Shadow World

by Gaja J. Kos

  An in-depth profile on Vuyasin. Hieraven. Followed by ones pertaining to the demons from Raya’s court I’d seen when I dropped by Hieraven’s place, and a few I hadn’t, but who apparently belonged to the same group.

  There was even a partition dedicated to me. Although, beside the fact that I was an assassin written in what felt like bold letters, I was glad to find the bastards didn’t have all that much dirt or insight into my life.

  Then again, I wasn’t the person of interest here.

  My mind strained to figure out how my father and Sacred Skies intersected, but I knew that wouldn’t happen while I was sitting cross-legged in a godsdamned safe. So I blew out a breath and started photographing.

  The phone’s battery drained at a rapid pace as I fired the camera time and time again, grateful I had the foresight to charge it before my little torture session with Albert. When I almost reached the end of the stack, the phone vibrated with a message from Simon.

  Move.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I counted down the seconds until the power would come back on, hastily snapshotting the remaining pages. Sweat coalesced under my gloves when I returned the folder to its rightful place.

  The drawer jammed.

  Fuck.

  My heart beat a quick, unpleasant rhythm as I applied just a little demonic strength to force the damn thing shut.

  I was cutting it close. Too close.

  But a dent would be a dead giveaway.

  Unfortunately, so would the alarm going off.

  With a crack, the drawer snapped in place.

  I snatched my bag, changed shape in mid-leap, and rushed to the thick steel door. The very air shifted.

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I stretched myself thin, survival instinct reigning above all else.

  Particles squeezed through the small crack as the building came alive around me. The press of magic was instantaneous. My chameleon nature immediately kicked into gear to morph my essence until the ward was unable to pick up on the intrusion. But I wasn’t in the clear yet.

  With a soft inhale, the airlock eliminated the crack that allowed me passage, nearly clipping the ends of my atoms. My particles dripped sweat when I pulled through to the other side at last.

  It was tempting, so fucking tempting to drop down on the office floor in my corporeal form and just lie there, panting, until the tremors that rushed through my flesh subsided. Sadly, I didn’t have the luxury.

  Someone would come to check the safe out sooner rather than later.

  Simon had made sure the power outage encompassed a wide perimeter, imitating a failure within Ljubljana’s main system, but anyone who had secrets to hide would make sure they weren’t left unprotected for long. Or that at least the secondary generator kept feeding power to the unit. If they noticed it, too, had experienced a sudden malfunction, I wouldn’t be surprised to see guards flooding the mock shithole of an office.

  Not wanting to stick around and witness it with my own eyes, I propelled myself out the window and let the night air cool my overheated particles.

  When I arrived at my place, Breccan was waiting for me.

  Of course he was.

  I’d given up on the idea that any wards I could come up with would hold off the demon lord if he chose to grace me with his presence, so I didn’t even bother being upset. I simply shifted in the kitchen he was currently occupying, stashed my tools on the far end of the counter, then strode past him into the living room, skirting around the dormant ritual laid out on the floor. I grabbed a stack of paper along with the small portable printer from the top shelf by the window and headed back.

  “This might take a few moments,” I said as I plugged my phone into the printer and selected the documents pertaining to ArcaneWings.

  Only them.

  My father wasn’t Breccan’s concern. Even if it was the same company that wanted to fuck the demon lord over while keeping tabs on Vuyasin.

  “Should I make coffee?”

  I jerked at the softness of his voice and finally looked at him. Breccan was on edge—that much I could tell without scrutinizing his gorgeous face for long—but he seemed adamant to let me deliver the news in my own time.

  Yelena would have probably burned it out of me by now.

  Point for him.

  “Please.” I pointed towards the cabinets at the far-left side. “The clean mugs are in there. The coffee’s in the—”

  “Tin labeled coffee.” A twitch of his mouth. “I remember from last time.”

