Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) by S. A. Archer, S. Ravynheart Page A

can feel it in my bones.”
    The machine processing the blood sample stopped its churning and uttered an unobtrusive tone of completion. Frieda rose from her stool to collect the printout scrolling on a streamer of paper. “Perhaps this one has your answers?”
    She handed the paper over to Granger, who frowned at it. “What does this even mean?”
    Pointing to the data, she repeated what was indicated there. “The DNA is human. The high levels of magic laced in the blood is pure fey. Not the work of your wizards, just to be clear.”
    “She’s… a human… that’s been enchanted… by the fey?” Granger’s brows furrowed, trying to wrap his head around it.
    Patterson gave a snort. “Oh, that does change things, now doesn’t it, mate?”

Chapter Sixteen

    Usually, Peyton’s hair was a honey brown, almost blond in the right lighting or when he’d been out in the sun a fair bit. Now, the shower-damp hair in his reflection was nearly black. Leaning closer to the mirror, he checked his shave job in the foggy glass. Scruffy worked when the cover was as a construction worker, but not so much while trying to pass for a spook. The government types liked the anonymity in blending in with the business crowd. If you could be mistaken for a banker, then you had one of the qualifications to be a government agent. The tattoo of enchantment scrawled across his upper torso wouldn’t sell the part at all, but at least his shirt should cover it up. Peyton’s eyes roamed down the blurry glass to see just how close the markings would reach his shirt collar. Only, he didn’t see the dark marks in the reflection.
    He squinted as a frown tugged at his mouth. In a moment, he’d grabbed up a towel and wiped the mirror to get a better look, only to see his own pristine flesh reflected back at him. But when he glanced downward, there it was, big as life.”
    The mystery nagged him, as he finished dressing. A white button-down shirt, gray slacks with matching suit jacket, and a conservative tie in a complimentary shade of hunter green and he was indistinguishable from ninety percent of the suits that had been going in and out of the Interpol special station office he’d tracked the homing device to.
    “I think I should go with you.” Deacon said, as he sorted the equipment on the breakfast bar off of the rented flat’s kitchen nook and glanced over Peyton’s changed appearance.
    “You’re not going in with me,” Peyton repeated, pushing past the Changeling to grab another slice of the bacon that he’d fried up for breakfast.
    “Why not? I can look like an agent.”
    “Because you always start killing things the second they look at you sideways. You’re not the plan; you’re what I need if the plan fails.” Peyton double-checked the forged documents that Deacon had procured, making certain that they met the specifications. He’d be playing the role of a junior MI-6 agent returning from extended assignment. The employment history and dossier was already embedded into the MI-6 servers. The transfer papers appeared in order. The Human Resources department would be providing him with the genuine badge and passcards he would need when he checked in.
    Why break into a place when you can get them to hand over the keys?
    “You are absolutely no fun, do you know that?” Deacon pushed away from the counter and grabbed a Guinness from the stocked fridge. The Changeling had seen to that.
    “So what exactly are these marks on my chest? They don’t show up in the mirror.” Peyton kept the tone light, the conversation casual.
    “It won’t do Credne any good if you can’t pass for just another human slug. Only a fey, or someone enchanted by fey magic, can see your brand, and they will all know who owns you.” Deacon grinned that wide-evil Changeling grin that could chill the blood of even the bravest of men.
    Peyton let the insult slide, pouring a couple of fingers of orange juice to chase the bacon. “Good to know.” And it