Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  Killian is tending the meat, all splayed out on a wire rack over the open flames. Saying it smells good is an understatement.

  Roarke steps up next to him and lets me go so I can edge as close as possible to the warmth of the flames without getting burnt.

  I shoot looks into the darkness – hoping to spot Pax, with or without his glowing eyes. Nothing. The fire begins to melt a layer of ice from my skin. It’s not that cold, colder than last night probably – because of the storm and the fact that everything is wet – but not middle of winter cold. Not snowfall cold – even though the seasons are turning closer and closer toward being chuckin’ freezing.

  “How did you even get a fire going?” I ask.

  “I dug the wet ground out, and Eydis had dry wood stacked under the house,” Killian says, carefully turning a small piece of meat over.

  He looks at the underside, then without warning flicks it at me. I squeak and jump back, but at the same time decide that the thing needs to be caught, and I snatch it out of the air. It instantly burns my fingers, making me gasp bralls-this-is-hot noises as I juggle the meat back and forth.

  “Crap, Killian. What did you do that for?” I demand.

  I risk a glance up at him, just a quick one. He’s smiling, leaning towards a second piece of meat. With the first still burning my hands, I take a really big step back and behind Roarke, alternating between juggling the meat and sucking on the stinging tips of my fingers.

  “That wasn’t funny,” I say.

  Kicking him probably wouldn’t work. The guy would kick back, and I’d end up on my ass in the mud. But kicking mud at him – there’s an idea.

  I draw my foot back as Seth’s hand lands on my shoulder – freezing me in place. “You’re going to get mud on our food.”

  A barely-restrained sigh escapes me. Fine.

  He leans in close to my ear and whispers, “We’ll get him later.”

  “I heard that, Chaos.”

  “I knew you would, Darkness.”

  Seth moves past me, leans in, and snags a piece of meat from the rack. He takes a bite, chewing it slowly. Of course, he’s barely affected – he’s probably healing as fast as he’s burning.

  So jealous right now. Just because they’re this tiny bit different to me – namely that they have magic – doesn’t mean they should have this massive advantage over me. If I could steal it, I would.

  Maybe I can?

  “I want to hijack your ability to heal,” I say, lifting my now-sore-from-Killian-throwing-burning-hot-meat-at-me fingers in the air and waggling them a little for emphasis. “I’m sick of being bruised, broken, and now also burnt.”

  Three sets of eyes dart to meet mine, then run over me in sharp inspection.

  Strength suddenly rushes through me, and I know without looking that Pax has stepped through the edge of my bubble. I turn in time for him to grab my hand. He lifts it into the light of the fire. They’re red – but they’re not going to blister. Years of handling hot pots and boiling water have given me some pretty good calluses.

  “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had. I didn’t think you had it in you,” Seth says.

  “Shut up, Seth,” I mutter.

  “She’s fine,” Killian grunts, pointing at me with the stick he was using to turn the meat. The tip’s glowing from almost being set on fire.

  Pax nods, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “Is it worth the risk?”

  Roarke rolls his shoulders and flexes his neck. “Trying isn’t going to hurt, much. Succeeding might.”

  “Hurt how?” I ask.

  “Well, if you get it wrong, you could do more damage. Tear through muscles, misalign the bone.”

  “There are ligaments, arteries, veins. A bone too hard or too soft will break again. Too many variables,” Killian adds.

  “You guys heal fine,” I grumble.

  “We heal naturally. What you’re talking about is not natural for your body,” Roarke says, his tone soft, almost compassionate.

  “Do mortals have a limit on the number of times they can get knocked out before they don’t wake up?” Seth asks.

  Pax glares at him, but Killian offers me a look that says he’d love to find out.

  “I think it’s worth the risk,” I say, “And it’s my decision.”

  “No, it’s not,” all four of them bark at me.

  “Chuck yes, it is. If you’re not going to help me, I’m just going to try on my own. Apparently I’m pretty good at accidentally doing shit.”

