And find myself pulled in so tight that the air’s pushed from my lungs.
He moves, and suddenly I’m between his weight and the nearest wall, my hips and chest glad that the ochre isn’t rough and sharp. He lifts my hand, pressing it to the smooth stone and forcing my fingers apart. Then slowly he draws his own hand away – leaving just mine and my scar on display.
We had a Brahman once who nearly died from a snake bite. Since then, anything moving in the grass made him run. Sometimes it was just a breeze, but he ran like death was on his heels.
Sometimes things happen, and our reactions get branded into us for later use.
And breaking that, healing from it, might mean facing it to regain control. Or it might mean hiding from it to safeguard our souls.
I have no idea what Pax needs right now.
And all of the logic in the world doesn’t stop Pax’s power from seeping into me. Or the way my legs are beginning to go weak, and my pinkie finger is twitching from the excess energy.
“Cut it off then,” I say, and am immediately horrified by my own suggestion. Because that just sounded like I’m giving him permission to remove a limb.
Crap. Not what I meant.
Before I can say more stupid shit, Pax lowers his teeth into my flesh. Driving deep at the point where neck becomes shoulder. Making my knees give way, and my inside pool into molten heat.
I fall, and he follows me. Pulling me in tighter to him, cradling me, keeping me from escaping.
I gasp. Then groan, pain giving way to the buzz of his power. Falling, giving way to the feeling of being his.
Purely.
His.
His teeth retreat, taking some of the pain with them, and his tongue runs over the wound.
“I need to taste that you’re still mine,” he says, his voice rough, partly wolf.
Not sure what happens next, except that at some point everything went dark, and in the next beat I’m tossed to the floor in one direction, and Killian is throwing Pax in the other.
Pax, the man, flies through the air, but after a snap of light, it’s the wolf who lands on his feet.
I roll in the dirt, my mind fuzzy and the world barely making sense.
Killian draws his blade, his feet settling shoulder width apart. Every inch of him between me and Pax and poised in a mix of ready-to-fight and trying-not-to-antagonize-a-beast. He points the tip of the sword into the ochre floor and waits.
I scramble to my feet, rubbing my neck and running my fingers toward my shoulder until they brush against tender flesh and sore muscles. Barely a trickle of blood – not even enough to coat my fingertips.
Pax snaps his jaws at the air – then dashes for the exit, knocking Roarke over just inside the door and, by the sounds of things, knocking Seth over just outside of it.
“You,” Killian says, pointing his sword toward Roarke. “Should know better. And you–” He turns sharply to me. “We told you to keep that covered.”
I wave my trembling hand toward the sliver of blue against the red floor.
“I didn’t cut it off,” I try to yell, but my voice is shaking.
Killian grunts, his sword slipping into its sheath with a smooth metal against leather scrape. Then he walks off.
I run after him, slipping past Roarke as he climbs to his feet and into the daylight.
“We can’t keep doing this,” I yell at Killian’s back. “I can’t keep hiding, and I can’t keep hurting him like this.”
I leave out the part about there being worse damage to discover on my skin, because making Pax run back here is on the bottom of my to-do list right now.
At the top of my to-do list is not crying.
Suck it up, I tell myself, giving the corner of my lip a bite just to get my point across.
I’m barely two steps out the door, and just noticing that Seth was literally knocked halfway down the cliff – lucky the guy’s got great reflexes – when Killian turns.
“He’s had that trigger for nearly three hundred years. He’s always going to have it, and you’re not going to be around long enough to fix it,” Killian growls, and for a beat he just stares at me.
Then he turns again and storms down the slope like I’ve somehow offended him. But I’m not sure how: by bearing the flesh that sets off Pax’s trigger or by not arguing with Killian over my short life expectancy? Did he expect me to argue over whether or not I can, in some way, fix Pax?
“I’m going after him,” he growls. “Before something else does.”
I stagger a few steps backward – he’s right.
All of it.
Killian’s right.
It’s only thanks to Roarke being right behind me that I don’t end up slipping straight over the edge.
Seth looks up at me. The narrow ledge he’s on has left him with two choices, scale up or jump down. That’s an easy prospect for him – he could bloody just step out and then land on his feet. If I got knocked down there, I’d go splat.
My cheeks crinkle as I try to smother the smile that wants to break free. Seth would love another reason to call me splat.
The guy glances at the down option, then turns and launches himself high up on the wall. He plants one foot then propels himself up again, grabbing quick holds and not waiting to catch his breath or check that the soft rock is going to hold him up.
In a few short seconds he’s bounded over the edge and landed lightly on his feet in front of me.
Roarke runs his fingers down my neck, pulling my shirt aside to view the bite marks and making me shiver at the unexpected touch.
“You’re still shaking,” Seth says, taking my good hand and pressing it firmly between his.
“He’s bit you before,” Roarke says, tapping on yesterday’s bite, making it sting just a little.
Is it bad that I like that sting?
I try to step sideways, to get away from their attention – but of course I’m on a narrow track on the side of a cliff.
