“Enforcement. Execution gallery. Silvari glass. Her,” I say. I like keeping things simple.
Pax straightens and crosses his arms over his chest.
“My power doesn’t affect Silvari glass,” he finally says.
I know.
“I wasn’t completely in control.”
I know that, too.
“We need answers.”
“Allure?” I ask, even though I think it’s a shit idea.
Roarke rakes a hand over his face. “I wish she recalled more of her memory the first time. She’s certainly not strong enough for me to take her back there tonight.”
Or ever. That’s what he’s not saying. He’d do anything not to see her go through that again. Controlling someone’s every heartbeat to keep them alive is not something I’d like to have to do either.
“Eydis might have answers,” he offers. “In the meantime, I vote for limiting the time we spend inside her bubble. We need a way of mitigating our impulses.”
“The wolf agrees –” Pax begins, but gets cut short by a sudden glow in his eyes. He smiles wickedly; clearly the thought that the wolf just put into his head was amusing. “Thane insists.”
“On what?” Roarke asks, his brow drawn. “Exactly?”
I grunt, and Pax turns away.
Seems we agree on that too. The sigil goes on first – then we’ll tell the others.
When it’s too late for them to object.
Because even though Pax almost flattened Lackshir market, and who knows why he didn’t kill her just from contact, it would have all been avoided if Pax had a second longer to think before the wolf stepped in.
Thane agrees.
94 miles from Potion Master Eydis
We’re surrounded by forest, night is falling, the horses are calmly grazing with what little movement they have on their reins, and the rest of the guys are chatting by the fire. Their voices are too low for me to hear much more than the odd detached word.
I keep struggling with the zip on Pax’s bag. Clothing is important.
“Here,” Seth says, his tone low.
Seth’s voice has a kind of note to it, almost a feel, that makes me relax. Deep and playful. Hearing him speak is somehow just as good as a glass of Silvari wine.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He reaches past me to the bag still tied behind Pax’s saddle and yanks out a pair of pants that are going to be way too big and a long-sleeve shirt. Roarke’s pants would probably fit me better, or Pax’s sleep pants. But it’s dark, and I’m not fussy.
I catch glimpses of the fire as the horse shuffles and fidgets beside us. Pax is kneeling beside it, his hands stretched toward the flames. He’s not wearing a shirt, wet hair glistening in the firelight, and the pants look like they could be Seth’s. The guy’s probably cold – and waiting for me before coming over here and getting changed into his own clothes – which I keep stealing.
I don’t know when Roarke put on dry pants, but his long hair is still out, and he hasn’t bothered with a shirt.
I slip out of view, using a horse as a wall, and shimmy into the oversized pants with my cloak still on, sighing as the dry fabric begins to warm my legs. They’re made from fine Silvari cotton with elastic at the sides, and they just manage to stay on my hips.
I admit I’m a little hesitant as I unfasten the buttons on the cloak.
Or a lot.
I’ve come a long way from thinking these guys are going to use me as sport the minute I let my guard down – but not far enough to think that nakedness is normal.
“Here,” he whispers, reaching for the buttons. “You know I have seen you naked before, right?”
I drop my hands and let him finish the buttons. His eyes soften as he works down to the last one, and I don’t respond to his question. This is not the same as before.
He’s just strapping my arm – this shouldn’t feel intimate. Right?
The cloak falls to the ground with a soft thud, which gets my heart racing. I’ll admit my curves aren’t much to look at. Silvari women are slender and well-defined. I’ve got the arm and leg definition of someone who can scrub floors and haul buckets of water all day without breaking a sweat. Mix that with eating what I can, when I can, and I’d say I’m taller and wider than most of the women in this realm. Until I met these guys, I owned two sets of clothes – both worn out and pre-loved before I got my hands on them. And both exactly the same, a simple tunic and leggings. My most prized possessions were my boots – but they’re gone now.
