet relief to myself. And the ones that are used for cooking are closely guarded by the humans on meal duty.

Adrianna is on meal duty. Maybe I can use her to get to the knives. Would the punishment be worth the risk?

With that thought lingering in my mind, I pick up the basket and walk by the fire pit. As I make to leave, Caspan stops me—

“Come here, kuri.”

His voice slices through me like a sword through flesh. I turn to face him, holding the basket to me like a shield.

Caspan still leans his head lazily on his fist. Slowly, he lifts the glass to his pink mouth and sips the pungent wine. It’s a long sip, and he watches me with those black eyes of his. They remind me of black holes, sucking in all that’s good and pure, devouring the light that dares to live around it.

Finally, he lifts his hand and beckons me over with a curve of his long fingers. “I said come here.”

I’m unsure for a moment. Do I leave the basket on the on the ground, or take it with me? I decide to hug it to my chest as I tread closer to him, my footsteps uneasy and unwilling.

He watches me silently. The quiet is crushing, and my heartbeat picks up. I stop a safe metre in front of him, by the fire pit. The heat of the slight flames burns my arm. I savour the pain—it might be the closest to cutting that I can get in this camp.

“What is your name, kuri?”

My voice is a whisper, “Vale.”

“Show me your arm, Vale,” he says softly. He sounds tired. His lashes are dropped low, casting dark shadows over his marble-white face, and he watches me with the lazy gaze of a tiger watching prey on a too-hot day.

I lower the basket to the floor before I stretch out my scarred arm. The cuts gleam white in the firelight.

Caspan takes my wrist in his grip. His fingers are cool against my skin, and he presses hard, dragging me closer to him. His grasp loosens only when my knees touch his, and he runs the pad of his thumb over my scarred tattoo.

“Tell me about this,” he demands tiredly. He sets the glass down on a round side-table, then brings his full attention to my arm. “This symbol,” he explains, studying my ink. “What does it mean to you?”

I trace his stare to my arm. The tattoo is thick and black, and its shape sort of resembles a fat, cursive ‘r’ with a comma above it.

“It’s nothing,” I say. “It means nothing, it’s just a shape.”

His ink-black eyes look up at me from beneath thick lashes. There’s a palpable danger in his lazy gaze that makes my heart thrum hard in my chest. I swallow and shift on the spot, the urge to yank my wrist out of his grip devouring me.

“And these?” His grip travels up from my wrist to the scars marking my skin. “Do these mean nothing to you, also?”

His hand on my arm is looser now. Delicately, I pull my arm back to myself and let his hand drop to his side. He looks at me, hard.

“Is there anything else you need?” I ask, and ice-cold dread plummets through me. But no matter the fear, I don’t want to share my secrets with him. My dark thoughts are mine, not his.

His dark brow arches into a perfect shape as he studies me. Then, a dark smirk twists his full lips and I can glimpse the sharpness of his rear teeth.

“You have courage, little kuri,” he says. “And some foolery to match.”

I look down at my scuffed boots. All I want is to grab a knife from this tent and run back to the dark edges of camp. I want to slice my skin, then curl up into a ball and let that numbness consume me. I don’t want to stand here and be looked at like some cut-up ham.

When I bring my gaze back up to him, my heart stops for a beat. His stare has dropped to my tank-top. It’s white, and doesn’t hide much of what’s beneath it. And what worries me is the lazy hunger burning his black eyes.

My brows knit together. Distantly, I hear Adrianna’s voice in the back of my mind.

‘They don’t see us that way.’

The dark fae are not supposed to look at us like this—with lust and want. They aren’t supposed to look at our bodies or pay us much mind at all.

Uncomfortably, I fold my arms over my chest, blocking his view. As if yanked out of a dream, his cutting stare lifts to mine and a tightness hardens his face.

“The symbol,” he says and glances at my arm. “Where did you see it?”

I roll my jaw. Irritation is gnawing at my heels. “It’s not important.”

His voice is a deep growl; “I will decide what is important and what is not.”

He is obsessed with my stupid tattoo. I don't know if it’s because I refuse to talk about it that makes him so interested. But then, I remember the healer as he treated my arm, and how he stared at my ink for a moment too long. I wonder if the symbol means something to the dark fae—but then, that’s a stupid thought. How could an image I dreamt up years ago have anything to do with the fae?