“Lots of touching going on here, guys,” I say, still trying to bend myself out from underneath Roarke’s fingers and trying to pull my hand free from Seth.
Seth looks up from inspecting my wrist, his gaze meeting mine sharply with a little tilt to his head like I just surprised him. Then he smiles, yanks me forward into his chest, and wraps his arms around me like a snare.
“Yes, Roarke, one at a time,” he says.
I groan, pressing my hand to his chest. He relaxes his grip and lets me push free from him.
“Not what I meant.”
“And not the time,” Roarke says, grabbing my shoulders and twisting me around to face him.
I spin so fast that I almost lose my balance and the drop over the edge suddenly feels too close to my feet. Neither of them seem to notice.
“You can’t let him do that. He’s trying really hard to keep his distance from you, just like the rest of us –”
“Not me,” Seth chimes in.
“But,” Roarke raises his voice over Seth’s. “You have to do the same. We’re trying to keep you alive.”
“Make up your mind – first you tell me I can’t undo this mate thing, and that I shouldn’t hurt his feelings, now you’re telling me that I should try to hurt his feelings.” I grit my teeth and almost fail to form coherent words.
“Respect. His. Space,” Roarke says slowly.
“Screw. That,” I counter, pushing past him on the wall side of the path – not the cliff side, of course.
I march into the cave, snatch up a fresh chocolate bar, and before anyone can dump it in the dirt, I tear it open and take a bite.
A very big bite.
That turns out to be rather difficult to chew.
After a moment, Seth follows me inside. I’m still working on my first bite and pacing across the floor. My pinkie is twitching every now and then.
“Why is my finger doing this?” I demand, holding my hand up and watching as the little finger jerks violently.
He gives it a curious look.
<
br /> “Pax’s raw energy is like being inside a lightning bolt. When lightning hits something, it fries it. It sets trees on fire and leaves charred marks on the ground. It…” He stops to search for a word. “Zings.”
I nod – zings works. He could also have gone with drives-me-crazy, makes-me-want-more, and could-possibly-be addictive.
“The effect it has on you is not the same effect it would have on anyone else. Might be the mate thing,” he says. He must be reading my expression because he can’t read minds.
“Wait, can you read minds?” I check.
He chuckles, shaking his head.
“No, but when we were younger, he could drop me to the ground and leave me writhing and shaking for hours. You probably should consider yourself lucky that he’s losing control, and you only have a twitchy pinkie.”
I don’t only have a pinkie problem. I definitely have the smoldering feeling of being pissed off. Sure, he’s Commander Pax, scary-ass AlphaSeed, and I’m just a sootling. But sootlings have rights.
Including the right to do stupid shit.
I scan the room, spotting Pax’s boots lined neatly beside his bag, before frantically looking from box to box.
“The boot thing’s getting old,” Seth says, popping up to sit on the crate beside me.
“If bossing me around isn’t getting old, then putting crap into people’s boots isn’t getting old either,” I say, still looking for inspiration.
A crate of blank paper, another of folded fabric ready to be sewn, another of feathers dyed in multiple colors and cut, ready to be turned into decoration…
“Did this guy go around stealing the most unusual crap he could find?” I demand.
Seth shrugs. “It’s all worth money.”
I cross the room to the feathers, running them through my fingers. Smooth as silk, their tips carved into fine points.
Seth follows me.
“I didn’t pick you for the prissy and pretty type,” he says.
“That’s because you know nothing about me,” I say, my fingers running over the sharp tips of a short, vibrant blue feather.
“You’re right. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue,” I say, holding the feather up. I leave out the part where it’s the same color as his eyes and that just might be the reason my favorite color changed from far-off-enchanted-forest green the first day I met him.
“What’s yours?”
“Gray,” he says, slowly.
I scrunch my nose. “Gray’s a horrible color.”
“I don’t agree. Before we stole you, what did you like doing in your spare time?”
“Sleeping.”
“No, be honest.”
I chew the corner of my lip for a second. “I liked lots of stuff.”
“Well, pick one.”
“The kids. I liked playing with the kids. What about you?”
He hesitates, a curious look on his face before he steels himself to answer. “Gambling. Dice, cards, anything really.”
“Of course you do,” I say, threading the tip of my feather into the fabric of his shirt.
It slides in easily. Straight through the weave.
He looks at it and smiles, but doesn’t alter our conversation.
“Favorite food?” he asks.
“Anything I can get my hands on… and chocolate.”
“Mine’s bacon – but it’s so damned hard to get a hold of pork on this side of the border.”
“Are you telling me you ride into Drayden to buy bacon?”
He nods. “What do you dream about when you’re not asleep?”
I sag a little under the weight of that one. “Wow, Sethy. That’s deep.”
“I’m not one dimensional, Vexy.” As he talks, he plucks a feather from the crate and pushes it into my hair.
“I didn’t say you were. I just expected you to ask me about the first mud-in-boots incident, or my breastband size, not this.”
Crap, now I’ve given him ideas.
He chuckles. “That’s next.”
“No, it’s not.”
Which makes him laugh harder. His dazzling blue eyes don’t break their connection with mine.