  Unsure whether I should be unnerved or pleased Breccan knew his way around my kitchen, I got back to work. The little beast of a printer whirled and wheezed, occasionally stopping when steam started to slip through its cracks, but kept pushing out page after page nonetheless.

  Breccan placed the most aromatic cup of Irish coffee I’d ever smelled in front of me. With cream, too.

  “I think I love you,” I blurted—before the shit that had just left my mouth hit me.

  But the demon lord only laughed and looked pointedly at the ever-growing stack of paper. “The feeling is mutual.”

  I took a sip of the coffee, better than even I made, pretending the heat in my cheeks was whiskey-induced. After a few more sputtering seconds, the printer fell silent. Setting the cup aside, I collected the crisp documents and passed them to Breccan.

  “From what I could gather, all the info Albert had fed Sacred Skies is in here. His newest delivery would have been tomorrow, and I trust that he hadn’t passed on anything save for the basics, but”—I blew out a breath—“I’d still check everything on your end if I were you.”

  Breccan cocked his head to the side, those mismatched eyes studying me with predatory stillness. “What did he intend to give them?”

  I snapped the tray on the printer shut. “A way to sabotage the auxiliary arcane power unit. He saw the mechanics’ instruction manuals.”

  “Dherghs.” Breccan ran his fingers through his white-blond hair, his energy spiking to dangerous levels. But just when I thought he was about to tip over the edge, he stood up and placed his coffee on the table. “Forgive me, I have to make a few calls.”

  Surprised by the courtesy he by no means had to give, I merely nodded, then watched his firm ass walk into the living room. As he went through contact after contact, enforcing security and mobilizing mechanics to check the planes, I moved the printer to the top of my fridge where it would—hopefully—garner less attention, and started printing my own documents. Every once in a while, Breccan’s gaze would fall on me as I leaned against the counter and sipped the mouthwatering Irish coffee.

  I could have sworn there was something in his look. Something that disappeared far too quickly for me to unravel, but nonetheless managed to tighten things low in my body. I quickly found a menial task to occupy myself with.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if I could postpone doing the dishes for much longer.

  I’d just finished cleaning and downed the rest of my drink when Breccan returned. Only contrary to my expectations, he didn’t stop his advance once he reached the table.

  Oh boy.

  His palms braced against the counter on either side of my body, Breccan trapped me between the hard wood and his even harder flesh. He pressed his forehead to mine.

  “Thank you, Crina.”

  A bit out of my element, my voice came out pathetically weak as I said, “I appreciate the thanks, but it’s just a job.”

  “No”—his hand found its way to my waist—“it’s not. You saved lives today.”

  “Also took one.”

  Amusement flirted with the corners of Breccan’s lips, gently shifting the line of his scar. “I wasn’t devaluating your hard-earned status, assassin. But I also won’t allow you to brush off the catastrophe your actions have prevented. You’d make a good ruler, you know.”

  “Right.” I scoffed. The printer echoed the sound with a sputter of its own. “I’m just a blade, Breccan.�
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  His other hand joined the fun, exploring my body slowly, carefully, as if he didn’t want to miss a single curve. I shivered when his palms roved my back, then lower, fingertips brushing against my ass.

  “A blade who knows that death, at times, is inevitable to assure the safety of others. I presume”—his lips dipped to my jaw—“you didn’t question Albert’s fate. Or am I wrong?”

  When I didn’t answer, afraid that what would spill from my lips would be a needy moan, Breccan moved back just enough to look me in the eye.

  “That makes you a leader, Crina.”

  “Or a psychopath,” I pointed out.

  “Given how long you’ve spent with Yelena, I assume you can tell the difference between the two.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly a laugh burst from my lips. I shook my head and tried to shove the asshole away before I had the chance to even consider the fact I saw a fucking demon lord as adorable, but Breccan was faster.

  He leaned into me, backing me up on the counter until the smooth surface rested under my ass and his body pressed between my legs. They wrapped around him of their own volition, the treacherous filth.