I don’t want to answer, despite his cruel and unwavering stare. I don’t want him to know me in any meaningful way, a way that betrays my darkness to him. I want to be a stranger. Invisible.

But I also don’t want to die a brutal, painful death at his hands.

“I dreamt it,” I confess. “A long time ago, the night my parents died. I had a dream, and—” My words fall away with a shrug, and I look down at the basket tucked at my boots. “I don’t know, I thought it would be nice to have it remind me of them.”

“Remind you of their death,” he corrects me, and his eyes glisten like tar caught under the moonlight. A scowl slowly starts to settle on his face. He stares at me for a long moment. The air starts to thicken with his anger, and I don’t know what I’ve said to turn his mood so drastically.

Relief ribbons through me as he flicks his hand and says, “Leave.”

I grab the basket in a hurry before I rush out of the tent.

Excerpt 4

“Why did you do that?” I ask.

His lashes lower. “Leave, kuri.”

“I want to know why,” I argue with more courage than I feel withering away inside of me. ‘Why did you heal me after that fae whipped me? Why do you want to know about my scars and tattoo? Why did you do that to my neck?” I bite the insides of my cheek before I spit the final sting, “Why are you so damn interested in me?”

That does it.

He lunges at me.

I have just a moment to blink before I’m on my back on the furs, Caspan straddling me and his tight grip is clutching my throat.

Without the charcoal diadem, his black hair falls loose over his forehead and the tips brush over his brows. It adds a deeper darkness to his inky-pool eyes.

He crouches over me, his mouth coming closer to mine.

Those two black pools he has for eyes burn into me like fire pits unleashed. Slowly, he brings his face closer to mine until the tips of our noses touch, and I can taste the fruit on his warm breath. I’m so hungry that my mouth waters.

“I ask the questions, kuri. It is your duty to live in fear.” His voice is a low whisper, a dangerous sound that floods me with panic. “If you need reminding...” His free hand comes up with the silvery wink of a blade and my blood runs cold. He presses the tip of the blade to the side of my neck.

Excerpt 5

His black eyes shimmer like pools of spilt ink, growing darker by the second. In his gaze, cruelty dwells. His face is pulled tight like a stone mask, and his diadem winks down at me with brutal intentions.

“I got what I wanted,” I say, fear hushing my voice to a shaky whisper. “I made a bargain with you, and I saved my friend. I don’t give a shit about anyone else—”

I’m cut off with a sudden scream that tears through me.

Caspan throws me across the tent with such force that I’m practically flying. I land on the air mattress with a high bounce only once before he’s on me.

Straddling me, he flips me onto my back and pins my wrists to the furs. I glower up at him, my breaths shivering through me.

“I should end you now, kuri. You do not realise your place.”

“So kill me,” I spit, but panic is rushing through my lungs. “Do what the fuck you want, Caspan. Punish me for someone else doing wrong. Whatever.” I shake my head, my face twisting under the firelight. “I’m so fucking over it. All of it. If you want to make it end for me, then do it—but do it quickly.”

A wince catches in my throat. He digs his sharp nails into my wrist, deep enough to break the skin and draw blood.

“You are trouble,” he hisses darkly.

The tears in my eyes start to shed. No longer trapped by my fight against them.

My lashes catch tears as I stare up at him, the fight fleeing me. “See?” My voice cracks. “You want to kill me, don't you? You want to end my life and save you the bother of having me around. But it’s more than that, isn't it?”

His face twists into something ferocious. “Silent, kuri. You do not know what you speak of.”

“Something is stopping you,” I goad him, almost wanting him to tear out my throat. That way, it’s the end for me, it’ll be only peace beyond now.

No more slave work, no more treks across the country, and I won’t have to face what waits at the end of the army’s journey.

“Something is stopping you from killing me,” I add. “Can’t just be a lousy tattoo. So what is it?”

Caspan brings his face closer to mine. Our noses touch.

His skin is cold against mine, unlike the heat coming from his warm mouth. He speaks against my lips, “You know nothing, you simple girl. What you speak of is far beyond your comprehension.”

