Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  Happy.

  Which contrasts Pax’s anguish. The guy doesn’t say anything. He’s not even doing anything, specifically. But he’s hurting.

  “Good horse.” I nod toward the silver dapple Silvari gelding in the yard. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that’s why Pax rode ahead. That’s the excuse he gave himself.

  Pax glances at the window, pulls his gaze away, and then tosses his own bag across the room to crash into the wall beside the bed.

  “I’m out,” Roarke says, slipping from the room and closing the door behind himself.

  My attention stays on the two in the yard. On their laughter. I can feel it even from here. Not normally something I can do – but this bubble is messing with all of our magic.

  “How’s your arm?” Pax asks, sitting heavily on the bed somewhere behind me.

  “Healing,” I say, I don’t even move to show him.

  “Was unintentional.”

  “I know.”

  His thoughts turn dark, or something in them does. I can’t read his mind, but I can feel the way his emotions change. Something happening inside his head has gripped at his heart. Tainting the air with the smell of a lingering memory. Of fear.

  “Don’t,” I grunt.

  “But I should have left her there. Every single thing we need to do to save this kingdom will come crashing down around us because of me.”

  “Hm,” I mutter. “Done now.”

  I turn away from the window. The guy is on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, massaging his brow, frowning at the ground. A knowing frown.

  “You already knew,” I press.

  “Not really, not when I first saw her. I knew she was worth saving – but there are lots of people worth saving, and we don’t have time to go around rescuing people individually.”

  “But you did. You rescued her.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And you’d do it again.” I feel his wolf bristle to life deep within his soul.

  “Of course, I would,” he snaps – no wolf in his voice, though.

  Interesting. The two have already found some balance. Neither one is playing master to the other. Which means they both agree – they have both bonded with her, and the damned girl doesn’t even have a clue what this means.

  Pax lets out a long sigh and joins me beside the window, in time to watch the girl flip right over Seth’s shoulder and land on her ass. She’s on her feet quicker than I thought the mortal could move – not a tinge of fear or the flicker of apprehension in sight.

  Happy.

  She moves in close to Seth, his hands gripping low on her hips. Her back to him, so she probably can’t see the way he’s looking at her. The quick glances that slide low over her chest, the lopsided way he’s grinning. I’m not willing to bet on it, though, because women tend to know all sorts of things that I’d think impossible.

  She jumps, he rolls her back over his shoulder, and this time she lands on her feet. He can’t get his hands back on her hips quickly enough. There’s a tension in the kid that I’ve never seen before. Roarke gets nervous. He has the kind of power that hides it, and he has a gift for getting what he wants, so he never has to face uncertainty. But with Shade, Roarke is always edgy. Seth doesn’t tend to get worried about anything – but he is right now. Worry that smells like desire and hope mixed together.

  “What about him?” I ask Pax.

  Long seconds stretch out before he answers, “Not a problem.”

  “What do you mean not a problem?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “It just isn’t. Which one of us she spends time with isn’t going to be an issue.”

  I don’t believe him. Squaring off with my full attention on Pax, who’s almost a head shorter than I am – but then so is almost everyone – I focus all of my power on him. On his threads and the way his darkness moves, shifts, ebbs, and flows around the other things that make him tick.

  “Look at them,” I order, pointing out the window. “What if he kissed her right now? Grabbed her tight, pulled her in, and passionately kissed the fuck out of her?”

  “Doesn’t,” he says slowly. “Bother me.”

  His emotions mirror his words.

  Two Silvari guys walk quietly up the road, glancing curiously at Shade and Seth and their antics.

  “What if they kissed her,” I say, pointing at the Silvari.

  Pax’s lips curl and fangs drop. Threads of protection unfurl – ready to attack.

  “No,” he says, his word barely discernible among the growl.

  “Back here,” I order, pointing at Seth and Shade again. Not sure if I’m talking to Pax or his wolf – or both. “Seth and Shade,” I repeat, trying to focus them. His canines retreat, his threads settling like his protection isn’t needed because Seth is there to do the job. Almost. There’s a hint of Alpha still in the air. An amber smell that is lingering.

  Then I decide to press him a little further.

  “My Shadow,” I begin.

  Nothing. No reaction.

  “Imagine she’s immortal. Imagine she could handle being with one of us,” I continue.

  Pax settles a wide-eyed look on me, a small muscle on his jaw ticking with the threat of harm to come.

  “No.”

  “Imagine,” I raise my voice. We need to finish this conversation. “If she could survive. What would you do to Seth?”

  Because for any other guy, any other girl, sharing would be out of the question. I’ve known Pax a long time, and he does not play well with others. None of us do. But for an Alpha to see his mate with another man, it would only end in death – no matter how close the men were. The mating bond is stronger than family.

  I need to know how long we can all stand to be near each other before Pax becomes too dangerous.

  I need to know who he’s going to try to kill first.

  His wolf retreats. His threads settle. The tension ebbs away.

  “Nothing,” he says, and he means it. “Assuming she were a true Saber, and immortal, and she wanted to be with any of us, I would do nothing. We aren’t in competition.”

  “Huh,” I say.

