Shadowed Fire (Veil of Midnight Book 1)

by A. Vers

  I lean into him and his body heat beats at me. My arms ache to wrap around his neck, and my legs shake with the first flaring of wanton desire.

  He plucks the daggers from my now loose hands. Some of the fog lifts.

  I blink. “What the hell?”

  “Chol.” Nix’s voice filters from the dimness at the other end of the platform, like a reprimand. My strange new fixation disappears as he walks into the light. “Amour hardly seems like a skill worthy of a human girl.”

  I look between them, trying to breathe normally. Human? He thinks I’m human?

  Nix’s cloak is gone, leaving a strange vest like wrap with a hood in its place. A thin veil of gossamer fabric rests against the strong line of his throat. His arms are bare, showcasing russet muscle and scrolling crimson lines from his shoulders to mid-bicep. The patterns are arcane and seem to shift and move over his skin like living things.

  “Amour?” I ask, voice mild. Empty of desire or confusion. Thank the Gods.

  Nix’s vibrant eyes are locked on his charge’s face like I don’t exist, and Chol sighs. “But it was easier while she didn’t know…” Chol grumps.

  No denial, just an arrogant pouting that his fun is over.

  Icy anger washes away any hopes of my playing nice.

  My feet tangle as I take a hasty step back. “You pretentious—” I scramble for a word harsh enough, “Prince!” I hiss finally. “What did you do to me?”

  Chol has the decency to look embarrassed. “Amour is a cambion ability. It’s similar to the Asmodean Sin. I can’t raise lust in others if they don’t feel it. Swear. All I can do is taste another’s need— And make it stronger sometimes. That’s all.”

  Blood floods my face and neck, scorching me, and my mouth opens but nothing comes out.

  He can taste how hot I think he is? My eyes stray to the wall of unrelieved muscle just behind him. Is that why--

  Nix casually plucks a jagged, obsidian blade from his hip and offers it to me without looking. “Go for the heart, he won’t survive that.”

  I ignore the piece of stone, anger turning my vision sharp. “What were you going to do?” Hoisting my blades, I damn near screech the words as I crowd the prince’s scalding frame. “Use your fancy Amour to seduce me?”

  Chol backpedals, hands raised in defense as his eyes widen in alarm. “Of course not. I mean, I don’t need it for that, but—” His words choke off as my eyes narrow. “I was merely trying to show you how it could be used in battle.”

  I stop walking, floored by his obvious insanity. “Then you don’t know shit about real combat.”

  A deep laugh sounds behind me. I turn to find Nix coughing into one armored fist. My brow arches, but there is no trace of a smile or anything on his face. No one else is visible on the top tier. And I was looking at Chol.

  My head cocks. Huh. Honestly did not expect the man to know how to laugh.

  Chol huffs, drawing my focus once again. “I have never used it like that, no. But there are a lot who have.”

  My eyes roll. “So you’re basing your little game off a theory?”

  He stiffens, eyes spiraling to storm-cloud-gray. Just like that, the teasing prince is gone. “It isn’t my first weapon in a fight. Believe me. Nor is it my only weapon.”

  I toss one of the blades in my grasp, bouncing it up and down almost idly. “Fine. But if you use Amour on me again, I will stab you. Prince or not.”

  Chol watches me, expression almost excited, like my words are a challenge. “As you wish.”

  I turn to move away. Nix steps back mildly, the motion a blur.

  Weary, I skirt the edge of the mats and start putting things up. With Hunk 1 and 2 so close, there is little chance in getting any more training done, so I don’t bother to try.

  I grab the handles on the nearest stack of mats and heave. Half the weight disappears. I stagger at the suddenly lighter mass, and my head whips up to find Chol holding the other side.

  He gives me a sheepish grin.

  It’s not his casual flirting or even the trace of dark anger. But it may be one of his realest expressions yet. And a possible apology.

  We put the mats back in neat stacks in the dark alcove. The ballistics dummy has seen better days, but with a few dabs of adhesive, it will go back together well enough.

