They’re all about rules and boundaries and me being untouchable, and yet they go just pulling their clothes off without warning, whenever they bloody please.
Killian’s head snaps up. The emerald sheen to his black gaze reflects some of the fire’s gentle light, and a smile spreads across his lips. The scar on his face alters all of his expressions – frowning makes him look angry, sighing makes him look angry, yawning makes him look angry, even his blank expression is fifty percent angry. But the scar from one brow, over his nose, and down to his cheek, doesn’t alter his smile.
Not to me.
“What?” I demand.
He gathers his shirt up, slipping his arms into the sleeves before pausing.
“You should get some sleep,” he says, turning as he pulls the shirt up over his head.
I get the barest glimpse of his healed shoulder before it’s in place.
“Your burn’s gone?” I ask.
He rubs the spot as he answers, “We heal quickly. Sleep.”
My body obeys, dragging me into the bed and under the covers. I’m pretty sure I’m asleep within one beat.
And awake in the next.
Awake, and screaming as a deafening boom makes the whole building shake.
I spring to my feet, rushing toward where Killian is tossing the bags out the window. Four bags, then four sets of saddlebags. The floor tilts back. Stone and timber creaks, cracks, and splinters around us. Killian grips my arm, pulls me into his chest, then rolls backward out the damn window. I’d scream again if I weren’t so scared. Flames explode through the window behind us, shattering the glass and sending it into the air. The pieces reflect the flames like sparks of orange and red in the night.
We roll to the edge of the veranda roof, then straight off the thing.
To my death. The world is ending, and I’m going to be crushed by Killian.
He scoops me up in his arms in mid-air. Then the guy lands on his feet. Easy.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Probably because right now breathing is a priority and I’m failing to get it right.
I’m set on my own feet, and in the same motion he grabs at the bags. Two saddlebags over one arm, and two duffels in each hand.
The moan of the building is drowned out by screams and mayhem, then crashes as it begins to fall apart. I grab the last two saddlebags and run, not even stopping when I hit the gate. I yank it open for Killian then quickly shut behind him. My little gray pony is dancing around with fear in her eyes at the far end of the yard – but she doesn’t have a saddle on. Five other horses do – and I recognize the boys’ mounts straight away. The new horse is either mine, or I’m stealing it.
Killian launches into his super-speed to tie the bags and packs into place on the respective mounts, and while he’s wasting time doing that, I scramble up onto the new horse’s back, biting back the ache in my arm – because that ache has nothing on a building being blown to pieces by gods know what.
There’s plenty of people running, lots of screaming, a fair few signs of blood and injury, but nothing that looks like the cause of it all.
“What’s going on?” I shout – again.
Killian doesn’t respond as he throws his leg over the saddle. All of the animals are unsettled, but his stallion stands still – solid – unfazed. The damn thing seems calmer with all of this than he is when there’s nothing going on.
The building shudders. The stones from the chimney begin to topple in all directions. It was one of two things keeping the place from falling flat. The chimney on the back, and the support posts on the front veranda.
I follow Killian’s line of sight and find Pax standing between the back of the inn and the wash-house. He waves a sharp arm at us, shouting something that’s lost in the roaring flames and crumbling timber and stones. He’s still wearing what I saw him in last, still holding the weapon he was using. There is a very real chance that I just slept for all of five minutes.
Killian leans over and snatches the reins from my hands. My horse jumps about a bit – which in turn makes his horse want to bite or kick mine. Possibly both.
An arrow bolts right past my face, and I dive for cover – straight off the horse. Hitting the ground, I struggle to get myself out from under the stomping and kicking horses.
“Get on the horse!” Killian growls.
“People are shooting at us,” I shout back.
My horse breaks free from Killian’s grip, and I rush to capture the frightened animal. When I turn, reins in hand and desperate to lay eyes on the person firing arrows at my head, Killian has his sword drawn and an opponent on either side of him. He makes it look easy, battling with two armed men. I mean, the Darkness guy is smiling as he draws blood. But my heart’s doing nothing but hammering in my chest.