His full lips graze over mine. His mouth passes my cheek, his breath leaving a hot and sticky reminder of his touch, and he settles at the line of my jaw.

He goes still. His mouth tickles my jawline, but he doesn't move. Like he’s entranced, or something. Lost in his mind, deep where a battle rages on, and he has to fight himself.

I take my chance. I slide my hand out of his grip and he lets me. But I don’t fight him. I reach down to his belt and slowly slip out a small knife from the sheath.

Gently, I slip the knife into the elastic band of my leggings. It holds well enough.

“That’s what you want?” I whisper, pinned down by the heavy weight of his body. Without his shirt on, I can feel his muscles tense against me. “You want to kiss my neck? You want me on your bed?” My face twists into something ugly as I hiss, “In your arms?”

His warning is a growl against my skin, “Be silent.”

I buck against him. He’s unmovable and a dangerous growl rumbles through him in answer.

“It’s not my fault she tried to save her friend,” I spit. “I didn't ask you to save me the times that you did. I never asked you to heal me, or be open to bargains, or for your attention—”

His teeth latch onto the side of my exposed neck, and he bites, hard.

A cry catches in my throat. My back arches as if to pull away from the pain, and tears stream out from the corners of my eyes.

Warm blood rolls down my cold skin.

He slips his teeth out from my flesh. “Say another word, and I will strip you to the bone, kuri.”

I clamp my mouth shut, my eyes squeezed closed against the tears that leak. I go limp beneath him to emphasise my point. But I can’t stop the sobs from crawling up my throat, though I do fight them.

I’m just not strong enough for this. I can’t fight this battle every day, not with a dark fae like him. Not with any.

And now, with his bloody lips grazing my flesh wound, I realise with a cold dread that bolts to my gut—there’s no getting out of this. His interest runs much deeper than I feared to think.

He wants me.

And he hates me for it.

Hi!

It’s Q&A time with me!

I’m Quinn Blackbird—and Klarissa King, and Isla Jones. I have a bunch of pen-names for different genres (Fantasy, Paranormal and Horror). Quinn Blackbird is my main pen-name with the stories I love most.

As my teacher once told me, I’ve never been a dreamer, but will always be a daydreamer. Poor her for trying to get me to focus in class.

I’m a Brit living in Australia, on the beach. It’s over my morning coffees that I conjure up new story ideas (some stronger than others), and only if those stories pass my ‘one-month-wait’ test do I turn them into the written word.

Only for a years have I been an author, but I always be a reader.

I’m not a terribly interesting person, unfortunately. My life consists mostly of caring for my two senior doggos, drinking more caffeine than the doctor recommends, grappling with my fear of dentists when it’s time for check-ups, and living in a constant state of daydreams.

I completed my Bachelors of Arts in Australia, and my Masters of Literary Studies in the UK. I’m also fortunate to have travelled most of the world. Been to every continent at least twice!

I was born and raised in Britain before my family up-and-moved to Australia.

If I knew I would die tomorrow, and this was my last day on earth, I wouldn’t do anything magnificent or significant. I was simply spend the day with my dogs and give them all my love.

If I was a world leader, I doubt I’d be a very good one. I just don’t have the patience. Hell, I’d probably end up as some bitter dictator and wage war on the right-wingers.

What am I passionate about? Those darn politics. Women’s rights, racial rights, sexual rights, and the rest. #leftisbest

Oh, describe myself in a few words… Let’s see. Opinionated! Anxiousssss. And someone who would rather live in a fantasy world than our very dark real one. Ok, that’s more than a few words, but oh well!

Onto The Dark Fae! Which is why you’re really here, be honest.

A series of dreams inspired this series. Back in 2019, I had this horrible, suffocating dream that the world went dark. All of it. The blackness was so thick I couldn’t see my hands in front of my face. It’s a nightmare that will stay with me.

From that, I spun new stories of the monsters living in this dark world. And then came the dark fae. I didn’t figure them out until the end of the year, but my urgency to write this series came at the start of this year, and once I started, I couldn’t stop.

For now, this is my only planned series for the year. I’m tossing up between other stories at the moment, but nothing is really sticking. So for now, I’ll wait.

Stay tuned.