  After collecting the rest of my blades, I start toward the stairs, uncaring if they follow.

  Babysitter not entertainer.

  Discontent voices filter up from below. Flesh hits flesh and a bellow rips clean up into the rafters. My pulse speeds.

  I run to the rail and look over.

  The entire training room is full now, weights and equipment casually discarded. No need to ask why. Half the group crowds around a large male and a rather lithe female. They both sport angry expressions and ragged clothes.

  As I watch, the male swings one meaty fist.

  “Shit.” I grab the rail.

  “Sayah—”

  Ignoring Chol’s mildly surprised voice, I vault over the edge.

  The platforms for lifting weights speed into view. I flex my knees a little and land, albeit shakily, in one piece. “Hey!” I yell, already closing the distance.

  Most of the supernaturals move, but I still have to shove and elbow my way to the center of the masses. The woman weaves beneath the man’s fists. He throws an arm out and grabs her hair. She screams.

  The blade is in my fingers before I can think about it, and in his shoulder between inhale and exhale.

  He bellows, dropping his hold on her before rounding on me. “Bitch!”

  I smile, palming two more blades. “No fighting, Bruce. You know the rules. You don’t like it…leave.”

  His beady black eyes glint. I lower myself into an easy crouch, waiting. He watches me, seemingly weighing his options. My fingers flex around my blades. He stands back upright with a dismissive wave of his hand, and then wrenches my knife out of his flesh before dropping it to the ground. “Bloody girl,” he spits and walks out.

  The others disperse, the woman included, without much of a backwards glance. And without a single damn thank you.

  I wait until they are all mostly gone before pulling myself back up to my full height and turning toward the door.

  Nix stands in front of Chol at the bottom of the steps, sword aloft in his grasp and wrap back over his face. Chol waits poised on the last stair, one hand on the baluster. The lean muscle in his forearm seems to ripple, like he is not as relaxed as he seems. I scowl as my eyes dip to Nix when he stows his weapon.

  What the hells did he think he was going to do?

  “Are you all right, Sayah?” Chol asks.

  I offer him a smile that is more a baring of teeth. “Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you, Prince Chol?”

  A slight tightening flares around his eyes, but it’s gone a moment later as his expression smoothes out into a lascivious grin. “Your company is all I require.”

  I snort. “Well…unfortunately, I have work to do.” My tone says that I don’t find it unfortunate at all.

  Nix slips around his charge. Within moments, he pulls the shadows around him like a well-worn coat and is gone from my sight. Disappeared. I shake my head. But no, he is still gone.

  My amhara could locate him, of that I am sure. But I refuse to use it again.

  If Aith is right, and Nix is a Hallow, it would explain more than just his clothing.

  Hallows—as the oldest group of assassins in the world—are trained from infancy. They are taken from every race across every world and versed in stealth, combat, and more poisons than most apothecaries. They can get into enemy lines and slay hundreds with little more than a single blade and the shadows they weave like cloaks around them. I shiver.

  And the last thing I need is for a hired killer to figure out what I am with one of his currently unknown extra senses.

  Chol sighs, drawing me from my reverie. “Alas, a striking beauty such as yourself must have many things that require
your attention.” He takes the last step and stalks across the gleaming wood. I press into the doors, fingers straying to the daggers hooked into the waistband of my pants. His eyes glitter in the amber light of the nearby sconces. My heart races and a now familiar wash of heat flows through me.

  “I won’t warn you again, Chol. No amour.”

  The coy spread of his smile grows into something almost impish. Playful. “I am not doing anything. On my word.”

  I lay my hand on the thick wood of the double doors behind me, fumbling for the knob. It’s cool against my palm, and the steady thrum of the wards is like white noise to my senses. It should be a relief.

  If Chol wasn’t the crowned prince of the Cambions, anyway.

  My eyes glide up to his stunning face of all sharp angles and glistening lips. Lips that look kissable and made for pleasure--

  “I need to go,” I say quickly and grope the door open. Stumbling out into the hallway, I close the panel on his heartbreakingly befuddled expression and sprint down the corridor. I’m three steps from the stairs when the whole house quakes.