  I leave the guy with his window and his swirling emotions. Going out the door, down the stairs, and straight to the bar.

  He didn’t just say ‘Seth’ – he said all of us. And that idea is its own kind of dangerous.

  37 miles to Potion Master Eydis

  Seth leads the way up the stairs onto a narrow veranda and through a double set of doors. Past a growing crowd inside a common eating and drinking hall, then up another set of stairs. When we reach the top, Killian steps out of the third room down the corridor.

  He grunts on his way past, but keeps moving. Seth ignores him, opens the door his brother just came out of, then motions for me to enter first.

  The bed’s huge – all Silvari beds seem to be big – with four pillows across the top and a thick, patterned blanket all puffed up and looking like heaven. A gentle hiss and crackle fills the room from the fireplace opposite the bed. There’s a painting of a chicken on the wall – which is just odd, and a small rectangular rug woven in grays and blacks on the floor.

  Pax is on the other side of the room inspecting the contents of his saddlebag.

  The door clicks shut behind us. The one bed thing doesn’t worry me – these guys sleep about once every moon cycle, and I’m betting we’re only staying here for the night, which means I’m the only one who will need the bed. Because I’m the only mortal in the room, and mortals have needs.

  According to Pax, intimacy just isn’t one of them.

  “Where are your clothes?” Seth asks.

  “In your bag,” I say, pointing to the bag he’s just put down.

  “In my bag?” he asks, one eyebrow raised.

  “You would have known if you weren’t off making a mess of the bottler’s office,” Pax points out.

  “You’re welcome,” Seth says.

  Both Pax and I groan.

  Yes – the
prank Seth pulled on the bottler did inadvertently provide us with the distraction we needed to escape, but no – no one wants to hear him gloat about it.

  Seth runs his gaze over his brother, then – for some reason I fail to understand – he retreats.

  “I’ll send up a servant and some water,” he says, then he’s gone and the door’s shut and I’m alone with Pax.

  I turn sharply and bend down to Seth’s bag. Setting about gripping the fabric in my teeth and trying to unzip the thing with one hand. Gripping and pulling with my right is out of the question. I’m just about to get my foot in on the action when Pax crouches next to me.

  Even though I knew he was in the room, I still jump. Not scared, not like waking up with Lord Martin leaning over me, but still kind of scared, like looking up and seeing a spider right next to the toilet.

  I, however, am “not on the toilet.”

  And I just said that out loud!

  Crap, crap, crap.

  Of course I’d say something like that out loud – because that’s the relationship my brain and mouth have. I groan, burying my face in my hand.

  Food, my problem is food. These guys seem to be constantly eating. Only sometimes it’s three course meals at lunch and other times it’s a single piece of fruit. My brain needs more energy to keep control of my mouth.

  At least, I wish it were that easy.

  Pax just smiles, unzipping the bag with ease while saying, “There’s one downstairs.”

  “You didn’t tell me you could turn into a wolf,” I say the first thing that pops into my mind – hoping it’s better than the last thing I let escape.

  “I can’t.”

  “I saw you do it.”

  “We kind of co-exist.”

  The Alphas only mating with Alphas thing suddenly makes sense – if their wolves are separate beings, then they would have to fall in love with each other too. How I fit into this equation, however, is still a mystery. The kind of mystery that makes me very nervous.

  “Am I in trouble?” I ask, referring to the going-to-get-myself-killed kind. “I mean, if your wolf decides he likes me – that sounds –”

  Pax takes my good hand and pulls me up with him as he stands. Time seems to slow, and I feel every subtle movement… him letting go of my hand finger by finger, pulling himself to his full height, which draws him that bit further away from me, his hand falling back to his side – putting more distance between us.

  Back the bralls up, I tell myself. I do not need his touch. Needing a guy is not the kind of thing I do. Enjoying the company of these guys – yes. Not managing to exist without them because of a bubble, that I can handle.

  Wanting to tackle this guy, pin him down, and rip his clothes off – that is a whole new emotion.

  I just answered my own question – we are in some serious trouble.

  I take a step back, but there was only one step between me and the wall, so I take three steps to the side and end up in the corner between the bed and the far wall. This isn’t a very big room, but somehow this distance feels wrong. It’s made worse by the small crease of disappointment that runs across his expression.

  “I’m sorry about the hugging you thing,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you… or your wolf.”

  He scratches the back of his head, hesitating on whatever words he wants to get out.

  “I’ll keep my distance from now on. I’ll stay over here – you stay over there.” I swallow hard on the lump in my throat and force air down past the pain in my chest – because no part of me wants to hurt him, or see him hurting, but I don’t think I would survive the affections of a wolf.

  “Too late,” he says.

  Killian said that in the forest too. Right when I hugged just-saved-my-life-but-still-naked Pax.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, because this is all my fault. I deflate onto the bed before asking, “Can we reverse it? Is there a potion or a seal or something to fix my mistake?”

  The door opens, no knocking, and four servants walk in. Three girls and a guy, all wearing leather aprons and looking nervous. The first two carrying a round wooden wash tub. They look up, spot Pax, then turn completely white.