  Breccan’s fingers tangled with my hair, then tugged gently. Caught in the storm of sensations, I let him arch my neck back with a light pull, let him turn me into an offering there was no doubt he would collect.

  His mouth slanted over mine.

  Breccan claimed me with such decision I all but melted under his kiss. Our tongues met, the taste of him laced with intoxicating power that sent fire rippling through my veins.

  Unable to resist, I grabbed that firm ass of his and pulled him closer. The steel length of him strained against his pants.

  As Breccan’s kiss deepened, I slid a hand between us and traced the line of his cock. He twitched under my touch, growing harder. Thicker.

  I fumbled with the button, needing to feel him without all this redundant clothing between us—to take him in my mouth and suck every glorious inch.

  Breccan pulled away.

  His breaths were harsh, parted lips mirroring mine. My energy screamed to have him back, to lose myself in his skin, but I leashed the impulse.

  I might have a demon’s sexual appetite, but consent was one line I would never cross.

  Regardless of how palpable the lust between us.

  “I would want nothing more than to stay here, Crina, enjoy you…”

  “But you have an airline to take care of.” My voice was shaky. As were my legs once I jumped off the counter and shuffled over to the table. “I understand.”

  Breccan’s fingers snaked around my wrist. He yanked me back and sealed my mouth with his, then, just as fast, dissolved into particles.

  If the chair hadn’t been conveniently placed right behind my ass, I would have landed on the floor.

  For a few moments, all I could do was sit there, wondering if I should crawl under the covers and finish what Breccan started solo, but that was a path that might not give me the desired result. A bit of sexual frustration sounded better right now than the possibility of giving myself over to pleasure when, I suspected, the mere thought of the demon lord could keep me occupied for hours.

  It was a good thing Breccan stopped when he did.

  He wasn’t the only one with work to do.

  But first—a change of panties.

  Once in underwear that wasn’t soaked, I made myself another cup of coffee—plain dark with a lump of sugar—and sat with the stack of stolen documents I’d printed. The first two-thirds I separated into piles based on the person they were referring to.

  Vuyasin.

  Hieraven.

  Fyllan.

  The peach-haired I-suck-at-cunnilingus demon that apparently went by the name of Ayil.

  Riki, another turd from Hieraven’s circles.

  A disgusting amount of time passed before I managed to achieve even this much. And I wasn’t nearly done—as the next slip of paper proved.

  I sighed and placed it on Hieraven’s stack.

  Contrary to Sacred Skies’s immaculate inner security, their filing system was a fucking mess. Bits and pieces scattered about some of the larger, more coherent chunks, created dozens of fragments instead of a manageable whole—though I was sure the person who organized this shit didn’t think so.

  But whatever logic they saw in it, I sure as fuck didn’t.

  So I moved carefully, reading through the data as I went and learning more about my father’s companions than I believed anyone beyond the confines of the Shadow World could know. Then again, it hadn’t escaped my attention that the focus was mostly on whatever their habits tended to be in this realm, not our native one.

  Right when I wanted to move on to the next segment—the one I hadn’t had a chance to read on the spot thanks to snapping shots away like a madwoman with time licking at her heels—my phone buzzed.

  I took a long sip of my coffee, then peered at the screen. Lena. Fingers just a touch sweaty, I swiped right and opened the message.

  I grinned. “Motherfucker.”

  My coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim as I threw myself against the backrest.

  Lena had done it.

  She convinced the Queen Bitch to extend my deadline to a week.

  My mood, unfortunately, lasted about as long as it took for me to remember that Sacred Skies was looking into Vuyasin. If my father were nowhere to be found because they had something to do with his disappearance, it might take me a while to get to him. Clearly the fucks knew enough about demonkind to make their vault airtight and warded and covered by infrared.

  I glanced towards the living room and sighed. Gods I hoped Ilya’s powder packed enough of a punch.