  I sway in place, head whipping up and down the paneled hall as another tremor shakes the foundation. The door bangs open behind me, and Nix and Chol spill out into the dim corridor.

  My face burns with embarrassment that N was no doubt watching the fiasco with the prince.

  Stupid, Sayah, I chide. Very stupid.

  “Get back inside,” I snap as another heavy boom rips through the house.

  “What the hells is that?” Chol demands, gold light spinning in his eyes despite the dampener I know is under his shirt.

  I race for the stairs. “Sounds like a giant dancing,” I quip.

  A dark blur falls into step beside me. “Now is not the time for jokes,” Nix snarls.

  I flip him off and keep running.

  The final landing is empty, devoid of the supernaturals I know should be filling it. Another deafening echo trickles through the walls, coming from the kitchen. I take off, leaping from the bottom step and sliding across the floor on the nearest rug.

  Jumping free, I push through the doors and stop.

  Bruce and the woman from the training room dance jovially to rambunctious clapping and whistling. She holds a thick wad of towels to his shoulder as he stomps his feet and swings her around to music only he can hear. I lean against the doorjamb, pulse racing and incredulity filling me.

  Nix barrels to a halt beside me, blades in hand, as Chol’s soft cookie fragrance flows to me too.

  A low chuckle leaves the prince as he leans over our shoulders. “Well, guess you were right after all,” Chol says, amusement coloring his voice.

  My lips tug despite myself.

  Motioning Nix to stow his weapons before the crowd sees them, I can only shake my head and watch the giant dance—his beady eyes alight—as the makeshift music threatens to bring down the house.

  Chapter 4

  The darkness is solid, impenetrable. And for a moment, I don’t understand what woke me. The ceiling of my room is a recessed expanse of timbers and hanging spell weaves above me. Familiar. Normal. I raise a hand, feeding the strands of stones with a trace of my magick.

  A soft glow permeates my room, throwing the disheveled closet into shadows of chaos and my discarded clothes. I can’t help the snort that leaves me.

  It took hours, and far more of Midnight’s mead than I care to admit, to get the guests to settle down. But not before a group of brownies whipped up a superb dinner for us all and many of the guests told tales from their travels. Even I have to admit, it wasn’t too bad just sitting and listening to them, stomach full and a glass of tea—instead of the mead—in hand.

  With the Prince, I have to keep my wits about me after all.

  By the time I fell into bed from exhaustion, it was nearly 3AM on Earth. I should’ve slept for a while yet.

  So what woke me?

  A cool breeze ruffles my hair and the white gossamer curtains over my open windows. Windows I don’t remember opening.

  Dimming my magick lights, I slip from the tangle of sheets and ease closer to the open sills, steps careful and quiet.

  Trees sway in every direction. The back gardens are simple moonlit hollows, and every leaf is an emerald so deep they are onyx in the darkness. I lean against the windowsill, scanning the area with more than just my eyes.

  Midnight tendrils flow across the lawn, like feelers or vines. Each massive strand is thick, wider than my thigh and pulsing. It throbs with power. A power that seems to taste the very air around it, pulling the breeze in to the advancing coils with a wave of energy that may be visible to me alone.

  I search the quiet night behind it, scanning for the source of such sinister magick.

  A towering figure rests amongst the trees, and at the base, sprawled and unmoving, are multiple armored shapes.

  The guards.

  All the air in my lungs freezes. I back up, careful not to draw attention from the sentient fronds slithering over the lawn. Grabbing my satchel near the closet, I ease open my door and pad down the hall.

  The stairs are cool, and with every pace, I feel the wards, looking for cracks or places in Father’s weaving. Anything that would allow that dark mass inside. Though none immediately show themselves, the lack of familiar energy in the house is unnerving.

  My parents are nowhere to be found.

  Where is everyone? Surely they all can’t still be at the Consulate?

  I press harder, sending my aura through the halls for any sign of Aith or the other guests. Several energy fields slumber below, unaware of the danger outside. But the two closest are my top priority.