“I’ve stripped enough clothes off enough women to know what your undergarments should look like,” he says.
I have trouble getting clothes of my own, so unless the boys have a hidden habit of wearing ladies breastbands that I’ve yet to discover, I’m not going to have constant access to them.
But that’s not the reason I’m biting my lip.
“No,” I say.
He cocks an eyebrow at me as he unravels the beginning of the bandage.
“You don’t want undergarments?” he asks, more cheeky than confused.
“No, you aren’t allowed to talk about girls. Any girls. Ever. And certainly never ones you’ve stripped the clothes off of.”
He chuckles, lifting my arm at my elbow and resting it against the base of my ribs. I hold it in place.
“I’m serious,” I say.
“That’s what amuses me.”
He starts the bandage at my wrist, walking around me as he secures it into place. His fingers gently guide the fabric into position, then smooth it out. Over my arm, around my back, then over my arm again. I tune in to the gentle touch, the moments when his fingers move from the bandage onto my skin, which somehow feels intense and alive. It sends shivers down my spine – and up the insides of my legs.
I clear my throat. Then, his fingers run over the sensitive skin just under my breast, and I feel the need to repeat the throat-clearing process.
“I’ve had past boyfriends too, you know,” I blurt.
Throat clearing is a pretty bad distraction – mouth to the rescue.
“I’m sure you have.”
“I could talk about the many ways a girl can unbutton a guy’s pants with one hand or her teeth.”
He tilts his head to the side, his lips pulling tight to try and wipe the smile from his face, but he keeps moving – working the bandage into place.
“Or the benefits of getting your kitchen bench heights just right,” I say.
He stops, fingers on the skin of my back, holding the wrapping tight, as his lips brush against my ear.
“I wouldn’t mind,” he says, kissing just under my earlobe.
The sensation runs down my spine. I can barely inhale through it.
Crap.
“I would even enjoy it,” he says, kissing lower.
Once.
Twice.
The soft sound of his lips fills my remaining senses. Just his touch, his warmth, his existence – and me.
“Any time you want to share details, Vexy.” Kiss. “I want to hear them.” Kiss. “I’ll just imagine it’s me in your memories.” Kiss.
I squirm, but his hand presses to my stomach, and between that and his firm grip on my half-bound arm, I’m all his.
And I’m on fire.
“But Pax.” He brushes my hair aside and presses his lips to the nape of my neck. “He might ride off and kill the guy.”
He lets out a long exhale that sends another hot shiver through me, then straightens.
“Just make sure you’re good with the consequences before you keep talking. He can hear us,” he says, the vein of teasing almost completely gone.
I gulp. I’d forgotten that three other guys are just a few steps away. How the chuck did I forget that!?
I shift so I can dart my gaze over the back of Pax’s horse, and Seth lets me, returning to his bandaging. They’re all around the fire, exactly as they were the last time I looked. Pax’s back is to us, still crouched with his hands stretched toward the flames.
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My body has fallen back into the clutches of being in shock – not desire. Not lust. Shock.
Definitely shock.
Instead of explaining that I have never untied a guy’s pants in my life – unless, of course, I was the one wearing them – I switch from trying to get a reaction out of Seth, because clearly that was too easy, to trying to get one out of Pax.
I focus to make sure there’s no shaking in my voice before opening my mouth. “Did he hear the part about Peter and I dancing naked through the fields every full moon?” I’m talking to Seth, but I’m looking at Pax’s back – which stiffens. That’s a little more satisfying than I thought it would be. “We’d braid flowers in each other’s hair. Head-hair, under-arm hair, toe-hair, pubic–”
Pax stands sharply, turning to face me.
“Not funny,” he growls – not a wolf-growl, just a man-growl.
Seth chuckles. “Very funny.”
He tucks the last corner of the bandage in underneath itself then hands me a shirt. His blue eyes are sparkling.
“I like your kind of funny,” he says, that soft, melodic voice warming me from the inside – again.
