The Shadow King (The Kings Book 7)

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Violet traced the worn path around a few corners, following the feel of magic in the air as it grew stronger. Within a minute or so, she reached a long hall with a floor that had once obviously been the interior of a store. At the end of the long hall, attached to what had been the side of a building, was a hand-painted sign that read, “111 Yesler.” She couldn’t recall from the tour whether this was the name of a street or a shop, but she did remember that Yesler was one of the names of the founding fathers of Seattle. Henry Yesler, she recalled. He built the steam-powered sawmill.

  Violet moved down the hall, but as she moved, her footsteps slowed. The taint of magic was growing stronger, but there was something different about it here. The sign glowed white in the darkness up ahead, as if the paint of its letters was a beacon in a strange black. The shadows seemed to be shifting.

  She stopped when the inkiness coiled and moved. It wasn’t natural.

  Something was wrong. Was it the portal? Was it near?

  Was this how dangerous her trek into the Shadow Realm was going to be? Was this what it would feel like? She hadn’t even started, and already, it was distinctly uncomfortable.

  The air grew heavy with something like dark power, and when she inhaled, she almost felt she was pulling it into her lungs. It choked her a little; sweat broke out along her brow. She turned in a quick circle, flashing her light into the darkness.

  It recoiled, shying from the beam, and dread filled Violet’s body.

  A heartbeat after she realized what was happening, the phone was knocked violently from her hand. She heard it hit the ground, probably shattering the screen. The impact numbed her fingers and wrist, and plunged the underground into pure darkness. She backpedalled, but was allowed a mere two steps before her progress was halted by the presence of something tall and hard at her back.

  She spun, but could see nothing there, and then she heard a scratching behind her; she spun once more. She was surrounded by shadows. She froze, her blood freezing right along with her. The silence stretched, and the black around her grew impossible dimensions. There was everything and anything in that darkness.

  “She’s… a Tuath…” something hissed, the voice wrapping around her like the sound of snakes slithering.

  “Not…possible,” said someone else, this voice slightly deeper and filled with a touch more grate.

  “There is too great a darkness in her…” a third voice whispered, and she heard it draw nearer as it spoke. She prepared to cast a transport spell, rules against casting magic in the mortal realm be damned. “She’s a warlock,” the voice hissed loudly right in front of her. It had figured out her secret in sheer seconds.

  Okay, so I’m a warlock, she thought hectically, and as she thought it, she realized just how true it had become. I like darkness, so sue me.

  Although just then, she perhaps wasn’t feeling quite as fond of darkness as usual.

  “Show yourselves,” she braved, forcing what meager air she had in her lungs out through her teeth. However, they were clenched so tightly together in mounting fear, the words actually came out sounding more like, “Shrew your zelfs.” Still, she knew the meaning had been understood.

  Especially when the darkness all around her lifted a little, and the electric lights on the walls flickered to dim life. The illumination was not nearly as bright as it had been during the tour, but it was enough for Violet to watch as the shadows began to shift again, this time coiling together to coalesce into separate, distinct hardnesses. She watched as those hardnesses grew taller, formed specific shapes, and finally finished themselves off into the figures of six men.

  Six men. They surrounded her, three in front of her, two on either side, and one behind. She couldn’t face any direction without having one at her back. She stood at their center, heart racing, mind spinning, and looked quickly from face to face. They all had strange, empty eyes, black and murky and almost reflective. It was like looking into pools of water that were nearly still enough to have mirrored surfaces – but not quite. There was turbulence there.

  She would have asked who they were, but self preservation won out and she made the snap decision to flee instead. She concentrated, reached inside for her fae power, and tried to transport. But when she did, one of the men who had materialized suddenly vaporized once more.

  That black vapor rushed forward, slamming into her like a gale-force wind. All at once, Violet was plunged into absolute darkness and enshrouded in a terrible, icy cold that sizzled along her skin like freezing lightning. She inhaled sharply, trying to get a breath, and with her concentration so suddenly broken, all hopes of transporting evaporated just like her attacker had.