“Tell me?”
Running my fingers through my hair, I pull the feather free, then pluck the one from his shirt.
“I don’t have time to dream, Seth. When I think about things, it’s either planning survival or… you know, things from the past.”
“And revenge?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t really think about that – I just do it.”
I smooth feathers into a stack in my hand, one neatly on top of the other.
“What about you?”
“I don’t think about revenge. I’m more of a cause and effect kind of person, and I usually do the thinking part days – or years – later. Or centuries.”
“Well, I am thinking about revenge right now – you want to help me?” I say, holding my handful of feathers up.
“Any time, Vexy. Any time. What’s the plan?”
My Shadow rubs at her shoulder every few minutes. Sometimes like it’s hurting her, sometimes like she’s making it hurt. Poking at the bites Pax has left there.
Wolves like to fight for dominance.
Pax likes it too.
She is the picture of submission, bowing to his command. But Pax can’t have her, and his power, his wolf, will think that’s her fault. That someone else has claimed her. And that she might submit if he just presses a little harder against her.
Just shows her a little more that he’s strong enough for her.
That he can protect her if she’ll let him.
Stupid wolf doesn’t even see that she’s mortal.
That this kind of power will kill her.
“Rein. It. In,” I say through gritted teeth.
Pax looks over his horse at me, the saddle almost in place and the buckles in his hands. He drops them and runs a hand down his face.
“She pushes too many buttons – all at once.”
“Can you control it?”
“I’m trying,” he practically growls.
“There’s too much at stake.”
The last time, Daryan told Pax to sit, to stay. Next time, he might tell Pax to turn his weapon towards one of us – or Shade. To seize her and run his blade across her throat. To use his power and blow her mortal soul to whatever wasteland their dead are sent.
“There’s a Sigils Master in Lackshir,” I say.
His eyes glow involuntarily. His wolf objects.
“That animal doesn’t understand,” I tell him, pulling the girth tight and then double-checking it.
My gaze is lowered – because looking at him now would be a challenge to his wolf – but my full attention is on his every breath. The first hint that he’s coming after me, and I’ll be ready.
“I don’t understand why,” he says through gritted teeth, “I can’t keep control. Every time I have it, it slips again.”
“A sigil would work.”
He growls, his fist clenched but resting on the top of his saddle.
“What are we riding into?” he asks.
“Darkness.”
“And what’s been chasing us?”
“Only a hint of what’s to come.”
His chest heaves in measured breaths. He needs to understand that what waits ahead of us is so much worse than what we’ve been running from. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.
It tastes like venom.
Secrets and deception. Pain and death.
“Protecting her can’t happen while the wolf’s impulses rule your decisions. He’s right – but he’s doing it wrong. Find your balance – by any means necessary.”
Silence.
Pax finally nods. “The wolf agrees.”
52.5 miles from Potion Master Eydis
I press my foot into the stirrup and hoist myself up into the saddle. I’m so close to making it before Killian pushes my ass on his way past and almost ti
ps me over the other damn side.
“I can do it myself,” I growl.
He lets out a disbelieving grunt, not even turning to look at me.
Pax is right up front. Killian behind him, then me, then Seth and Roarke side by side behind me. Everyone settles themselves into their saddles and adjusts their reins, offering their mounts a pat or stroke. Especially Killian. He loves his big black gelding, despite how it fusses and complains like a noblewoman.
I run my fingers through my gelding’s mane. The coarse hair is a creamy color, while his coat is a dark almost-black. He shakes his head, snorts, and then twists a little to look me in the eye. I like him, even if there is a chance that he’s stolen.
I click my tongue and nudge him forward until I’m next to Killian.
“I’m never going to learn if you’re always pushing me in the wrong direction,” I tell him.
Pax’s dapple gray starts moving without any obvious instruction, and the rest of us follow his lead. Moving away from the horse yard and ochre bandit cave and toward the road.
“I like pushing you.”
“He thinks it’s funny,” Seth says behind me.
I twist a little and just manage to spot my partner in crime threading a feather into the back of Roarke’s shirt. Chaos winks at me.
“I don’t,” I say, not breaking in my conversation with Killian.
He grunts.
I growl.
Then he smiles.
“Yes, you do,” he says.
With a lift of his reins, his horse pushes into a trot, pulling away from me to ride up beside Pax. When we step out onto the road, Pax sniffs the air, searching for who knows what. But he doesn’t say anything. Roarke and Seth make clicking sounds, and as soon as their horses move, so does mine. All of us catch up to each other, then fan into one line on the wide road through the canyon. It’s a road designed for large carts, surrounded by cliffs with the kinds of vantage points that would make a single file line an exercise in waiting to see which one of us gets shot first.
I frown at the guys to either side of me. Two to my left and two to my right, with me wedged in the middle.
Not that I would rather be on the outside – but I would have liked to be a part of the decision. If I ever manage to get my hands on a weapon or a skill that I can actually use, preferably both, I’m going to make it very clear to these guys that I’m to be consulted on… everything.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 52