  Pax groans, running a hand down his face. “We’re safe here, for now? You increased the domain’s protections?” he asks, looking to Roarke and getting a sharp nod before continuing. “You just try not to be – you… while we’re here, and you will heal on your own.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Killian adds, flicking another piece of meat across the fire.

  Pax snatches it out of the air without even looking. “I’ll hold it until it cools.”

  “You don’t get the final say on this, Pax. It’s my arm,” I argue as he walks over to the meat piled on the edge of the grate – just out of the reach of the flames – and picks up a piece of raw meat.

  All of my arguments evaporate from my tongue – because he is not about to eat a piece of raw meat?

  He can’t?

  He pops it in his mouth, chewing slowly like it’s delicious. But it’s completely, still bleedingly, raw!

  I don’t finish my argument. Can’t, because if I open my mouth, it will be to gag. Especially when he grabs another piece from the waiting-to-be-cooked pile and starts to devour it too.

  My meat cools, and we eat piece after piece until the whole deer, or whatever it was, is gone. All of Pax’s are bloody.

  The moon is hanging directly over our heads with a large chunk taken out of it. I’m about to declare that I’m tired when Killian snags me around the waist and lifts me in the air. My indignant squeal doesn’t even slow him down.

  “Put me down.”

  He does, dropping me to my feet in the freezing cold stream.

  “Killian!”

  “You need to wash your feet,” he says, like this was the only option.

  I have no words – just growls as I stomp out of the chuckin’ freezing water.

  I’m not going to pretend this isn’t a risk as we break fresh ward potions on the front door of the cottage and discuss the sleeping arrangements.

  “That won’t last long,” I point out. “My ward was gone by the next day.”

  “We’ll refresh it every night,” Seth says, shrugging like its no big deal. “Why don’t we let her break it with us?”

  “No,” is all Pax says, moving away.

  “Recipe for disaster,” I mumble, moving in the other direction.

  I’m also not going to pretend that sleeping isn’t going to be hard work. I’ve opted for the study, pulling a few spare blankets from Eydis’ closet and the cushions from her window seat.

  “I’ll stay awake until midnight,” I mutter.

  But those books. All that information we have to sift through – it’s going to be on my mind, and even sleeping after midnight will be hard.

  Sabers don’t function well without sleep. We don’t need a lot, but a solid night every moon phase is essential or our powers diminish in order to maintain regular metabolic functions. We have to get a full night, any night, within the phase. And we sleep like rocks.

  Rocks with nightmares, in my case. Killian’s too.

  The big guy looks agitated as he waves a hand towards the couch and grunts a noise that indicates his choice is final. Our rooms in the White Castle are warded. No sound in or out. No screams. No having to admit that he sleeps like bloody shit. But soundproof wards require doors, which not a single room in this cottage has.

  Denial is Killian’s real weapon of choice.

  He eyes Kitten but talks to the group. “I’ll wake at midnight for the second shift. Go to sleep.”

  Pax grabs Kitten by the shoulders and begins
to steer her towards the stairs, followed closely by Seth.

  At least my nightmares come and go. Months without them – then a night with them. Since Kitten has been here, the daymares are the worst. Her gray eyes morphing to the shades of women I’ve watched die. Sometimes she isn’t even looking at me, but suddenly I’m remembering, and the remembering feels real.

  The rush of Allure that would draw me to a woman. The desire to sweet-talk her. The need to hold her. The pleasure as we tumbled and danced. Minutes turned to hours, and each second my Seed would draw out power from her weaker being. Surface energy at first, then the thing that keeps us alive – the energy that is our soul.

  Not that my soul isn’t wide open for them to draw from, they just can’t.

  And then, when my power is still begging for more, their eyes would glaze, their muscles grow weak, and their breaths shorter. By then it was too late. Guilt, remorse, self-hatred, they all swim up inside me. Wrapping around my heart and reminding me I’m dangerous, too dangerous, and I don’t deserve Kitten.

  Never will.