  Balancing my cup in both hands, I curled my legs beneath my body and continued sifting through the information as the first glimpse of dawn crawled over the horizon. I yawned. Bye-bye sleep.

  I flipped open another page, forcing my eyes to stay the fuck open when a paragraph I skimmed hit me like a blow to the gut.

  The object is easily recognized by its sundial shape and blue stone set at the heart of the design where the magic is contained. Known to glow when activated.

  I read the entry again. And again.

  This shit was too weird to possibly be true.

  I leaned back and stared at the wall, dry amusement drifting through my mind. What were the odds…

  Sacred Skies was after the same fucking amulet I was trying to track down.

  Chapter 15

  “I know I said you can call any time, but fuck, Crin, it’s six fucking a.m.,” Simon snarled. “You’re messing with my beauty sleep.

  “Please, as if you need any more excuses to be vain,” I shot back, then added before he could protest, “The airline Viktor flew with before he vanished, was it Sacred Skies?”

  The clicks sounded over the connection so fast, Simon must have either been asleep in his den, or was snuggling with a laptop under the covers.

  “Yep.”

  “Fuck.” I braced my elbow on the table and thrust my hand in my hair. It was the answer I’d expected, but it didn’t mean I had to like the implications. “And you still found no trace of him?”

  “Nothing. He boarded in Ljubljana, and that was it.”

  “Thanks, Simon.”

  I tossed the phone aside and looked over the documents again. A laugh slipped from my lips when I unraveled one of the handwritten notes pinned to the back of the folder.

  Hieraven hired Viktor.

  I swallowed a mouthful of coffee.

  Hieraven, who’d obviously worked on this with my father before whatever fallout they’d had that resulted in the bounty, had hired Viktor to steal the amulet Sacred Skies appeared to have wanted for themselves. And, if my gut instinct was correct, they got it, too. Right on the damned plane Viktor took, unbeknownst it was going to be his last trip into the sky.

  Unless…

  My fingers dug into the mug. Vuyasin was an asshole who could get carried
away far too easily, but he’d still led a long life of crime—which went hand in hand with a fair share of slyness. And double-crosses.

  What if Viktor had chosen to fly with Sacred Skies specifically?

  ArcaneWings with its mag-tech planes and ultraprecision when it came to monitoring the magic levels on board were a foolproof way to get caught. Utterly regular planes had arcane sensors installed to alert their human crews in case of an energy spike they would be unable to sense themselves.

  But Sacred Skies…

  They had supes on board. A mixed bunch of supes who, while possessing superior senses, were definitely not an infallible security check. Every species had their own talents, as well as shortcomings. And only a select few would sense a demon materializing in, say, the lavatory, to spirit an amulet—or a whole person—away.

  I slumped back in my chair and polished off the remainder of the coffee.

  My father? Or Sacred Skies?

  One of them had the amulet.

  But they would all end up empty-handed.

  Even among supes, there were those who loved technology and those who abhorred it. While my current witch employers certainly seemed to know their way around the digital way of life—after all, they had hired me through the magic-laced subset of the dark web Simon had set up for my business—they also insisted I delivered updates in person.

  Needless to say, after only two hours of sleep, cheerful I was not.

  I gulped down the coffee as I waited on the patio of the bar overlooking Zbilje Lake just outside Ljubljana, glaring at the perky late morning that had scattered the flimsy wisps of fog curling from the trees. Ducks and swans meandered around, chitchatting at a volume that was just a little too loud for my taste, but I resisted the temptation to scare them away.

  The meeting was low-key. I suspected a blast of demon fire directed at one of the rocks near the birds just might ruin that.

  A few joggers crossed the horizon, and just when my mood was starting to take a turn towards blunt crankiness, the three witches strode down the path. Unlike when we’d met for the first time, that air of something ethereal testifying to their magic was muted, their appearance passing for human with ease.