  Chol’s door is closed and no light filters under the bottom as I crest the stairs. I rap softly on the antique wood. “Nix? Open up.”

  The panel opens on vibrant carnelian eyes and a fully armored body.

  Nix rakes his gaze over my sleeping shorts, tank top, and the bag in my hand with obvious dismissal. “The Prince slumbers,” he rumbles and starts to close the door. “You can play with him tomorrow.”

  I snarl and lean against the panel, keeping it wide. “We need to move. Now.”

  His expression never changes, but he rushes from the entrance, every movement little more than a whispering sigh to my ears. Within moments, Chol staggers from the adjoining bedroom, sleep pants hung low over his tapered hips. I fight down the knee weak reaction to his impressive abs and rock-hard chest before grabbing his warm wrist.

  They fall into step behind me and we rush headlong down the hall. Nix matches my stride easily, his strange irises scanning every shadow that we pass.

  Pushing in Father’s office door, I drop my bag and move to the desk. “The guards are down outside and something is coming,” I say. Nix stiffens before rushing to the windows.

  He swears vehemently. “Something breached my perimeter,” he snarls. “It shut me off from the traps I laid.”

  I stare at him.

  What magick does he possess that he can do such large weavings?

  “We’ve been found.” Chol’s voice is thready and when I turn to him, his tan is a ghostly white.

  I huff to hide my own fear. Whatever is after them…it’s still coming. “No shit,” I say. “Will one of you help me? Please?”

  Nix grabs the other side of Father’s heavy oak desk, and we haul it out of the way.

  I roll the rug back, revealing arcane symbols in every shade of the rainbow. They swirl in dizzying patterns, spreading like a network of grids and equations. Chol gapes.

  The wards zap my fingers as I stroke them. Shit. Slowing, I let the energy sense my blood before I grasp the recessed metal ring and open the panel onto a narrow set of stairs.

  If anyone but myself or father touched the door, they would wake up days later with a magick hangover.

  “In,” I say.

  Chol looks at me, the last of his fear fading to incredulity. “What?”

  “My parents aren’t back yet and the meeting should hav
e been over by now.” He just stands there. “That means we are under siege and whatever is out there probably thinks cambion princes are a delicacy. I can’t defend you if I’m worrying about you.”

  Heat floods his tan cheeks. “I can defend—”

  “Would you both please go down the damn steps?” I dance a little in place, my anxiety warring with fear of the black mass outside.

  Maybe it’s my tone or the following sinister quiet, but Chol moves, climbing into the hole. His shoulders reach level with the outer rim before his head tilts back. “Wait, what about you? Aren’t you coming?”

  “Go.”

  He stares up at me.

  “The vault is the center of every ward on the embassy. It’s a network of lines and weavings that have been put in place since the house was built. Even the very foundation is woven with them,” I say. “It keeps magick out…and in.”

  He blinks.

  “I can’t fight—whatever this is—down there.”

  Realization dawns in his eyes. “You’re not human.”

  Is that disappointment in his voice?

  A hard bang rattles the windows and Nix rushes over to them, sword at the ready. Apprehension replaces any trace of doubt. “Now, Chol,” I prompt through my teeth.

  The Prince swears but drops into the passage. My hands flex and raw, ice blue power surges from behind my shields. It wavers dangerously, uncontrollable and hard to manipulate. Always hard to keep in check. Biting my lip, I squeeze a small trickle into a misshapen orb and let it drop down next to Chol’s head. “Stay down there until either my parents or myself comes to get you,” I tell him.

  With a tight jaw, he slips into the darkness, taking the power with him. The line between it and myself grows, and I know Chol is running towards the nexus of the vault.

  I turn to the Hallow.

  Nix glowers. “Don’t even try.”

  I sigh, slip the rug over the hole, and put Father’s crystals beneath the windows—sealing them with magick—before running from the room.

  Nix races out after me. I slam my largest quartz at the base of the wall by the door. With a harsh incantus, the doorway disappears in a deathly weaving that crackles with electricity.