by M. J. Scott
I snarled and he increased the pressure. There wasn’t much I could do. I’m faster and stronger than a human woman, but there’s a limit to what a female of five foot six can do against a man nearly a foot taller and quite a bit heavier. Particularly with my powers cut off by the light of the sun.
Damned hells-cursed sunlight.
“I’ll take that.” His knee shifted upward to pin both my arm and my back, and his free hand wrenched the dagger from my grasp.
Then, to my surprise, his weight vanished. It took a few seconds for me to register my freedom. By the time I rolled to face him, he stood at the end of the bed and my dagger quivered in the wall far across the room. To make matters worse, the sunlight now flickered off the ornately engraved barrel of the pistol in his right hand.
It was aimed squarely at the center of my forehead. His hand was perfectly steady, as though holding someone at gunpoint was nothing greatly out of the ordinary for him. For a man wearing nothing but linen drawers, he looked convincingly threatening.
I froze. Would he shoot? If our places were reversed, he’d already be dead.
“Wise decision,” he said, eyes still cold. “Now. Why don’t you tell me what this is about?”
“Do you think that’s likely?”
One corner of his mouth lifted and a dimple cracked to life in his cheek. My assessment had been right. He was pretty. Pretty and dangerous, it seemed. The arm that held the gun was, like the rest of him, sleek with muscle. The sort that took concerted effort to obtain. Maybe he was one of the rare sunmages who became warriors? But the house seemed far too luxurious for a Templar or a mercenary, and his hands and body were bare of Templar sigils.
Besides, I doubted Lucius would set me on a Templar. That would be madness.
So, who the hell was this man?
When I stayed silent, the pistol waved back and forth in a warning gesture. “I have this,” he said. “Plus, I am, as you mentioned, a sunmage.” As if to emphasize his point, the lamps flared a little brighter. “Start talking.”
I considered him carefully. The sunlight revealed his skin as golden, his hair a gilded shade of light brown, and his eyes a bright, bright blue. A true creature of the day. No wonder Lucius wanted him dead. I currently felt a considerable desire for that outcome myself. I scanned the rest of the room, seeking a means to escape.
A many-drawered wooden chest, a table covered with papers with a leather-upholstered chair tucked neatly against it, and a large wardrobe all made simply in the same dark reddish wood offered no inspiration. Some sort of ferny plant in a stand stood in one corner, and paintings—landscapes and studies of more plants—hung over the bed and the table. Nothing smaller than the furniture, nothing I could use as a weapon, lay in view. Nor was there anything to provide a clue as to who he might be.
“I can hear you plotting all the way over here,” he said with another little motion of the gun. “Not a good idea. In fact . . .” The next jerk of the pistol was a little more emphatic, motioning me toward the chair as he hooked it out from the table with his foot. “Take a seat. Don’t bother trying anything stupid like attempting the window. The glass is warded. You’ll just hurt yourself.”
Trapped in solid form, I couldn’t argue with that. The lamps shone with a bright unwavering light and his face showed no sign of strain. Even his heartbeat had slowed to a more steady rhythm now that we were no longer fighting. A sunmage calling sunlight at night. Strong. Dangerously strong.
Not to mention armed when I wasn’t.
I climbed off the bed and stalked over to the chair.
He tied my arms and legs to their counterparts on the chair with neck cloths. Tight enough to be secure but carefully placed so as not to hurt. He had to be a healer. A mercenary wouldn’t care if he hurt me. A mercenary probably would’ve killed me outright.
When he was done he picked up a pair of buckskin trousers and a rumpled linen shirt from the floor and dressed quickly. Then he took a seat on the end of the bed, picked up the gun once again, and aimed directly at me.
Blue eyes stared at me for a long minute, something unreadable swimming in their depths. Then he nodded.
“Shall we try this again? Why are you here?”
There wasn’t any point lying about it. “I was sent to kill you.”
“I understand that much. The reason is what escapes me.”
I lifted a shoulder. Let him make what he would of the gesture. I had no idea why Lucius had sent me after a sunmage.
“You didn’t ask?”
“Why would I?” I said, surprised by the question.
He frowned. “You just kill whoever you’re told to? It doesn’t matter why?”
“I do as I’m ordered.” Disobedience would only bring pain. Or worse.
His head tilted, suddenly intent. His gaze was uncomfortable, and it was hard to shake the feeling he saw more than I wanted. “You should seek another line of work.”
As if I had a choice. I looked away from him, suddenly angry. Who was he to judge me?
“Back to silence, is it? Very well, let’s try another tack. This isn’t, by chance, about that Rousselline pup I stitched up a few weeks ago?”
Pierre Rousselline was alpha of one of the Beast Kind packs. He and Lucius didn’t always exist in harmony. But I doubted Lucius would kill over the healing of a young Beast. A sunmage, one this strong—if his claim of being able to maintain the light until dawn were true——was an inherently risky target, even for a Blood lord. Even for the Blood Lord.
So, what had this man—who was, indeed, a healer if he spoke the truth—done?
His brows lifted when I didn’t respond. “You really don’t know, do you? Well. Damn.”
The “damn” came out as a half laugh. There was nothing amusing in the situation that I could see. Either he was going to kill me or turn me over to the human authorities or I was going to have to tell Lucius I had failed. Whichever option came to pass, nothing good awaited me. I stayed silent.
“Some other topic of conversation, then?” He regarded me with cool consideration. “I presume, given that my sunlight seems to be holding you, that I’m right in assuming that you are Lucius’ shadow?”
I nodded. There was little point denying it with his light holding me prisoner. There were no others of my kind in the City. Only a wraith is caged by the light of the sun.
A smile spread over his face, revealing he had two dimples, not one. Not just pretty, I decided. He was . . . alluring wasn’t the right word. The Blood and the Fae are alluring—an attraction born of icy beauty and danger. I am immune to that particular charm. No, he was . . . inviting somehow. A fire on a winter’s night, promising warmth and life.
His eyes held genuine curiosity. “You’re really a wraith?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and the sound was sunlight, warm and golden, a smooth caress against the skin.
“Is that so amusing?”
“If the stories are to believed, you’re supposed to be ten feet tall with fangs and claws.”
I tilted my head. “I am not Blood or Beast Kind. No fangs. Or claws.”
He looked over my shoulder, presumably at my dagger. “Just one perhaps? But really . . . no one ever said you were—” He stopped abruptly.
“What?” The question rose from my lips before I could stop myself.
This time his smile was crooked. “Beautiful.”
I snorted. Beautiful? Me? No. I knew that well enough. The Fae are beautiful and even the Blood in their own way. I am only odd with gray eyes—a color no Fae or true demi-Fae ever had—and red hair that stands out like a beacon amongst the silvery hues of the Blood. “That’s because I’m not.”
He looked surprised. “I know the Blood don’t use mirrors, but you must have seen yourself.”
“Maybe the Night World has different standards.”
“Then the Night World needs its eyesight examined,” he said with another crooked smile. “Gods and suns.”
Silence a
gain. He studied me and I looked away, discomfited, wondering what angle he was trying to work by flattering me. Did he think I could sway Lucius into granting mercy? If so, then he was in for a severe disappointment.
“What happens now?” I asked when the silence started to strain my nerves.
“That may well depend on you.”
* * *
Liked it? Find out more about Shadow Kin and the other three books in the Half-Light City series at M.J’s website .