He lifts my free hand, the only one I have left now, and rubs it between his.
“Your whole body feels cold,” he says. “You shouldn’t have gone in the river.”
“Or it’s shock,” I say.
“And what did this?” He points at the sear marks that trace out from under my nails.
“I don’t know – and don’t poke at it.”
I rip my hand free from his and begin to struggle into the shirt – which amuses him more. He’s still chuckling when the shirt finally pulls into place. I emerge from behind the horses, one arm strapped underneath the shirt and the other smoothing my hair from my face. Trying to ignore Seth. Trying to ignore the pattern on my skin that is still feeling his kisses.
I get about three steps before Seth settles a cloak around my shoulders. His cloak, this time.
Pax doesn’t move until both Seth and I are by the fire, then he goes to get his own clothes and get changed behind the horses.
“It’s here,” Roarke says.
Killian grunts in agreement.
I open my mouth to ask what, or shout it because I’m sick of not knowing what ‘it’ is, when thin tendrils of something climb up over the trees, engulfing them and leaving a solid wall of oozing, inky blackness behind.
“That?” I ask, pointing.
In seconds, we’re surrounded. The horses pull and fuss on their reins, but they seem to know that there’s no escape – that struggling is useless – and instead inspect the blackness with wide eyes and loud snorts. Pax moves among them, whispering hushes and stroking their necks.
Every tree, every bit of space, is covered in black ooze. I turn in a slow circle, feeling my face stiffen in fear.
What the bralls is it?
The stuff reaches, curls, and spreads from treetop to treetop. Finding itself, linking, and intertwining until the sky is gone. Not even a glimmer from the moon. Nothing.
“Mist,” Roarke says.
“No, it’s chuckin’ not,” I gasp.
The fact that they’re all sitting casually should make me feel better – but it doesn’t.
Pax steps up next to me, his eyes on me while mine dart wildly over the solid wall of blackness. Looking for gaps, creases, any way out. Any light. I wipe a shaking arm over my face, but it does little to calm me.
“It lives here,” Roarke says. “This small pocket of forest is its home.”
“It won’t come any closer to Darkness,” Pax says, motioning to Killian.
“It’s like a bubble I can see,” I manage to say, which surprises me given how dry my throat has gone.
I turn in a slow circle, even though it’s obvious that there are no exits. The space we have left would be about as big as my bubble too, and the realization of exactly how small my world is makes my heart pound harder.
Pax grips both my shoulders, stopping me.
“Shade,” he says.
I let him hold me in place.
The stars have gone. The moon. The trees. Everything.
“Shade,” he says louder, giving me a little shake.
I look up at him, resisting the urge to immediately look away again.
“We will find a solution to Logan’s potion. We will remove your bubble, and this mist will be gone by morning,” he says softly.
So softly. So gently.
I manage to nod.
His hands slide from my shoulders, down my arms, and rest at my elbows.
“Eat something,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
And there’s a wall of blackness around us, so there’s no way I’m moving.
He pulls me in close. One arm reaching up my back, into my hair, the other pressing into the dip of my hips.
“I thought we had this conversation last night. Mortals need to eat,” he says.
“More. Shade needs to eat more,” Seth corrects.
“What have you eaten today?” Pax practically asks my hair, because that’s about where his face is nestled.
“We had sausages for breakfast, fruit for afters, rolls for lunch, honey-cream-bites for lunch sweets, and then biscuits and juice when we first arrived at the markets,” I say, the list slowly helping my mind to focus.
“So you’ve missed tea-afters, dinner, supper, and lates,” Roarke points out.
“I don’t actually need to eat until midnight –” And that’s as far as that sentence goes.
Pax steers me to the edge of the fire and pushes me down onto my ass. Sitting down with one arm sucks. There’s no balance and this odd sensation that if I fall the wrong way I’m going to head-butt the ground. But I don’t. Pax sits down right next to me, so close I could lean against him, but I don’t do that either.