  She felt her legs backpedalling just before she again bumped into the figure behind her. She shook her head to try to shake off the darkness, but knew her efforts were in vain. The darkness lifted a few moments later of its own accord, and Violet’s vision cleared.

  Again, the tunnel came into dim view. The figure who’d rushed her rematerialized.

  “A Tuath warlock,” he said softly. He stood around six feet, had short blond hair and pale skin, and his chin bore the light brown beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow. His voice was not especially deep, but held a quality to it that reminded her of great depths, nonetheless. She thought of bottomless lakes, and trenches in the ocean. Things filled with secrets. “What are the odds?” he asked, taking a step toward her. His boot echoed in the hall, managing to sound more hollow than it should have.

  “Who cares?” responded the man behind her. “She’s here now.” Violet glanced nervously over her shoulder. The one behind her had darker hair, dark brown perhaps, and was clean-shaven. There was a hungry, mean look about him, but he made no move to grab her, so she turned her attention back to the one coming toward her.

  “True enough.” He stopped two feet away and regarded her with narrowed, reflective eyes. “Your darkness runs deep, fae. That’s rare, even for an unseelie.”

  “Rare… and delicious,” volunteered a third man. This one stood behind blondie, and he was too smothered in shadow for Violet to make out any of his features.

  Something brushed the back of her shoulder, and she jumped, spinning. As she did, her hair came loose from her braid and unraveled at an unnatural pace. Some kind of magic. The man behind her grinned, flashing white teeth in the darkness.

  “My, my,” blondie whispered. Violet spun again to face him. Her breathing was coming fast and hard. “There’s something else about you, too. You remind me of something. I bet you taste like candy.” It was clear he’d meant for her, alone, to hear his words. His eyes were singling her out now.

  She felt strange suddenly. Maybe she was breathing too hard; maybe she was hyperventilating, because dizziness was sweeping through her. As it sometimes did for people who suddenly found themselves in very real mortal danger, a kind of sinking realization stole over her. I’m going to die here tonight? It was a question as well as a statement, because there was a part of her that just couldn’t believe it. It’s very hard to accept mortality.

  And then the shadows around her were moving, her dizziness just as suddenly lifted, and as she inhaled to scream, a spear of true darkness spiked through the abandoned underground hallway, catching the wind to whip her hair around her face.

  Chapter Four

  She raised her hands defensively, shielding her face as the darkness continued to move at lightning speed around her. She heard the obvious noises of a struggle, but they were short-lived, and final, and one after another, she also recognized the sounds of portals opening and shutting in rapid succession.

  When all sound ceased and the unnatural wind died down, Violet waited, her breathing filling the empty silence like a scream. Questions shouted through her mind. What was that? What happened? Was she safe?

  Finally, she began to lower her arms. It took a moment for her vision to adjust to the darkness, as the wind or perhaps some other force seemed to have knocked out the lights again. All she could really make out
in the dimness was a tall form standing before her. Her heart rate would have kicked up again if it wasn’t already at max.

  “What are you doing down here?” a voice asked. It was a deep, slightly accented voice that Hollywood would have used on animated bad guys; it had that lilt to it that hinted at wickedness, and the timbre was the kind that wrapped around, then found a way inside you.

  She swallowed hard, but her throat was dry, and she ended up choking a little. She coughed, and when she did, her hair shifted before her eyes. She hurriedly batted it away, not wanting to lose sight of the figure in front of her.

  But he’d already moved.

  He was less than a breath away now, towering over her like a massive, solid shadow. She inhaled sharply and stepped back, but found herself bumping into the wall. There was nowhere to retreat to. She considered her magic again, but something about the figure felt sweltering. Not hot, just smothering. It was as if her magic had a hand over its mouth and a band around its chest. It couldn’t breathe. It was being suffocated.