The building groans again and people still running from the front door are suddenly cut off by falling timbers. Seth bounds onto the veranda and blows a freaking kiss at the flames. They twist, rise, and burst into a cascade of chuckin’ flowers.
The rest of the building is still on fire, but the people inside now have an exit.
Pax runs down the slope, vaulting over the fence and cutting down one of Killian’s attackers. But he’s not alone – behind him, two more guys are in close pursuit.
That makes three armed men against my two. I’m scared, but still quite like our odds. That is, if I don’t look up the hill at the mess, destruction, and more Sabers with powers and swords.
“Elorsins,” shouts one of Pax’s attackers.
He’s the same height as my guys, but his skin is pale – like it has lacked sun exposure for a few hundred years. His smile is more like a scowl, but deep joy and pure malice fills every crease on the guy’s face. He rolls his shoulders in his crimson shirt and stretches his neck.
“Sromma,” Pax says, pointing at the guy in the red shirt. “Daryan, and Gartil,” he adds, pointing at the other two.
One with a heavy beard, and his teeth sharpened to points. Next to him the guy with short blonde hair and a ring through his lip looks almost plain.
The two men point at each other.
“Daryan,” the bearded guy says.
“Gartil,” lip-ring guy says.
“It’s nice to put faces to Lithael’s scum. Which one wants to hear how we tore his brother to pieces?” Pax asks.
Daryan lifts his lip in a snarl, the movement contorting his beard.
Pax turns toward him, swinging his sword in a wide arc past his shoulder.
“And I enjoyed it,” he says, a whole lot of wolf in his voice.
Goosebumps have covered my arms, and the combined fear and adrenaline are making it really hard to get my ass back in the saddle. I’m not even sure I want to be in the saddle – there’s still an archer out there somewhere.
“Sit,” Daryan growls, and Pax freaking does. “Horse – still,” he adds, and Killian’s horse pretty much freezes.
I don’t know what to deal with. Or what I can deal with. Killian’s horse chuckin’ pretending to be a statue and making it very hard for Killian to defend himself. Or Pax dropping to one knee with his sword uselessly stabbed into the ground at his side.
Killian’s silhouette is growing darker and darker – the night playing tricks on my eyes as shadows rise and fall along his shoulders and biceps. Every time his sword crashes against one of the attackers, the earth under us booms and vibrates – threatening to knock me over.
Fur visibly shimmers over Pax’s skin, an internal struggle lacing through his physical form. I probably should be running, or at least preparing to run – away. Away is the safe direction.
“Stay,” Daryan orders Pax.
Nope, not me.
I run straight at them. Gartil swinging his sword toward Killian, making Killian block or lose his leg. Daryan lowering his blade on a direct course with Pax’s neck.
And Pax is not moving. Not blocking. Not fighting.
So I tackle Pax – hard.
It knocks
us both to the side and we roll out of the way of his immediate swing. All the way to the edge of the yards. We stop with me on Pax’s chest and my back to the action. The glow strong in his eyes.
“Control,” Pax growls, hard, and he’s not talking to me. “Or she dies.”
He pinches his eyes shut, then opens them again with no sign at all of the glow.
“Or you chuckin’ die,” I gasp.
The ground shakes underneath us, like the earth itself is angry.
Suddenly Pax grabs the chunk of wood beside us and lifts it like a shield, behind my back. Immediately, it’s smacked into with a metal against wood thud.
“Run,” Pax gasps, rolling me to the side in time to block another attack from Daryan. “Get her out of here,” he shouts, his voice completely human.
Killian thunders toward me, still on his damn horse – apparently Daryan’s instructions last mere minutes. His sword drips with blood, and Gartil’s body is in a heap on the ground. The other guy, the one in the crimson shirt, is nowhere to be seen. And for a few long breaths, Daryan staggers back and looks around in disbelief – then anger.