  Kitten, Pax, and Seth move into the bedroom. I take the stairs two at a time and begin arguing with myself over whether or not a sleeping potion would be my best option – just this once. We can’t defend her, save her, if we’re sleep-deprived – and I need to save her.

  But as I work into the night, I realize I can’t.

  Can’t find the recipe. Can’t find a reference to any of the effects of the potion, or the spring. Just can’t.

  I pace the small workspace. From the left wall to the right, then the window, then back again, my mind tumbling. I’ve read each of the appropriate books on the shelves. Opened every file in the drawer. Looked in every cupboard. I have to be missing something. But I’ve been looking all day!

  Still pacing, I pick up, then put down, one object after another until finally I hear Seth, Shade, and Pax’s voices fade away.

  The house goes still, and I stop pacing.

  Outside, the world is dark, and the only movement is a flicker from the mortal manor on the horizon.

  Everything in me knows that the answers must be here. But feelings can’t compete with logic and reason.

  I have all three. But still no answers.

  I look down at the object in my hands – the spyglass – that I don’t even remember picking up. The metal is cold against my eye, pointing out toward the Manor. Toward the light. Perhaps there’s a stone wall and the building in the dark, but I can’t see anything at all. I know I added looking into this to my to-do list for after the bigger problems in my life, but it’s intriguing. The lens is frozen over with delicate veins of ice etched across the domed glass. Crystalline.

  I breathe short huffs of air onto the glass and try rubbing away at it with my sleeve. But that just makes the crystals glimmer and shine. Silver against the black inside.

  Kitten was looking through this. She was seeing something. I sensed the change in her, her reaction. What in the Aeons could have frosted the thing over since then? I inspect the wall where it was hanging, the nearby bench. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Just the Silvari glass in my hands.

  Silvari glass that Kitten seems to have an affinity with. Object still in hand, I rush down the stairs. Past Seth snoring, and into the sitting room – where Killian has already begun to growl and sweat. Shade’s saddle bag is slung over the back of the nearest single seat. Just a few paces into the room.

  But if I startle Killian, the guy will have a knife to my throat before my speed can kick in.

  Or not.

  All of his blades are in the kitchen. Away from his immediate reach. He’s chosen to put his weapons on the other side of the room. I won’t get an immediate blade to my throat, but he could still crush me or snap me in two.

  I slip my Allure from its strong hold, whispering power into the night, into the universe. Just for the few seconds that it takes to collect the bag and retreat – that’s all I need. A few seconds is easy enough.

  “Pause,” I tell the world.

  And the world pauses.

  I snatch up the saddle bags, then take the stairs two at a time, pooling the Allure back inside of me. Pushing it down. Leaving it to congeal in the pit of my stomach, sharp and painful.

  Kitten is still quietly lying between Seth and Pax. I can’t tell if she’s actually sleeping or not; she’s proven to be able to trick us there anyway. But she’s breathing.

  Which should settle my agitation, but it doesn’t. Gritting my teeth, I finish the climb into the workroom and pull at the buckles with too much fury to actually get the things open. I drop the bag onto the nearest bench, bracing myself and doing my best attempt at inhaling with slow grace.

  One breath.

  Two breaths.

  Screw this.

  Eleven Paces

  “What do you mean you’re both sleeping in the bed with me?” I demand, following Pax into the bedroom.

  “Either that or we lock you in the larder,” he says.

  “What? Why?”

  Seth just chuckles, dumping his bag on the floor and pulling his shirt over his head. Damn those arms – sculpted could be the right word. Defined. Cut from stone and polished smooth to perfection. Then his chest… Then his abs… I have a problem.

  I think I’m starting to go weak in my middle. Or lower. Much lower.

  Get a grip, Shade.

  “Bralls no, you’re not going anywhere near me in your braies,” I declare, giving Seth a pointed stare before swiveling back to where Pax has also stripped his shirt off.

  Oh, for chuck’s sake!