  “What are you looking for, little fae?” the voice asked. His words were so close, they almost whispered across her skin. He was hovering over her, leaning in, and fresh, hard shivers rushed up Violet’s spine. “It’s dangerous down here,” he said. “But you’re figuring that out now, aren’t you?”

  “Wh-what are you?” Violet managed. It was a tightly worded question, and barely audible to her own ears, but she knew he’d heard it anyway. Asking him for a name was pointless and stupid. There were seven billion humans on the planet, and when you added in the plethora of non-human entities attached to the mortal realm in some capacity, the number very rapidly became staggering. There were just as many names. So “who are you” was not the most intelligent query to put forth.

  She knew he wasn’t human. She wanted to know what he was – and what danger he posed to her.

  He turned his head, just a little, and she caught the reflection of his eyes. They were like mirrors beneath a black hood. Her brow furrowed as a hint of recognition niggled at the edges of her memory, but she was too frightened to pin it down.

  “That’s a very good question,” he replied. He moved closer still, and Violet froze in place. This time when he spoke, she actually felt his breath brush against her lips. “Perhaps I should be asking it of you… unseelie with a warlock’s shadow.”

  Violet’s eyes got very wide. Her entire body flushed hot. Every nerve ending in her system fired to glorious, painful life, sending a circus of emissions to her overworked brain. She couldn’t move any of her muscles, and her lungs struggled to take in air. He was so close… and it was doing things to her. And he’d figured her out.

  “It’s very rare for a fae to study warlock magic,” he said easily, as if he were holding a conversation with her. “For that matter, it’s rare for a fae to be able to study warlock magic. Yet… that beautiful darkness flows through you as if it’s right at home.” He turned his head thoughtfully, again flashing those mirrored eyes. “You’re very rare, aren’t you, little one?”

  There was nothing for her to say to that. She couldn’t get a handle on him. Was he going to hurt her? Wouldn’t he have done so by now? And the others were gone. He’d either scared them off or… something.

  “You’re searching for the door.”

  Oh my God.

  “I’m impressed. You must have read some very obscure texts to have come this far.”

  Violet was mind-boggled. He’d not only figured her out, he’d figured out what she was doing. What did that mean? She knew it meant something important. What would he have to be for him to decipher that she was in the Seattle Underground to find the door to the Shadow Realm?

  He whistled low and took a step back, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he said, as if speaking to himself. He looked away thoughtfully, at last. But neither the distance between them nor the lack of his eyes directly on her made her feel as if he’d lifted away any of his attention. She still felt pinned down by it. As if she was the only thing in the world he was focusing on.

  “You almost found it, you know. But lucky for you, I came along.”

  He walked a few paces away, and now that her unseelie eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, she was able to get a better look at him. He was tall. That was the first thing that reinforced itself in her mind. But she’d noticed that already when he was closer. He had a good hand-span of height on her, and she wasn’t short.

  He was broad shouldered, and the black hoodie he wore was zipped up, accentuating a narrow waist. He wore all black, down to what looked like black work boots. The color shrouded him in mystery, and that familiar feeling came back to Violet.

  I’ve seen him somewhere before….

  “I would stick to the world up there if I were you, little fae. Someone like you will find nothing but misery in my realm.”

  His realm?

  He turned on her, once more pinning her with the full weight of those strange, strange eyes in the recesses of that black hood. “Those men will be back, warlock. I guarantee it. One as rare and precious as you is a beacon to their kind.”

  What kind would that be?

  “Your particular darkness shines in ours.”

  My darkness? His darkness? She had a thousand questions.

  “You look like an oak tree.”

  Violet blinked. That reference gave her serious pause. In the unseelie kingdom, oak trees literally glowed. It was something about their inherent magic, their inner strength. Where other trees remained brown and green, oak trees gave off a light of their own, brightening the night in the area where they were planted, and casting magnificent shadows that stretched like arms into the darkness.