It’s enough time for Pax to get to his feet and me to get to mine.
“Where’s the other guy?” I demand as Killian tosses his sword to Pax.
“He’s about to blow this place to pieces,” Killian growls. “Get on the horse!”
“I have this under control,” Pax shouts, still human.
He needs to stay human.
I do as I’m told, fear and danger driving my clumsy mount up. With one last look toward where Pax is fighting, Killian kicks his horse forward, and I’m forced to follow.
“Buck,” Daryan shouts and my horse’s ass-end kicks into the air.
Pax rushes Daryan, thrusting and swinging and forcing the man to focus completely on Pax or die.
“Hold on,” Killian growls.
I grab two handfuls of mane and pull my whole body as low down on the animal as I can.
Then we’re tearing toward the fence, sailing over it, and straight into the forest.
Not down the road, not into the safety of the town, not back there to help the others. No – we vanish into the trees.
Fight.
Run.
Fight.
Run.
The impulse to fight rips through me. Battling against the logic – run. Get Shade out of here.
This isn’t like last night, when we ran because Lithael was riding towards us. Lithael, we can’t fight. Not yet. Whoever this is, we can. And we can destroy them.
But I force my gelding to jump the fence. Force Shade’s gelding to follow me over it. And force us both into the forest. Into the night.
The canyon and the caves are a few hours away. I know the canyon well, and I’ve heard of a cave system up in the cliffs, but I’ve never gone looking for it.
When the deep red and golden ochre cliffs come into view, I allow us to slow. The horses don’t object.
Even in the dark, this place is impossible to miss – moonlight practically makes it glow. I follow the scent of burned body, an acrid sensation in the back of my throat. We move further away from the road we’ve been shadowing, around behind the first cliff reaching up to form the canyon walls, and up a gentle slope. Half an hour later, we arrive at a grassy patch between two stories of cliff at the back of the canyon.
Except for the small horse yard, made from felled and lashed branches, I’d say it’s nearly perfect. But if the choice is between being completely invisible and having a horse nearby, I’d keep the horse. We stop, and I twist in my saddle, taking in every shadow on the cliff, every angle of the trees, every scent of the night – of nocturnal animals and things slowly growing. But no danger.
The charred remains are just inside the horse yard – meaning the girls probably killed him as he tried to flee. I ignore it as I dismount and stretch out my limbs. They burnt the body to the point of being nothing more than ash. Likely Shade will think it’s an old campfire. It’s also likely the Sabers who killed him carried firedust, and they didn’t want evidence of a body – otherwise, at least a portion of the skull or femur would be left among the charcoal.
“What the bralls was that!” Shade whisper-growls.
“Lithael,” I growl. The man pulling the strings.
“No, they were Sabers.”
“Sent by Lithael. I smelled blood.”
“I saw blood. Lots of blood. Whose blood did you smell?” She gives up on the whisper part and just full screams.
I set my gaze on her, trying to still her, waiting for the shaking in her torso to settle – but it doesn’t.
“A BloodSeed.”
“What does a BloodSeed do?”
“Manipulate blood.”
She lets out a loud, torn growl. “Whose blood?!”
“Not ours.”
She lies flat on her stomach, swings her leg over the saddle, then slips to the ground with all the grace of being half-dead.
Her legs are shaking too. How much can a mortal shake before they fall apart?
I lead her horse and mine into the yard, unclipping my bag and packs as she continues to talk.
“Seth’s? Roarke’s? Pax’s?” Her voice hitches.
“Not their blood,” I assure her – I’d know the minute one of them was close to death.
Know it. Fear it. Can’t dwell on it.
She sighs. “Good,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself, cradling the broken one with the strong one.
A broken right arm is a disadvantage – but not much when neither hand can wield a sword. Has she ever held one? Or a knife? Or any kind of weapon other than her mouth? She’s good at cowering, good at running, good at hiding in the shadows, marginally good at climbing trees, but useless at any of the important skills.
