My eyes widen. I’m holding their souls.
They are dark and twisted. Bloody. Uncompromising death and violence fills my mind as I squeeze my fingers and crush the flames in my fists until my palms grow cold again, snuffing out their existence. When I open my fingers, expecting to see dust, there is nothing left. Nothing of those dark souls that I plucked from the air.
Inside I’m screaming, but when I turn to Cain I say, “You couldn’t kill them. But I could.”
He breathes, “Damn. Archer.”
I take a step toward him. “It hurts, Cain.”
He reaches for me, carefully pulling me into his arms. His warmth is like the sun; his assassin’s magic is a balm on my wounded back, my shattered heart. With his warmth, and the power humming through him that speaks to my soul, the pain recedes. Feeling floods back into my arms and legs and all my pieces pull together again. I breathe out the cold inside me, not daring to open my eyes or move. I killed nine men—six jaguars and three wolves. I don’t know what happens now or how to deal with all the death around me.
Cain presses his cheek to my forehead, his voice muffled against my hair. “We need to get out of here.”
I shudder, but I remember his shoulder and forehead, and reach up to check him over. His suit is torn at the shoulder, but the teeth marks are mere scratches.
He explains, “Its jaw snagged on the material.”
“Then the blood I saw was the jaguar’s? What about your head?”
He winces. “I have a headache. How does it look?”
“You need stitches. I can do them but they’ll scar. I think you should call Sarah—”
He gives a vehement shake of his head. “If I call Sarah, Parker will hear about it. It’s the last thing I want.”
I frown, but there’s no arguing with him on that. “Okay, but what about driving?”
“I’ll take it slow.”
I’m not convinced. I eye him as he hurries around the room, retrieving his daggers but leaving the other weapons.
The final dagger still hovers over the dead shifter’s face. Cain plucks it from the air and it disappears into a holster.
When he returns to me, I ask, “Why did it attack me?”
“I have a spell cast over my daggers so that nobody else can touch them. The magic was woven by a very powerful witch, who warned me … well … she tried to warn me that I might regret it.”
He swallows. “It almost cost your life.”
He takes my hand and pulls me away from the room. I’m glad to leave it behind, along with the house.
When we return to the vehicle, several new SUVs arrive, but Cain waves them along. “It’s the clean-up crew. They’ll make sure the guards don’t cause any trouble when they wake up.”
True to his word, Cain keeps to the speed limit on the way back, but the silence stretches between us. I’m not sure how to fill it. All I keep coming back to is that my reputation—Archer Ryan’s reputation—is not undeserved. I’ve killed a lot of people, but nobody who didn’t threaten me or someone I cared about. Still … there was a moment when Cain subdued Jared and his brother, when he beat them instead of killing them, that told me Cain was going to let them live. Not because of the Code, but because he isn’t a killer at heart … like I am.
Tears burn my eyes for the second time today. I can’t help but wonder if I would be a completely different person if I were born into a different family, not into the underground with a father who made violence normal.
Or if I would be the same no matter who raised me.
We enter the Realm from the hanger and Cain ushers me inside the Cathedral and up to his quarters without encountering anyone. Once there, he is all business, giving me an icepack for my head where Jared thumped me. He gets one for himself before he retrieves a medical kit, sits on the couch, pats the coffee table opposite for me to sit on, and hands me a sterilized packet containing a needle.
I set to work, but I should have known that he would tackle the hard truths once I was a captive audience.
He says, “I understand now why you fight with impact. You kill with impact, too.”
I focus on his forehead, trying to avoid facing the searching expression in his eyes. “I am Archer Ryan.”
The depth in his response is unsettling. “You’re more than that.”
My hands tremble. What I saw at the shifter’s house, holding their souls, I don’t know whether Cain saw it too. I don’t think he did. But I can’t get it out of my head. Especially not the feeling that flooded me when I held their souls—the power that flooded through me—a power that felt so natural to me.
Cain confirms my thoughts when he asks, “What were you doing at the end when you stood over them?”
Fear claws up from my stomach, but I can’t lie to him. If only I could. “I crushed their souls.”
He pauses for a beat. More than a beat.
He falls silent.
When I finish stitching him and I’m packing up the implements, he asks, “Archer … may I see your back?”
I freeze with crippling fear, completely vulnerable, not wanting answers even though I need them. But I trust Cain. For the first time in my life, I actually trust someone.
I turn and unclasp the suit, peeling it off my arms and down to my waist, exposing my back.
Cain’s presence is a powerful force behind me. His hands are warm and soothing against my tortured muscles, stroking across my shoulder blades and down my spine.
He whispers, “Copper … I should have realized sooner…”
I close my eyes, tears burning behind them. I have to ask the question I’m afraid to ask. The question for which I don’t want the answer.
Somehow, I form sound: “I’m not completely human, am I?”
He whispers, “You’re not.”
16
I try to swallow my fear. “What am I?”
He turns me to face him. “Something incredibly precious and rare. More dangerous than anyone else. You are … the perfect killer, but also, the perfect protector.”