  I consider my options in the small space of the bedroom and the even smaller space of my bubble. Consider – and come up with nothing.

  “I’ll put clean pants on,” Seth says, dropping his dirty pants to the floor.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. This is such a bad idea.

  “We have rules,” Pax says, or rather repeats, because he says that a lot.

  “New rule. If things involve Shade, then Shade gets all of her questions answered,” I say.

  “Beautiful,” Pax says, scooping down to dig out a pair of clean pants.

  Seth tugs on a fresh pair of black cotton pants and crosses the room to me, resting a hand on my shoulder as he dips low, whispering, “Vexy,” in my ear.

  That’s all.

  Then he climbs over the foot of the bed and begins testing each of the pillows. I cross my arms over my chest, my foot tapping. Pax unfastens his belt and lets his pants fall to the floor. The gentle flicker of the only lit lantern dances across the long, hard lines of his back. I can think of a pretty long list of circumstances where climbing into bed with them would be very enjoyable. The thought alone ignites that spot low in my abdomen, again, with a flutter of nerves and a rush of excitement. But being told I have to get into bed between them, and that my alternative is to get locked in a cupboard, that’s not on my list at all.

  I keep my arms crossed over my chest and wait.

  “Get into the bed,” Pax orders, pulling clean pants on.

  “No –” The words I actually intended to say were ‘not until you tell me why’ but the severe look, hard determination, and slight glow to Pax’s eyes as his head snaps up and his gaze meets mine, cut the words off.

  He stalks towards me, and I step backward – until I’m against the wall.

  “We have to sleep,” he says, his tone deep and challenging.

  “You have to sleep,” Thane adds.

  Thane. His voice makes my insides crush into a ball of need and want and fear and desire and… so many feelings.

  “You can sleep whenever you want,” I blurt out.

  “We need to sleep,” Pax repeats, their voices are the same, yet so different. “I have to let you out of my sight.” As he talks, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder. “But I’m not letting you out of my reach.”

  “So you’re going to pin me down in the bed?” I demand, and if Seth wasn’t already snoring on one
side, I might begin to freak out.

  But Seth is snoring, and Pax drops me not-too-gently into place next to him.

  “You do stupid shit when I’m not looking,” he says.

  “Get under the blanket,” Thane snaps.

  “I do stupid shit even when you are looking,” I say, ignoring the order.

  He offers me a lopsided smile and stretches out beside me.

  “Exactly, so either you’re right here – or I’m locking you in the larder.”

  I groan, the fight seeping out of me. It’s helped immensely by the way his hand splays out over my stomach and pulls me in to mold against his body, my back to his chest.

  My right arm is almost squished between me and Seth. I gently pull it free and rest it on Seth’s hip. He’s not under the blankets either, but the body heat from the two guys is going to be more than enough to keep me warm.

  Seth sighs, reaching back and gripping my thigh, then repositioning my leg so it’s pressed into the back of his.

  “Go to sleep, Beautiful,” Pax whispers in my ear, his hand sliding up and settling against my chest. The guy sounds half asleep already.

  “Vexy,” Seth moans in a deep, heavy tone.

  “Beautiful Vexy,” they both mutter, a hint of Thane in the mix.

  I’d groan at them and argue, but I have to admit I’m tired and comfortable. Their breathing slows, settling into two distinct rhythms. The rise and fall of their chests and the muffled snore that occasionally settles over Seth.

  My eyelids droop low. Then close.

  Pax nuzzles closer, his face in my hair. He draws in a few long breaths, the kind that makes me think Thane is smelling me, then settles back down to sleep.

  Outside a frog croaks, the noise funneling up the drain. But neither guy moves.

  Upstairs, Roarke thumps around, and I listen to his every step until the whole house goes silent. Just the frog – and my thoughts.

  Thoughts that won’t shut up.

  I was drowned, a really long time ago. But I lived. I could be part-something-awesome, but not a big enough part to actually be awesome.

  And on my thoughts go. Sleep dances just out of reach.