Seth brings over supplies. Thankfully we had the luck of having life go to the pits of an outhouse after we procured supplies. Meat and cheese gets stuffed into rolls and passed around the circle. The guys begin to talk, but I have a hard time believing the world still exists out there.
Which shouldn’t draw me to the conclusion that, maybe, there is no world left for me outside my bubble – but it does.
“I really want to know what happened with you two,” Seth says, pointing at Killian and I.
Killian grunts.
“I think we need to hear the details,” Pax says.
Roarke passes me another piece of meat.
“Local enforcement…” Killian begins, but I tune out.
I chew, watch the fire, finish my roll, and move on to a hard candy, until I hear my name.
“My Shadow took him down,” Killian says.
My brows shoot up.
“What did I do?” I ask, rolling the candy over my tongue.
“Dealt with the commander,” Killian says.
Pax shifts, and the tips of his fingers slip into the waist of my pants. Just the tips, no big deal, I tell the heat pulsing through all of the parts of me in the vicinity of his hand. Everything from knees to belly-button is on fire.
He’s looking at me, but I keep my gaze on Killian and pretend not to need to deal with the emotions on Pax’s face. I’m way too exhausted to try and work out if there’s more fear or more admiration in him.
Seth whistles. “That’s impressive.”
“It was an accident,” I manage.
“How do you accidentally cut clean through the main artery in a commander’s leg?” Killian asks.
“Um, you throw yourself at the guy with a knife in your hand and hope for the best.”
I barely get the words out before Pax picks me up and drags me into his lap. I almost choke on the damn candy.
“We have words,” I cough at him.
I’m still technically sitting on the ground. One of his legs on either side of me, his chest as my backrest. I twist to the side, pulling my legs up, pressing my elbow into his abdomen to put just enough distance between us. Trying
to get his attention.
“I think she needs to spend more time with Killian,” Seth says, ignoring me. “Training with Killian. Especially if she’s going to do things like that.”
He gets Pax’s attention.
“Hey,” I say, jabbing Pax in the stomach. That does it. “Do I have to talk to you the same as Alfie? If something doesn’t belong to you, you have to ask permission first.”
The yellow glow heats in his eyes. “You do belong to me. Who’s Alfie?”
Alfie… Where do I begin?
I relax into Pax’s chest. Resting my head underneath his chin. Letting the pain settle over my heart. It’d probably just be an ache if I wasn’t so exhausted, and recovering from shaking muscles, chattering teeth, shock, and nakedness.
“My Alfie,” I whisper.
Pax presses me harder into his chest. A low growl reaches from somewhere inside him to brush over my soul. It pulls a vibrating sensation from my chest – which I promptly clear my throat and swallow down.
“Who is Alfie?” Pax asks, growls, orders.
Alfie is gone. Lost. Left behind in a life that no kid should have.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Killian shake his head. Not sure what exactly that means, but Pax doesn’t repeat the question. I don’t move, even as Roarke picks up the conversation and Pax’s arms slowly relax, which only makes me lean into him more. Listening to the beat of his heart. Finding comfort in the way our bodies fit together. My eyes close and my thoughts numb to about the speed of a toddler’s.
Somewhere… out there… in the rest of the world… the part of the world that is not Pax… the guys keep talking. Conversation swirls around me.
“I don’t understand. What did you get detained for?” Seth asks.
“I didn’t get detained. He did,” I mumble, stabbing my finger in the vague direction of Killian.
“I can believe that. What were his charges?” Seth asks.
“Having an ugly face,” I blurt.
Tell me I did not just say that!
Why would I say that about the guy with a nasty scar right where everyone can see it? I peek under one eyelid. Seth’s eyes are wide – not a good sign from the guy who has virtually no practical-joke-boundaries. But Killian – Killian starts laughing. Not a grunt-laugh. Not a chuckle.
Shadows and Shade Box Set Page 62