His big hands rest around my waist. “Will you wait here while I get something from the study?”
I nod and sink down to the couch, but when he leaves the room I twist, trying to see my shoulders, wanting to see what he sees, to know what he knows.
He returns with a book, which he opens to a wide illustration that stretches across both pages. He places it in my lap. Inside the picture, winged women battle each other in the air, their swords bloody, their expressions hard as stone, brilliant wings glinting in the overly bright sunlight. Beneath them, humans fight each other on a barren Earth littered with bodies.
Cain takes a seat beside me, pointing to one of the women. Her wings are gorgeous rose-gold, metallic in appearance, not feathery.
He says, “The women with copper wings are called Keres. They are the sworn enemy of the Valkyrie, whose wings are silver. Both races have the power to decide who lives and dies in battle. They can kill at will. Here, they are fighting for the right to claim the souls of the humans at war on Earth. Neither the Keres nor the Valkyrie has an aura, which makes them impossible to identify. They are the perfect assassins.”
I protest, “But you said all magical beings have an aura.”
“Not these women. What’s more, they can only be killed in one of two ways…”
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “How?”
“By each other. Or by choosing to die.” His serious gaze shifts from my eyes to my lips and back again. “They’re also supposed to be extinct. Which is why … to find you is … incredible…”
I try to find my voice. “I don’t have wings.”
“I think you do. I think that’s why you’re in so much pain when you fight. You’re trying to access your power, but it’s locked up inside you for some reason. Your wings can’t get out.”
“How? And why now? I’ve never had this pain in my shoulders before.”
He swallows, clears his throat. “I think it’s because
I brought you here. This Realm is made of assassin’s magic. I think the magic triggered your wings.”
“What about the way I collapse after a fight?”
“I think you connect with your power when you fight, but it’s too much for your body to process.”
I run my fingers over the image, the battle. “They all killed each other.”
“That’s the story.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
“If I’m one of them … that means I’m alone.”
“No.” His response is vehement. He drops to his knees in front of me, searching my eyes. “You aren’t alone. Not anymore.”
Damn. He’s going to break my heart.
I whisper, “I’m not your woman, Cain.”
His gaze drops to my hands held in his. He is quiet, the stillness around him nearly absolute.
His lips part, but before he can speak, my fingers close around his.
I say, “But I could be.”
I stop breathing, my words echoing back at me, spoken out of instinct, emotion, not logical thought, not rational. Reckless. I told Lutz Logan that I wouldn’t stay with Cain, that I would give myself up. I have to go back to Boston with him. If what Cain said about me being Keres is true, then I don’t have to be afraid of Slade. He can’t kill me. Nothing can.
If it’s true.
But maybe … maybe for tonight I can have something that I want, something good. I force myself to breathe, deeply and shuddering, afraid that I look as terrified as I feel.
The slow smile that breaks across Cain’s face banishes my doubts and fears.
“Okay, then.” He draws himself up to a standing position, pulling me with him. One hand closes over mine, but not tightly. The other tucks my hair behind my ear. “Let’s clean off the battle.”
I grimace. I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror, but I can’t be a pretty sight right now. Blood splattered on my neck and in my hair during the fight. My suit is pulled to my waist, and a glance tells me that all the gore is visible across my chest.
I shudder. “Right away, please.”
He draws me through the bedroom, past the bed and into the bathroom, where he turns the shower on full, testing the temperature.
I wait in the middle of the room, uncertain, until he turns back to me with a question on his lips, the sudden heat in his eyes taking my breath away.
Cain has given me choices at every step. Right from the moment I bumped into him until now. This might be the most important choice, but it’s mine to make. If it’s a mistake, it’s not one I’m going to regret.
I peel off the protective suit where I stand, leaving me in my underwear, but before I close the gap between us, I say, “I have to show you something.”
With my heart in my throat, I veer toward the sink, pull open the drawer I’ve been using to store my things, and retrieve my contact lens case. Keeping my eyes down and avoiding the mirror, I remove my contacts, carefully clean them, and place them in the case.
Holding my breath, I raise my eyes to Cain and brace for his reaction.
His lips part. He becomes still. I wait for him to draw a breath.
When he does, it’s an explosion of movement. He inhales at the same time as he moves, crossing the distance in three powerful strides, pulling me into his arms, one hand cradling my head, the other drawing my lower half close to his. Heat explodes through me at his nearness and I respond by arching closer to him, lifting my lips to his.
His mouth stops tantalizingly close to mine. His voice is a deep whisper: “Let me into your heart, Archer. You already have mine.”
I want to. God help me, I need to.
“Yes.” I run my hands into his dark hair, drawing him to me, pressing my lips to his. His mouth is warm on mine, his kiss gentle, his lips brushing my upper lip, my lower lip, then finally…
He draws me up and claims my mouth, the intensity in his kiss making me burn. I reach for the side of his suit, attempting to undo the clasps without breaking our kiss.
Impossible.