  “Wait, put it by the fire,” Pax says, waving them in before they can run back out the door.

  They obey. The young man looks like he might be about to vomit. He, and the last girl, are carrying an oversized bucket of water in each hand. They avoid looking up as they place everything in front of the fire.

  Roarke saunters into the room, also without knocking. The guy’s wearing a black towel – his dirty clothes clutched in one hand. Gorgeous face, slim shoulders with the defined muscles of someone who can move, fight, and run, and a scattering of hair across his chest.

  Roarke offers Pax a look that I don’t even have a name for. A tilt of the head, a crease over one eyebrow. Maybe, ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Pax looks at me, looks at his brother, then nods. He grabs some clothes from his bag before leaving the room. I dash after him without thinking, only to have Roarke hold his arm out and catch me on the way past.

  “Let him go,” he says softly.

  When I struggle and manage to block the servants’ only exit, Roarke lifts me up and physically holds me back. Setting me on my feet again when the Silvari servants have left the room, but not removing his arm. So I’m still attached to him as he moves to the door and flicks the lock over to seal us in.

  Then he lets me go – placing himself in the doorway as a further barrier from me escaping. Not that the magical bubble wouldn’t do a good job of that anyway – but maybe he’s worried about me making a scene.

  “What!” I demand, because he’s acting like I’m about to murder someone.

  “Give him his space.”

  “He’s had plenty of space. The guy’s been running off from me all day. I need answers.” It occurs to me that Roarke is the answers guy, and I fix him in my gaze. “You can answer me. How do we undo this mating thing?”

  I poke him in the chest, hoping that the action emphasizes my point.

  He doesn’t look impressed by the idea, but I stand my ground while he runs his thumb and forefinger over his manicured mustache-beard combo.

  “You asked him that?”

  “Of course. We need to fix this. Is there a potion – or a seal? I’m good with a seal if it’ll fix this.”

  “That had to sting,” he mutters, not referring to my suggestion of a seal. Yes – sigils and seals hurt, but for Pax I’d do it.

  I’d do anything for any one of them.

  “Being trapped with me is hurting him. You’ve seen him, he’s all over the place, angry and avoiding you all. That’s because of me. We have to fix this.”

  Roarke shakes his head in sweeping motions that makes his long hair, mostly tied in a band at the base of his neck, sway.

  “There is no fixing it.”

  “Then how can I make things right?!”

  “You can stop hurting the guy’s feelings, to begin with.”

  I drop my hand and stop poking him.

  “You walked all the way through the inn wearing that?” I demand.

  Roarke’s practically naked body is a very good distraction from this whole conversation.

  “Of course I did. I like the attention,” he says, then he makes a spinning motion with his hand, and I do as I’m asked, turning to face the wall and give him some privacy.

  The sound of a zipper opening fills the room, followed by the obvious shuffling and rustling noises. I tune them out, wallowing in the mess of feelings inside me instead. I can’t work out if I don’t want this mating for the right or wrong reasons. Is it because I’m scared for him – or for me?

  “He has rules,” Roarke says, making me jump.

  I hadn’t even heard him approach. The guy’s right behind me, leaning in so he can talk softly in my ear.

  “I know he has rules,” I mutter.

  “He won’t hurt you,” he adds. “And he
will keep you safe.”

  I spin sharply, feeling like he’s only giving me half the truth, but also like he’s only understanding half the problem. “I’m hurting him. I’m making his life worse.”

  “That’s not how he sees it. It makes things more complicated, and we don’t really understand what’s happening, but we can work that out.”

  “Tell me how he sees it?” I ask, only just managing to muster a whisper.

  “You should probably ask him that.”

  He searches my expression for a moment, but I’m not sure what I look like. “When he lost his child, then his love, his wolf receded out of reach. I can’t pretend to know what that feels like, but I imagine it’s close to losing a limb and a brother at the same time.” He stops abruptly, before adding, “Your bath’s getting cold. I’ll wait outside the door.”

  He’s out the door, and the door is shut again, before I can even open my mouth. Not that my mouth has much to say. My mouth is stunned silent. It’s my heart that’s screaming at me.

  I steel myself enough to approach the door and tap on it lightly with one fingernail.

  “I’m still here,” Roarke says from the other side.

  If it were Seth, I’d be worried that he’d wait until I’m naked and walk off – making my invisible wall force me out of the room while stripped bare. Which he would think is hilarious.

  But Roarke is not like Seth.

  The bath is big enough to sit in, hot enough to relax in, and smells sweet, like they’ve poured soap directly into the water. I scrub gently over my bruised ribs and raw legs – minor injuries that sting like bralls. At some stage, I need help to re-wrap the bandage on my arm. Holding it stiffly in place keeps the pain at bay, but the fabric and thin metal splints loosen over time and leaves room for movement. A job for later, when I’ve stopped driving my guys away from me and won’t feel guilty asking one of them for help.

  The fire crackles in front of me, small logs glowing and occasionally shooting sparks up the chimney. The room is littered with bags, saddles, and weapons, but rather than feeling small and cramped, it feels comforting, almost familiar. Despite the fact that we’re in a new place, facing a new challenge.