  He seemed to know an awful lot about the unseelie realm. Was he an unseelie fae? She internally shook her head. No. I would recognize that, she thought. He’s something else.

  “And I could swear you almost smell like….” His voice trailed off. He was definitely talking to himself this time, speaking softly as if trying to figure something out.

  But she ignored the last thing he said because, as she stared at his tall figure and the way he resembled living, moving darkness, it struck her. Oak trees glowed somewhere else, too. There was one other realm in the supernatural universe where the magic of the oak tree illuminated them, and in that realm, it did so even more brightly than it did in the unseelie realm.

  The Shadow Kingdom.

  “Holy crap, you’re some kind of sha-”

  But in the next instant, he drew closer, like a black wave crashing onto a shore. One second, he was four paces away, and the next, he was towering directly over her, and she was toppling backward. A hand reached out, grasping her upper arm, and a solid presence brushed against her breasts and torso. She inhaled sharply, shrinking instinctively into the wall behind her, but he moved with her there as well, trapping her between a rock and a hard place.

  A very hard place.

  A pleasant smell wafted over her. It reminded her of something that she also couldn’t pin down. Waves of warmth were pulsing through her now, her body betraying her to danger, infusing her with a burgeoning desire in the midst of life-threatening fear.

  “Don’t come down here again, acorn. There may not be anyone around to save you a second time.”

  She felt something brush through her hair, felt a terrible rush of adrenaline-laced lust, and then the darkness around her lifted away, like a smothering blanket being pulled aside.

  The lights along the hall flickered back to dim light. Her unsteady breathing filled the silence.

  And she was alone in the Seattle Underground.

  Chapter Five

  Violet’s gaze narrowed. She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment. Poppy sat across from her at the same coffee shop they’d visited the day before. The temperatures had dropped back down into normal Seattle early fall weather, and Poppy was contentedly sipping on a Starbucks’ Pumpkin Spice Latte. It was a flavor Violet personally hated, as pumpkins were beau
tiful and fun, but revolting to eat in her opinion. However, she loved it when it came out, just like Poppy did, because Starbucks’ release of the Pumpkin Spice Latte symbolized the beginning of the holiday season.

  Violet shifted in her seat. She wasn’t having much luck paying attention to what Poppy was telling her. To say that she was distracted would have been a gross understatement.

  Her skin still tingled from her encounter in the Underground.

  She had no idea what to make of it.

  After he’d gone and she’d found herself alone in the hallway, she’d hightailed it out of the sub-level passageways and stumbled out into the dark Seattle streets. Once there, she’d half-run, half-walked on wobbly, weakened legs to the apartment she kept in the mortal world. And there, she’d seated herself on her couch and stared straight ahead into the darkness and wondered what the hell she was going to do next.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his. Or what she’d been able to see of his eyes, anyway. Those mirrors beneath that hood, those sparkling, mysterious, hypnotic….

  Crap.

  I’m for shit, she thought. If she couldn’t even make it to the portal to the Shadow Kingdom, how the heck was she supposed to make it clear to the Dark? It wasn’t just the stranger. It was the others, too. The ones he’d saved her from. Or, at least, that was what it had seemed like. Things could be so much different from what they seemed, though. Especially in the dark.

  What she couldn’t decide was whether she should tell Poppy. Telling her would mean telling her about the tall, dark stranger who’d compared her to an oak tree. And that would mean admitting things she wasn’t sure she was ready to admit, even to her best friend. It would also mean that Poppy would now really insist on going with her, to the point that Poppy would probably just head out to go alone and then flippantly remark over her shoulder, “If you’re coming with me, you’d better keep up!” Or something to that effect.

  But not telling Poppy would mean continuing to feel like she already felt, and keeping the reasons for her major distraction under wraps, which she frankly sucked at. She was just a terrible, terrible liar.