He smiles against my mouth and helps me pull it off. I catch a breath, my heart stuttering at his powerful form, perfect biceps, powerful thighs, and a chest that makes my stomach flip-flop. He pulls me back into his arms and draws me to the shower and under the stream of water. Warmth washes down my front and back. I tip my head back into it while Cain brushes my hair back, following the water flowing down my spine, his hands lingering across my lower back and the top of my underwear.
I gasp when I realize we’re both still partially dressed.
Cain grins at my questioning look, arching an eyebrow at me. “That can wait.”
Steam wafts around us as he soaks a cloth in water and draws it across my chin and neck, paying close attention to cleaning beneath my ears and across my left shoulder. I close my eyes, soaking up every touch, the graze of his thumbs, the soft swish of cloth, the brief pressure of his hands on my shoulders, my face, and finally the graze of his thumb over my lower lip.
I open my eyes to find him smiling at me.
He plants a slow kiss on my lips. Then he lathers up shampoo and massages it through my hair, washing out the battle.
“Close your eyes.” He draws me into the water, drawing it through my hair to rinse it without getting suds in my eyes, kissing me again, our lips connected in the stream, before he shifts me out of it again.
Biting my lip, I hold out my hand for the cloth. When he gives it to me, I draw it across his chest and shoulder where his suit was ripped, trying to focus on cleaning him the same way he cleaned me, determined not to get distracted by the way his muscles shift beneath my hands, the slow smile lingering on his lips, or the way his breath catches when my cleaning efforts morph into an exploration of his chest, my fingertips sliding over his shoulders, down his arms, drawing myself closer.
The cloth slips out of my fingers.
He reaches back to turn off the water, taking my hand in his. Outside the shower, he wraps an oversized towel around my shoulders, pulling it all the way around himself, binding us together inside it.
My body aches. I am so close to him but I want to be closer. I tip my head up to see him. Before I can speak, he nuzzles his cheek against mine, dropping light kisses on my neck, chin, the corner of my mouth, then down my neck to my shoulder. He carefully pries my damp bra strap off my shoulder, kissing my bare skin, sending shivers to my toes. He repeats with the other shoulder, still holding the towel around us.
Every time he shifts, his lower half moves against mine and … damn … I need more.
I slide my hands free, one to wrap around his back and the other to slip up to his head, drawing his lips to mine, opening my mouth to his, demanding more.
With a groan and a muttered, “Dry enough,” he drops the towel and lifts me off my feet, shifting me to the bedroom. But instead of taking me to the bed, he places me on my feet beside it, taking a long, slow breath while his hands rest on my waist and his gaze drinks me in all the way up from my toes: my thighs, my covered chest, and the bra straps so provocatively loose against my arms.
He answers my unspoken question with a smile that makes me burn. “I might drive fast, but this … I plan to take it slow.”
I shiver as his fingertips trace the curve of my hips, traveling in slow strokes across my ribs and beneath my breasts, pausing to drop kisses across my upper chest, finally drawing back to remove my underwear.
My body comes alive beneath his touch. He spends breathless moments exploring every curve, inhaling my gasps with his kisses. He finally lifts me, naked onto the bed, taking care of contraception before joining me there. Then he starts all over again, kissing me all the way from my lips to my calves.
My whole body burns with a powerful need I’ve never felt before. I’m not sure if I’m going to survive it. I’ve already allowed myself to feel more than I ever have. I can’t let Cain make me feel like this and leave me wanting. This is the part of sex where I alw
ays get left behind. I need it to end so I can find a way to come down without breaking into pieces.
I shiver, my breathing rapid, my back arching into his hands. When he shifts closer to me, I act without thought, hooking my leg around his hips and drawing him to me.
He doesn’t let me, swiftly defying me by using his strength to pull me into a sitting position.
He kisses my cheek and that’s when I realize a tear has slipped from my eyes.
I gasp, mortified. “I’m not a crier.”
He runs his thumb across the tear track that says otherwise. His gaze burns with need, but also with care. “Crying isn’t weakness.”
My heart is breaking. “Then what is it?”
“It’s heart. It’s strength.” He pulls me closer, shifting me so that I’m straddling his kneeling legs, our bodies still separated but the inside of my thighs pressed against his muscles. “You deserve so much, Archer.”
He supports my head and hips as he tips me gently backward. He whispers against my lips: “I want to make you feel everything good.”
A moan escapes my lips when our bodies join and sensation floods me, not elusive, not distant, not a possibility, but real, crashing, overpowering…
I tip my head back against the pillow, wrap my legs around him, and let my body move with his. The need in his eyes is intense. His kisses demand more from me with every stroke inside me, but he controls our movements, focused solely on me. A pure burn flows through me, radiating out from every touch of his lips and hands, the connection between us building until it threatens to tear me apart.
I want everything. I want Cain in my life. I want to be free from my past, free to make my own choices. I want to be Grace and I want to be Archer and I want the power inside me…
This power.
It strikes through me, a deep force. My back shifts, but this time it doesn’t hurt. I cry out as need bursts inside me. I arch into Cain, drawing him deeper, thrumming and spiraling as wave after wave draws me upward.
Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 54