Here we are, clearly being targeted, and all it would take is another lizard attack…
And I might not be able to keep her safe.
If I can’t keep her safe, and she can’t keep herself safe, then all we have is fate. Even Mother couldn’t alter fate, and she saw everything before it happened. She saw thousands of years unfold in minutes. She ordered me to run – but I stayed – and I still could not save her.
If we get rid of this bubble, Shade will have free will again – she’ll be able to make stupid decisions.
“He told Pax to kneel, and Pax did it,” she says.
“BeastSeed.”
“I worked that bit out. His teeth were pointy.”
“Filed down,” I explain. Popular in Tanakan.
“How much danger is Pax in?”
“Pax is in control,” I say.
She had to have seen that, Pax taking back control of himself.
“For how long?”
I don’t answer. I don’t have one.
“Which one of them was making the earth shake?”
“The dead one.”
“What can the other guy do? The one in the red shirt?”
“Sromma can take your power and mimic it. Use it against you.”
“So he could turn into a wolf?”
“No, but he could use our blasts, if and when he sees us use them. Or our speed. That kind of thing.”
She glances back the way we came, and even though her whole body is rejecting being upright, I can see she wants to go back.
“They will find us,” I tell her, referring to my brothers.
I walk past her, toward the cliff. I can’t see the entrance of the cave yet, but I can smell a secret. Smell is the wrong word – sense is too. Track might be a better description. My gut feeling directs me to a small path that leads up. A few rough steps zig-zag back and forward, to a lip almost at the top of the eroded rock formation. From below it looked like a seam, a spot where wind and rain had worn a track in the soft stone. But it’s an opening, and I step inside without fear.
Darkness is my thing, after all.
Shade, however, lingers outside.
I drop my bags, feel around for a
lantern, and click the flint at its base.
As soon as there’s light she staggers in, scans the room once, spots a small pile of blankets that was possibly passing as the dead guy’s bed, curls up on top of them, and falls asleep. That shouldn’t bug me – I’m not Pax – but it does. Fishing around in my bag, I pull my cloak out and drape it over her.
Only mildly better.
Clean inn sheets are one thing. They’re nothing more than the scent of soap and servants in a temporary capacity. The smell of a thief and a murderer – entirely different. It’s like having an itch I can’t scratch.
I fetch my short recurve from my bag, pull the string tight, and collect my full quiver of arrows. Roarke and Seth have wicked skills with their bows, but from this vantage point and with the night hiding no secrets from me, no one is going to survive approaching us.
Someone approaching us is only half my worry – the danger still lingering in our future is my other half. I still can’t put my finger on it, but something worse than the attack tonight is devouring our exits. Corralling us.
Waiting to pounce.
If Pax or Roarke don’t accidentally kill the girl first.
52.5 miles from Potion Master Eydis
Morning comes and goes. I know because the light is streaming directly in through the cave door, piercing through the gloom and into the corner where I’m trying to sleep. I pull the cloak up over my face – Killian’s, I’m guessing, because it wasn’t there when I curled up.
I sleep until my bones stop aching and my eyes can open without the world being blurry. It’s my growling stomach that finally makes me get up. I take Killian’s cloak with me, fastening the top few buttons and pulling the heavy black fabric around me to hold the cave’s innate low temperature at bay.
“Where are we, exactly?” I ask, my voice a little hoarse.
Killian is sitting at the mouth of the cave, his back pressed against one wall and his feet against the other.
“In a –”
“Cave, I know. But whose cave?”
I sweep my arm around the room, indicating the huge collection of boxes, crates, bags, canvases, and even framed artwork around the room. Then I regret moving my arm at all. It’s been broken for three days – or maybe four, my mind’s a bit too sleepy for doing math – but it’s still instinct to use my right arm for things like pointing. And it takes me a little by surprise when I awaken the ache.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 46
